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"I hope I'm right, too." Rem's dimple flashed. "Then perhaps Cynthia will relinquish her role as your protector and cease attempting to rescue you from my sinful hands."
"They are sinful, my lord." Sammy smiled impishly, catching his fingers and smoothing them over the warm curve of her breast. "Sinful and wonderful."
"You, my love, could tempt the stars down from the sky." Rem took her mouth under his, molding her breast to his palm. Absorbing her delicate shudder, he savored her softness, wishing he could hold the world, and the new day, at bay. "I have to get you home," he murmured, his hands, of their own volition, moving hungrily over her body in a sensual exploration that made desire pound through his loins like cannon fire.
Sammy arched gracefully against him.
"Damn." Rem's breath erupted in a harsh growl. "I can't get enough of you." He parted her thighs to find her heated entrance, to caress the dewy wetness he'd claimed tonight as his, only his.
"Rem . . ." Sammy's response was immediate, absolute, her legs opening to offer him her soul.
"Another hour . . ." Rem managed, entering her with his fingers. Submerged in her essence, he was lost yet again to Samantha's fervent, honest passion, her total relinquishing of self. He inhaled the scent of their lovemaking, stroked the delicate softness of her flesh, and, with an indistinguishable groan of primal male need, he buried himself inside her.
"I'll have to dash up to my room." Sammy sighed, tucking the final pin in her hair and looking exasperatedly down at herself. "Because no matter how hard I try, I cannot smooth the wrinkles out of this gown."
Rem knotted his cravat and smiled. "Sweetheart," he said tenderly, walking toward her, "it wouldn't matter if your gown were intact. The glow in your eyes, the flush on your cheeks . . ." He brushed his lips across hers. "You look like a woman who's been well-loved ... all night."
"You look rather disheveled yourself, my lord," she teased, buttoning his waistcoat.
Just outside, a songbird emitted its early morning melody.
Glancing toward the window, Rem noted the pale slivers of sunlight beginning to show themselves, proclaiming the new day. He framed Sammy's face between his palms. "Let's get you home. Before your servants arise."
Nodding, Sammy glanced back at the bed where she'd spent the past few incomparable hours. The pillows were rumpled, the bedcovers hopelessly tangled, and faint stains of her lost virginity streaked the stark whiteness of the sheets. How symbolic, she thought dreamily. The tangible transition from child to woman.
Lost in wondrous thought, Sammy feathered her fingers across the bedpost. She was leaving this room a different person than when she came, whole in ways she'd never known she was empty.
Yes, her innocence belonged to Rem now.
But the memories were hers forever.
"I'm ready," she said softly.
Watching the play of emotions on Sammy's face, Rem felt his chest constrict. He reached for her, drew her to him, his own insides raw, exposed. How could he comfort her? What words could he utter to alleviate the disenchantment that lay ahead?
He intended to offer her all he could, but his heart knew it wasn't enough—not for Samantha. Yet, hadn't he expected this? He, the experienced realist, had known from the start there would be an aftermath, a brittle shattering of Samantha's romantic bubble.
It was too late to berate himself. He'd gone into this with his eyes wide open, equipped with a foresight Samantha was too starry-eyed and naive to possess. But his emotions had eclipsed his reason, and now all he could pray was that he'd be able to fill Samantha's life with enough joy so she wouldn't ache from the lack of that which he could never give.
But one thing was a certainty. After tonight, Samantha Barrett was his.
A pounding at the door interrupted the intensity of Rem's thoughts.
Sammy started. "Rem? It's half after five in the morning... ."
"It's probably Boyd," Rem soothed. "He expected me to deliver you home an hour ago."
Taking Sammy's hand, Rem led her down the stairs and through the hallway. He scooped up her discarded wrap and put it about her shoulders, then eased her behind the door and out of view. "Who is it?"
"Boyd."
Rem relaxed, yanking open the front door.
"Well! Good morning!" Boyd strode in as fresh and cheerful as if he'd had a full night's sleep. He saw Samantha and came to a screeching halt. "Oh . . ." Hot color suffused his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—"
"It's all right, Boyd." It was Sammy who answered, walking toward him, hands extended. "I'm glad you're here. It gives me a chance to say thank you." Her eyes danced. "We didn't exactly have the opportunity to talk during our eventful carriage ride."
"No. We didn't."
