"You'd recognize him ... and he'd recognize you," Rem submitted quietly. "No, Towers, involving you in our search is not an option."
Relief flooded Towers's features. "I'm a coward, Gresham."
"That's not cowardice, it's caution. Stop berating yourself. It's undeserved. Your ordeal was harrowing. You're lucky to be alive." Casually, Rem lit a cheroot. "My suggestion is to stop trying to refine the description of your captor. Instead tell me about the island he took you to."
"The island?"
Towers looked surprised, and distracted, exactly as Rem had hoped. Experience had long ago taught him that people remembered far more when they spoke spontaneously and without pressure.
"There isn't much to say." Towers straddled a chair, rubbing his forearm across his sweating forehead, "The island was small, grassy, with a few scattered trees and narrow stretches of sand and rock. As I told you, I have no idea where it was; we were blindfolded, our hands and feet bound."
"They uncovered your eyes when you reached the island?"
"Yes. The sunlight was bright, though. It took me a while to recover enough to see."
"I'm sure. Could you hear talking?"
"Yes ... that's when that scum started taunting us about Atlantis. The rest of the time he was muttering to his crew."
"Were there many of them?"
"I saw twenty, maybe more. They did whatever he told them to."
"They feared him."
"We all did. There was something menacing about him."
"I'm sure he handled his crew as brutally as he did you."
"He was never actually violent." Towers's brows drew together as he tried to explain. "Our fear was based on what we knew he was capable of doing; that frigid, emotionless voice grating out his orders ... like he didn't give a damn who lived and who died. Which, of course, he didn't."
"How long were you on the island?"
"One night. I escaped the next morning."
"Did he allow you food? Water?"
"We were given a few berries and some sips of water, only so we wouldn't die before reaching our destination. They fed us when they uncovered our eyes. That was the first time the pirate captain spoke directly to me. He yanked off the cloth binding over my eyes, gripped my shirt with one of his enormous fists, and shoved some berries at me. I ate them—I was too hungry to be proud—but I wanted to spit them in his filthy, scarred face. Not long after, we were given water, then our eyes were covered again, until daybreak. I've already told you the rest." Towers slumped in his chair. "Dammit, Gresham, I wish I could remember more."
"You have." Rem ground out his cheroot and rose. "You've told me enough to pick out the privateer who's working with Summerson."
Towers blinked. "But you said you needed a more thorough—"
"And you provided it." Rem scooped up his coat. "Originally all you said was that he was of average height, heavyset, with black hair and a beard. Now you've added that he has a raspy voice, large hands, and scars on that portion of his face that is exposed. An excellent description." Rem crossed the sitting room. "Tell Harris I couldn't stay. Thank you, Captain Towers."
The ride to Allonshire took the better part of an hour, and Rem used every precious moment of it to finalize his plan.
Ironic that everything was coming to a head at once; his mission, his confrontation with Drake, his future. And it all depended on this one, all-important meeting.
The meeting Drake Barrett knew nothing about.
The iron gates of Allonshire loomed ahead, and Rem's gut clenched. He was unused to feeling off balance, and the reality of it was disconcerting, though unsurprising. Until now he'd been fighting for England, and defeat was inconceivable. But tonight he was fighting not only for his country, but for his future.
The carriage slowed, stopped, and Rem alit, more determined than he'd ever been in his life ... and more vulnerable.
"Hello, Humphreys." Soberly, he greeted the butler. "I'd like to see the duke."
"Is he expecting you, Lord Gresham?"
"He most certainly is, Humphreys. We both are."
Alexandria Barrett's clear voice interrupted whatever Rem had been about to say. Walking forward gracefully, she nodded her permission at Humphreys. "By all means, ask the earl to come in."
"Very good, Your Grace." Humphreys stepped aside at once.
"Thank you, Your Grace." Rem bowed, a puzzled look in his eyes. "I appreciate your cordial welcome."
