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A twinkle. "All right." Boyd set down his mug. "Do you want me to back you up? In case things with Knollwood get nasty?"
"No. It's too risky. If he sees you, he'll bolt. We won't get another chance. I'll have to handle it on my own." Again, Rem averted his head, nagged by the persistent feeling he was being watched. But all he saw were revelers drinking and dancing. Nothing appeared amiss.
"How are you going to find out if Knollwood had a hand in the sinkings?" Boyd was asking.
Rem turned back to face his friend. "That depe
nds on the conversation he and I have. I'll take it as it comes."
"If he's armed—" Abruptly, Boyd halted.
Senses already heightened by suspicion, Rem jerked about at Boyd's unexpected lapse and odd expression. Following his friend's mesmerized gaze, Rem prepared to strike, a tiger stalking his prey.
"Hello, gentlemen." The surprising "prey" glided over, lingering beside their table. "Can I get you anything? Another round of drinks, perhaps?"
Rem started. A woman? Impossible. Boyd never reacted this dramatically to women, least of all one of Annie's girls. Catching another glimpse of Boyd's face, Rem hastily altered his opinion.
There was an instant of charged silence. At last Rem cleared his throat and replied, "Another round of drinks would be greatly appreciated." More silence. "Have we met?" he tried next, wondering if Boyd were ever going to snap out of his reverie.
"No, I don't believe so." Cynthia shook her head. "I've only been"—the barest of pauses—"working at Annie's for a week. My name is Cynthia."
"A pleasure, Cynthia." By this time Rem was having trouble containing his amusement. Cynthia was an extremely lovely, soft-spoken woman of perhaps two and twenty, who looked more like a gently bred lady than a courtesan. And Boyd, Rem's rugged, hard-edged friend, who liked his women sturdy and seasoned, was staring at her as if she were a priceless painting—one he would give anything to possess. "Permit me to return your introduction," Rem continued. "I'm Remington Worth and this is Boyd Hayword. You'll probably be seeing quite a bit of us. We're frequent guests at Annie's." To Rem's surprise, his final words elicited a flicker of anger in Cynthia's eyes, one that dissipated so swiftly that a less observant man would have missed it.
"Mr. Hayword. Mr. Worth ..." Cynthia stumbled over Rem's name. "Forgive me. Annie mentioned you were titled. How shall I address you?"
The distaste tinged her tone much as it had her eyes, subtly, yet definitively. Interesting.
"Titles have no place at Annie's," Rem assured her. "Feel free to use my given name."
"Very well." Cynthia inclined her head toward Boyd. "Does that apply to you as well, sir?"
At last Boyd found his tongue. "It most assuredly does, as I have no title to boast."
The genuine humility of Boyd's response struck home. "I see." Cynthia's expression softened. "Well then ... Boyd, can I offer you anything besides that drink?"
"Only the gin ... and perhaps your company." Boyd might have been requesting a maiden's first dance, so honorable was his tone.
A tinge of color rose to Cynthia's cheeks. "I'll see to the gin right away. The company we can discuss later."
"You'd best toss down that drink in a hurry," Rem commented when Cynthia was out of earshot. "You need it."
"What?" Boyd was still gaping.
"She won't disappear, Boyd. She'll be back."
This time Rem's sarcasm penetrated Boyd's fog. "Lord, she's beautiful," he muttered. "Too beautiful to be—" He broke off.
"I agree. She also appears somewhat taken with you."
"I wonder what the hell she's doing here?" Boyd scowled. "Surely such a woman could seek another means of employment."
"You really are smitten, aren't you?" Rem asked in surprise. "I've never seen you like this."
Boyd regarded Rem with probing intensity. "Really? Well, I've seen you precisely like this—every time we speak of Samantha Barrett. The difference, my friend, is that I'm honest enough to admit there's a void in my life ... which is more than I can say for you." Boyd gripped the table. "I'm searching, Rem. As I've said in the past, I need more than the satisfaction of knowing I've dedicated my life to England. I need to care for someone, and for that someone to care for me. I need to leave my personal mark on this world ... to have a family, a foundation."
"All of this with a winsome courtesan you've just laid eyes on for the first time?"
"No. All of this with a woman I can love."
