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His husky voice shattered her reserve, her nerves, and her heart, simultaneously. Pulses racing, she turned to face him, "Good evening, my lord."
Penetrating gray eyes roamed leisurely over her face and figure, blatantly appraising every inch of her from the pearl-woven crown of her tresses to the full skirt of her deep green satin gown. When Rem's eyes again met hers, Sammy flushed at the flagrant admiration he made no attempt to hide.
"You look breathtaking, Lady Samantha," he murmured, kissing her gloved hand. "Almack's should be honored to have you join its coveted ranks."
"You're mocking me."
"Never." He shook his head, thus catching sight of the elderly woman who stood beside Samantha. "You must be Lady Gertrude—'tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your great-niece has spoken highly of you." With an engaging smile, Rem bowed.
"Aunt Gertie, this is the Earl of Gresham," Sammy explained. "He's the kind gentleman I spoke of... do you rec
all? The one who rescued Smitty and me from the storm and made arrangements for my carriage."
Gertrude blanched. "Really, Samantha, that's preposterous! Despite your youth, you must realize that it's not up to a gentleman—kind or not—to arrange a lady's marriage. That's what your brother has entrusted me to do!"
Sammy felt her cheeks flame.
"The duke has chosen wisely, Lady Gertrude," Rem answered smoothly, his smile never wavering. "For I'm certain he could not have entrusted his sister to a more discerning guardian."
"Why ... no, he couldn't have; thank you, Lord Gresham," Gertie stood a tad taller, preening her thin wisps of white hair.
The musicians struck up a waltz.
"May I have your permission to dance with Lady Samantha?" Rem requested, the essence of proper decorum.
"Of course, Lord Gresham." Gertie tucked Sammy's hand through Rem's arm. "I only wish every gentleman were as well-bred as you."
Her hopes shattering along with her pride, Sammy lowered her lashes, accompanying Rem to the dance floor in distraught silence. For the first time, he'd actually been viewing her as she willed him to—not as an amusing child, but as a woman. Now Aunt Gertie had ruined everything with her appalling announcement. Not only did it make her sound like a mindless dolt who relied upon others to unearth her proper mate, but it made her feel like a piece of sought-after chattel. She wanted to die. "You can look at me, you know," Rem murmured as he led her into a waltz.
"No ... I can't." Sammy stared at the buttons of his waistcoat.
"Why not?"
"I'm certain you know the answer to that, my lord. You were present during that disaster of an exchange."
Rem chuckled. "Hardly a disaster, imp. You yourself told me your aunt was deaf; consequently, I was prepared." He paused, tightening his grip around Sammy's fingers. "What I wasn't prepared for was you."
Embarrassment cast aside, Sammy's chin came up, her eyes meeting his. "I?"
"Ah ... you can raise your head above my waistcoat. Tell me, am I really so dreadful to look at?"
Her lips curved. "You know you're sinfully handsome, my lord."
"And you're exquisitely beautiful, my lady."
Which scorched her more deeply? Samantha wondered, pleasure shooting through her in lightning streaks. Was it the heat of his gaze, his words, or his touch, which burned right through her glove? The combination was lethal.
Hope was reborn.
"Are you warm?"
"Hmmm?"
Rem's thumb brushed her cheek. "You're flushed. I was wondering if you were warm."
"I don't know."
He smiled. "Would you like some punch?"
