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"Why not? You've known her but a scant time longer and are already prepared to assume the role of her seducer." Cynthia bristled, too angry to remember her station as a servant. "Go back to Annie's, my lord. At least there you can be honest about your intentions. And no one will get hurt."
"While we're on the subject of Annie's, why are you no longer there?"
"I owe you no explanation."
"Or perhaps I should ask why you began working at Annie's in the first place?"
"My choices are my own. They concern no one but me."
"I beg to differ with you. As long as you're employed by Samantha, your choices concern me as well. And Cynthia ... I'm very adept at finding out what I want to know."
Cynthia began to tremble beneath Rem's implicit threat. "You're all alike, aren't you? Domination and conquest are all you care about. Well, do your worst, my lord—I have nothing more to lose. But Samantha does. And I'll be damned if I'll stand by and let you reduce her to the life of a whore." Gathering up her skirts, Cynthia turned away. "Good night, Lord Gresham . . . I'm sure Katrina will be more than happy to minister any lingering needs you might have."
Watching Cynthia's retreating back, Rem mulled over the altercation that had just occurred. He couldn't help but admire the woman's blatant and genuine loyalty for Samantha, nor could he ignore her obvious breeding and refinement. A whore? Doubtful. Boyd was right—there was more here than met the eye. Samantha's new maid was fast becoming an engrossing enigma of her own.
Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed two, reminding Rem he had an appointment to keep.
"Badewell?" he called to his driver, leaning out the carriage window. "Let's be off to Annie's."
A moment after Rem's carriage disappeared down Abingdon Street, the Barrett's front door clicked shut.
11
"I won't stop seeing him."
Sammy raised her chin defiantly, confronting Cynthia in the privacy of her own bedchamber.
"I know you care for him, Samantha. And you believe he cares for you. But—"
"He does care for me. Probably more than even he knows."
Cynthia sighed. This was turning out to be more difficult than she'd expected. "We haven't known each other very long, Samantha. There's really no reason why you should trust me—"
"I trust you implicitly," Sammy interrupted. "This has nothing to do with trust. It has to do with love." She took Cynthia's hands in hers. "I love him, Cynthia. I've loved him from the first moment I saw him."
"How can you love a man you hardly know?"
Sammy smiled. "But I do know him. Somehow I've always known him."
"In your dreams."
"In my heart." Sammy chewed her lip, trying desperately to make Cynthia understand. "Cynthia, I truly believe that for every woman, fate has created the right man. I know you think I'm a fanciful child . . . that, of course, is your right. But I've watched Alex and Drake, so I've seen what love is. I also remember Drake's life before Alex, so I've seen what loneliness is, as well. Please believe me, I'm not as much a' child as you assume I am. A romantic, perhaps, but not a child. And since that rainy night in Boydry's when I first laid eyes on Remington, I've never doubted that I was destined to belong to him, and he to me."
"You've been reading too many of your romantic novels." Cynthia gestured at the books scattered about the room.
"Oh, no, Cynthia. My books bring me hours of pleasure."
"But apparently they're also putting foolish ideas in your head. Ideas that transform your earl into a hero and you into his damsel in distress. That is a big mistake."
"You're wrong," Sammy denied fervently. "My books feed my romantic nature, but they aren't responsible for my feelings for Remington. You see, Cynthia, despite a mutual affinity for mysterious adventures and a high regard for happy endings, I have very little in common with my Gothic heroines. They are sensible and serene, prone to tears, and inclined to swoon at the drop of a hat. And while Lord knows I've tried, I cannot seem to be either sensible or serene. I detest crying in public and I absolutely never faint. Instead, I'm impetuous and passionate and far too forthright about what I think and feel to suit the tastes of a true Gothic heroine. And, although Remington is protective and strong, and come
s to my rescue whenever I need him, he's far too much of a rake and a womanizer to resemble a staid Gothic hero. But it matters not. He's my hero nonetheless. As I am his heroine."
Cynthia slapped her palm on the dressing table, utterly frustrated. "You thwart me at every turn, don't you? How can I open your eyes to the truth?" She hesitated, studying Sammy's unyielding stance. "I don't want to hurt you, Samantha."
"Hurt me?"
"Yes, by forcing you to see your earl for the duplicitous rogue that he is."
