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"Rem ... is that you?"
Obviously, she'd heard Anders and his friend. Rem coiled, ready to grab her and drag her to safety.
An instant later she appeared, making her way closer— but not close enough—passing not twenty feet from where Rem crouched.
Anders and his companion froze.
"Who's there?" Sammy asked, evidently spotting the two men.
Rem's guts knotted and he had to forcibly restrain himself from going to her. Wait, he cautioned himself, appalled by his own impulsiveness. There's no reason to suspect they'd hurt her. They might not even be armed. Or dangerous, for that matter. But his instincts told him otherwise.
"Samantha? It's Stephen." Anders's reply followed a prolonged silence.
"Oh, Stephen ... forgive me. I thought—" An abrupt pause. "Mr. Summerson ... good evening." She sounded distressed.
"Lady Samantha."
Summerson? Arthur Summerson. The merchant. Rem stored that information for later, still battling with the compulsion to leap out and haul Samantha off.
"I didn't mean to interrupt...." Samantha was backing away, once again nearing where Rem hid.
"It's all right," Anders called out, ostensibly trying to soothe her. Anyone listening would think his tone perfectly normal. But Rem's trained ear could make out the thin note of tension rippling through it.
"I'd b-best return to the ball," Sammy stammered. "Excuse me." She bolted.
Summerson made a move to go after her.
"Leave it." Anders's command cracked out, loud enough for Rem to hear.
"I don't trust that girl," Summerson shot back, his words equally as clear. "That's the second time she's mysteriously appeared during one of our meetings. And I have the nagging feeling I've seen her elsewhere."
"She's a child."
"Perhaps. But she's also Drake Barrett's sister. So, child or not, I plan to keep an eye on her."
"Let me worry about Samantha. You worry about Atlantis. Now, I'd best get back into that ballroom ... before my absence is noted. We'll meet tomorrow at my office. Good night, Summerson."
Rem waited until both men had left before emerging from his hiding place, fists clenched with fury. To hell with objectivity, blast his ever-present cool and level head. Everything was changed now. For, whatever Atlantis was, whatever seedy dealings Anders was involved in, Samantha was at risk. And whether those dealings tied in with his mission or not, Rem thought, they had just become his top priority.
Let Anders or Summerson try to harm a hair on Samantha's head. Rem would kill them.
He had to think. But now was not the time. The most important thing now was to get Samantha away from Devonshire House and out of danger. Fast.
Scrutinizing the area, Rem determined the swiftest route back to the manor.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Stepping out of the shadows enveloping the manor's west wing, Rem ground out his cheroot and caught Sammy's elbow.
She started. "Where were you?"
Rem stared broodingly at the ground. His thoughts were in turmoil and, for the first time in years, so were his emotions. "You didn't expect me to stand by and watch you dancing with Anders, did you?"
Sammy recoiled from the harshness of his reply. "No, but . . ." She swallowed. "You're angry with me."
"Angry with you?" Rem drew a sharp breath, unable to dispel the dark sense of foreboding spawned by what he'd just overheard. He couldn't explain the reasons for his somber mood to Samantha, nor did he even want to. All he wanted was to hold her soft, warm body in his arms, bury himself inside her and hold the world at bay.
As Rem stared soberly into Sammy's questioning eyes, something inside him snapped. He tugged her abruptly into the shadows, sliding his hand beneath her sable mane and drawing her against him. "Come here." He seized her mouth with a kind of rough, raw desperation. "Angry with you? No, I'm not angry with you, imp. You're all that is precious ... fire and silk in my arms." He parted her lips, delved inside, infusing himself with her beauty. "So sweet, so soft. Lord, I need you." He kissed her throat, the delicate line of her jaw. "Put your arms around me."
