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"It's very extravagant, and I—"
"Nonsense! Nothing is too costly when it comes to you. I fully intend to spoil you shamelessly."
From an adjacent salon a clock chimed. Anders tensed, and momentarily distracted, he glanced at his timepiece.
"You don't understand." Once again Sammy was attempting to clarify her rejection of the viscount's necklace, and all that went with it. "I cannot allow you to think that what I feel for you is anything more than friendship. It isn't."
"I didn't expect it would be. We've known each other less than a fortnight. But in time—"
"No." Sammy shook her head adamantly. "Not in time. Not ever."
His eyes glinted with resentment. "Because of Gresham?"
"Yes."
"He's not the kind of man you should become involved with."
"That is for me to decide. Not you."
"You're making a mistake, Samantha. You're far too young and naive to see that Gresham's charm might be fatal, but his intentions are ruinous. Therefore, it is up to me to protect you, to help you see the error of your ways... before any unalterable damage has been done."
Sammy had no time to respond to his patronizing sermon. The music ended and Anders's gaze darted swiftly back to his timepiece.
"Will you excuse me, my dear?" He hastily kissed Sammy's hand. "There's someone I must speak to."
Mutely, she nodded, hastily withdrawing her hand and fighting the urge to slap the viscount's pompous face. Not that Anders noticed her irritation. He had already left her and was easing his way across the ballroom.
Shrugging, Sammy dismissed him from her thoughts. She raised her chin, scanning the room for Rem.
He was nowhere to be found.
With a pang of unease, Sammy wondered if Rem's absence had been triggered by her dance with Stephen. If so, where would he have gone? He would never abandon her. Therefore, he must have stepped out, hoping the night air would cool his temper.
Inching toward the ballroom door, Sammy hastened down the hallway and slipped into the night.
Rem stood still as a statue, waiting to see where Anders would head. The fact that the lecherous viscount was up to something dishonest was unquestionable. Having carefully observed him over the past quarter hour, Rem recognized all the classic signs: Anders's subtle but distinct agitation, his repeated glances at his timepiece, his distracted behavior even during his coveted dance with Samantha. Every one of Rem's well-honed instincts screamed out that the bastard was up to no good.
Where the hell was he going?
Noiselessly, Rem fell back into stride, noting that Anders had reached the far section of Devonshire House, which bordered on Hyde Park. Dimly lit, quiet, it was the perfect place for a covert meeting.
"Pssst..."
On the heels of Rem's thought came the sound of someone summoning Anders. The viscount evidently heard it, too, for he veered in the direction of the noise.
Following suit, Rem slid behind a profuse section of bushes and concealed himself.
"... couldn't meet you sooner ... portion of the money ... not for a week or two ... Bow Street... examined the records ... nothing amiss . . ."
Rem could b
arely make out the snatches of conversation, nor could he discern any physical details of Anders's companion other than his stocky build. The fog was too hindering, the men too far off. And Rem didn't dare jeopardize his identity by attempting to get closer.
A twig snapped in the distance.
"Rem?"
Sammy's voice rang out clearly, and Rem bit back a curse. He should have anticipated this. If Samantha hadn't been intimidated by the disreputable crowd at Boydry's, why would she be unnerved by strolling dark, deserted grounds alone at midnight? Dammit. Like a bloody fool, he'd assumed she'd wait for him in the ballroom.