Alex assessed him silently for a moment. "Humphreys, wait a quarter hour before telling the duke that Lord Gresham is here," she instructed. "I want to meet with the earl myself. We'll be in the yellow salon."
"But Your Grace—"
"That will be all, Humphreys."
Alex gestured for Rem to follow her down the hall to the cozy yellow salon in Allonshire's southern wing. "We'll have some privacy here. Come in, Lord Gresham." Swiftly, she closed the doors behind her.
"May I offer my congratulations on the birth of your daughter?" Rem opened gallantly.
"Thank you." Alex paused when she reached the sideboard. "Now, may I offer you something?"
"An explanation, perhaps." Rem's dimple flashed. "Forgive my abruptness, Your Grace, but I have to wonder—"
"Alexandria. My given name, as I'm sure you recall." Alex poured two glasses of claret. "And there's no need to apologize ... at least not for your understandable curiosity. For your intimacy with Samantha, now that is indeed another thing." Inclining her head, Alex offered Rem his drink.
Rem stared, automatically taking the proffered glass.
"Some of Sammy's candor is derived from her brother, my lord. The rest she acquired from her close relationship with me. To your health." Alex raised her glass.
"And to yours." Rem chuckled. "I have the feeling this is going to be a most interesting chat."
Alex placed her half-filled glass on the table, leaning forward to face Rem directly. "I won't waste time. Humphreys is very loyal to the duke and will wait not an instant beyond the quarter hour I requested to announce your arrival. As a result, in precisely twelve minutes my outraged husband will be exploding into the yellow salon to demand an explanation for our chat. Therefore, may I begin with the facts, my lord?"
"Remington. And, yes, please do."
"I love Sammy as if she were my own. She is one of life's rarest treasures, beautiful inside as well as out, with a heart of gold and a spirit to match. And it appears you are the fortunate man on whom she's bestowed that heart... among other things." Alex paused. "Now my position. If you love Samantha as much as she loves you; if you are everything she swears you are, her knight-in-shining-armor, her once-in-a-lifetime hero, then I'll march into Drake's study with you this instant, stand right beside you and face my husband head-on, arguing away any objections he still harbors with every emotional weapon I possess. But if you're not in love with Sammy, if you've merely seduced her, acquired her as one of your numerous female possessions, and are toying with her affections and her tender heart, you'd best tell me now, or instead of merely having you thrown out, I'll make certain you wish you were never born. Is that clear enough, Remington?"
A corner of Rem's mouth lifted, his expression one of undisguised admiration. "You're everything Samantha said you were and more. Yes, Alexandria, that's perfectly clear."
Rem finished the last of his claret, facing Alex with the same straightforward candor she'd just shown him.
"I never believed in love, certainly not for me. I had my reasons, none of which matter any longer—because Samantha exploded into my life like a burst of dazzling fireworks, blasting all my cynicism, my lack of faith, into nothingness. She turned my world, my heart, upside down, fragmented all the walls I'd erected, and filled me in ways I never knew I was empty. To answer your question, I love Samantha with an intensity that staggers me. She is more to me than my own life, more essential than the air I breathe, more impelling than my past and all the scars it wrought. I'm going to make her my wife, fill her life with
joy and children of our own. And, with all due respect, Your Grace, I'll destroy anyone who tries to stand in my way."
A radiant smile lit Alex's face. "That's all I wanted to hear." Her glance darted to the clock on the mantel. "Our time is almost up. I suggest we find Drake before he finds us."
They were halfway through the hall, rounding the foot of the marble staircase, when a white streak shot by them, followed by a cry of outrage and a shout of laughter.
"I'll recover your stocking, Cynthia. Fear not." Sammy darted down the steps, her skirts lifted indecently high so as not to impede her progress. "Alex!" she called, spotting her sister-in-law. "Grab Rascal! He's taken Cynthia's stocking again—" Abruptly, she halted, her eyes widening as she saw the man who stood beside Alex.
Valiantly, Sammy strove for control, ordering herself to display the proper decorum, to temper the exuberant reception that threatened to erupt from within her.
