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"I'll kill him—them."
"Who? Why?" Climbing out of bed, Alex marched up to face her husband. "Drake, tell me."
He frowned. "You shouldn't be out of bed."
"I feel fine. Now who is it you plan to kill?"
"Anders. Gresham. Both."
"Does this involve Barrett Shipping?"
"Worse than that. It involves Samantha."
"Samantha!" Alex sucked in her breath. ""You'd better explain."
"I can't. All I know is that Hartley was just here, questioning my decision to place Gresham in charge of Sammy's welfare and adding that Anders was avidly pursuing her."
"But you didn't place Gresham—"
"I know that. Evidently, Gresham doesn't." Drake shoved his fingers through his hair. "When I think of how that man stood here not three days past, proclaiming that he'd only seen Sammy under the most casual of happenstance, never even flinching when I vowed I'd kill any man who touched her." Striving for control, Drake cupped Alex's face. "Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a day or two, princess?"
"I'm hardly alone, Drake. We have scores of servants, Molly is constantly by my side, Gray pops in and out all day, and Humphreys spends so much time in the nursery with Bonnie and me, he doesn't even bother to listen for arriving guests. Eventually, they give up knocking and go home." Alex caressed the taut lines of worry on Drake's face. "Go to Samantha."
As always, Alex was the only one capable of easing his anguish. "Thank you, princess."
"Just promise me one thing. Promise me you'll listen to Samantha. All you've heard thus far are rumors and speculation, all of which could be totally false. And even if Samantha has been receiving the viscount or the earl, give her a chance to explain before you explode."
Drake scowled. "I'll try."
"She's growing up, Drake," Alex added softly. "We must let her do so."
"I know. All right... I'll control myself." Thunderclouds darkened Drake's face. "Then I'll kill Gresham and Anders."
18
"Where the hell is Harris?"
Rem's mood was blacker than black. None of his men ever kept him waiting, and Harris had picked one hell of a time to begin.
"He should be here by now, Gresham." Nervously, Templar rose, wiping sweat from his face and scanning Annie's for a sign of his colleague.
"Yes, he should." Rem set his mug of ale down on the table with a loud thud. "And he'd better have one bloody good reason for being late."
"Rem, did you hear from Briggs?" Boyd asked quietly, attempting to calm Rem's unusually harassed state.
"Yes. The Admiralty found no record of any English ship by the name of the Atlantis; not currently sailing, not under commission to be built, not even recently retired. None."
"Another dead end." Boyd took a deep swallow of ale. "Then what was Anders talking about? What's 'Atlantis'?"
"Templar, who checked out Anders Shipping?" Rem demanded abruptly. "You or Harris?"
"I did." Templar shifted uneasily, then dropped back into his chair, rubbing his palms together. "Why? Did I miss something?"
"No. How did Anders behave while you were reading through his records?"
"Calm as death. Never even flinched."
"Interesting." Rem leaned forward, a coiled assailant ready to strike. "I want you to find something on that bastard. I don't care what it is, just find it."