Rem showed no such restraint. "Samantha." Unthinking, uncaring, he reached for her.
That was all it took.
With a half laugh, half sob, Sammy launched herself into his waiting arms. "Oh, Rem." She kissed his jaw, buried her face against his chest. "You're here."
Rem's hands shook as he stroked her hair. "God, I've missed you, imp," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.
"When did you arrive at Allonshire?"
"Moments ago. I'm on my way to see your brother."
That made Sammy draw back, search his face anxiously, then look past him to Alex. "Please don't let Drake say no."
Alex glanced from Sammy to Rem, visibly moved by the emotion hovering between them. "If I had any intention of allowing your brother to stand in your way, that possibility has been thoroughly dashed by seeing the two of you together." She raised her chin. "Sammy, you wait here. I'll show Remington to Drake's study. The two of them have a betrothal to arrange."
"Thank you, Alex," Sammy whispered. Reluctantly, she detached herself from Rem's embrace. "I'll be in my room ... pacing and fretting."
Rem brought Sammy's hand to his lips. "Neither is necessary. Our betrothal is as good as sealed." He laced his fingers through hers. "Trust me, love."
Standing on tiptoe, Sammy kissed his chin. "You have yet to disappoint me, my lord," she murmured. Turning, she sprinted up the stairs.
Rem watched Sammy's retreating back, making no attempt to hide the love in his eyes.
"Shall we?" Alex prodded gently.
"By all means." Rem's dimple flashed. "Lead the way to the lion's den."
Outside the study door, Humphreys was waiting, squinting at his timepiece. With a dignified nod, he snapped it shut and raised his hand to knock.
"I'll announce the earl, Humphreys," Alex interrupted hastily.
The butler paused, then lowered his arm. "Very good, Your Grace." A sudden thought diverted his attention and, abruptly, he brightened. "I should check on Lady Bonnie. She was a bit fretful this evening." Bowing, he headed off to the nursery.
Alex squared her shoulders and faced the closed study door. "Try not to come to blows," she murmured to Rem as she knocked.
"I'll do my best."
"Yes?" Drake's deep voice called out.
"May we come in?" Alex poked her head around the side of the door.
"Of course, princess. We?" Drake asked, suddenly realizing Alex's use of the plural.
"Yes ... we. Lord Gresham and myself."
Drake came to his feet in one slow, fluid motion. "I didn't know Lord Gresham had arrived," he returned icily.
"I informed Humphreys that I would announce the earl... after we had a pleasant chat." Alex opened the door more fully, gesturing for Rem to enter. "Now that we've finished, I've brought him to you. To talk. And to listen." The plea in Alex's voice was as plain as the beseeching look in her eyes.
Her husband was immune to neither.
"Gresham." With enormous effort, Drake strove to be cordial. Briefly, his frosty gaze flickered to Alex. "Leave us, princess."
"But—"
"Alexandria, I want to talk to the earl alone."
Alex sighed resignedly, knowing better than to argue with that particular tone of voice. "I'll be with Samantha in her bedchamber." She gave Drake an engaging smile. "Have a nice chat, gentlemen."
The door closed behind her.
Despite the oppressive silence, Rem couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm captivated by your duchess... a most charming, forthright young woman."
"As is my sister."
Rein's humor vanished. "Yes, she is."
"Sit down, Gresham. You have a great deal of explaining to do."
"More than you could possibly imagine," Rem agreed, lowering himself into the designated chair. "I have a wealth of information to impart. I won't insult you by procrastinating or speaking in riddles. I'll merely begin at the beginning and relay the whole situation to you. But first I must ask for your word that nothing we discuss will leave this room."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Drake demanded. "What has all this got to do with Samantha?''
"Nothing. And everything."
"Sammy swears she's in love with you ... and you with her. She tells me you've proposed marriage. Have you?"
"Yes."
"Before or after you seduced her?" Rem gritted his teeth and fell silent. "You son of a bitch." Drake slammed his fist onto the desk. "You're not only a cad, but a liar as well. You sat in this very room, discussed the building of your bloody ship, and looked me straight in the eye when you told me you'd only run into Samantha at an occasional ball. And all that time you'd already taken her to your bed? What kind of scoundrel are you?"
"I hadn't taken her to my bed, dammit!" It was Rem's turn to bolt to his feet. "And I have no intention of demeaning what Samantha and I share by reviewing the details of our relationship. I wouldn't even be asking for your blessing if it didn't mean so much to her. But it does."
"Don't sound so bloody noble. Wedding Samantha would be impossible without my consent. She's not of age."
"Don't underestimate my capabilities, Allonshire. I'd whisk Samantha off to Gretna Green if I had to. Your dissension wouldn't thwart me for an instant."
Drake inhaled sharply, his hands balling into fists. "Then why the hell come to me at all?"
"Because I love Samantha. And she happens to adore you. She'd be devastated if she couldn't have your approval. So I'm asking for it. The choice of whether or not I receive it is yours. Either way, Samantha will become my wife."
For the first time, a flash of uncertainty flickered in Drake's eyes. "If you love Sammy as much as you profess, why didn't you approach me before things got out of hand?"
An ironic smile touched Rem's lips. "Because things got out of hand the moment I laid eyes on your sister. I didn't realize it, of course. And once I did, I fought like hell. But some battles are destined to be over before they've begun."
"I don't know what to think." Drake dropped wearily into his chair.
A stab of understanding struck, triggering a wave of compassion. "I'll make her happy, Drake," Rem pledged quietly. "As my countess, Samantha will want for nothing. She'll have security, position, all the luxuries money can buy ... not to mention countless new Gothic romances to read, and a fireside specifically for her regal pet to warm himself." Abruptly, Rem's light tone vanished, superseded by an emotion too vast to contain. "She'll also have a husband who will protect her tender heart, indulge her untainted spirit, and keep only unto her for the rest of his life. In short, not a day will go by that Samantha doesn't know she is loved. You have my word on it."
Drake raised his head, studied Rem for a long moment. "You know my sister remarkably well," He swallowed. "And you love her a great deal."
"So much that it terrifies me."
A reminiscent light dawned in Drake's eyes. "I've encountered that particular terror myself." Slowly, purposefully, he extended his hand. "You'd best keep your promises, Gresham, or you'll have me to answer to." His expression softened. "Make S
ammy happy."
"I intend to." Rem clasped Drake's hand, then reseated himself. "And now I'd like to tell you the rest of what I came to say, at which point I think you'll understand the complexities of my courtship with Samantha and why I was so reluctant to succumb to my feelings ... as well as why I was less than honest with you."
"Go on."
"I must stress what I said earlier: you cannot disclose this conversation to anyone. The security of our country may be at stake."
With a perplexed look, Drake nodded. "Very well. You have my word. What we discuss stays in this room."
Rem leaned forward. "As you know, numerous British vessels have disappeared mysteriously these past months."
"We pursued this subject last time you were here, Gresham. I hope you're not again implying that—"
"The Admiralty has asked me to investigate the matter. I'm in the process of doing so. That's the real reason I met with you last week about my brig."
Drake's jaw dropped. "The Admiralty selected you? Why?"
"Because I've been working with them for over a decade now—since the Battle of Trafalgar. And, at the risk of sounding pompous, my success rate has been quite good. The Crown is pleased."
"Christ." Comprehension struck Drake, hard. "You're telling me you've been secretly—"
"Exactly. Now can you understand why I didn't want to get involved with Samantha? I was determined not to expose her to danger... something I was constantly immersed in."
"Was?
Has your situation changed?" "Everything's changed. I've changed." Rem's jaw set. "I'm going to explain the national dilemma to you, at which point I plan to ask for your help. Once this mission is successfully completed, I intend to submit my resignation to the First Lord of the Admiralty. The rest of my life belongs to Samantha and our children."