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"Oh, Rem, wouldn't that be wonderful? Cynthia so badly needs a man she can trust. After what happened ..."
Rem studied Sammy with quiet insight. "Cynthia's endured great pain at a man's hands, hasn't she?"
That much, at least, Sammy could disclose. She nodded. "Have you and Boyd been friends for long?"
"Over a decade. We served in the navy together."
"I see." Sammy did see. If Boyd had been by Rem's side alt these years, then he would understand Rem's staunch need for autonomy... and his vehement resistance to allowing anyone into his heart.
Storing that information away for later, Sammy merely said, "Boyd seems like a fine man."
"He is. The finest."
Nearby, one dock worker called out to another, readying a heavy crate to be hoisted aboard a ship.
"I'd best take my leave." Sammy dropped her arms to her sides in an action that was charmingly reluctant. "Will I see you later today?"
Later today.
Rem's stomach clenched. Later today he'd be meeting with Samantha's strong-willed brother; the brother who would call him out in a minute and shoot him dead if he knew what Rem intended for Samantha.
But Rem's will was equally strong. No one was going to stop him. Not from fulfilling his mission.
Nor from taking Samantha Barrett to bed.
"Yes, imp, you'll see me later. You have my word."
12
"Who is it?"
"It's Gresham. We need to talk."
Yanking open his office door, Anders eyed Rem with undisguised hostility. "Really? What about?"
Rem scrutinized the viscount's disheveled appearance, making no attempt to hide his own dislike. "Samantha."
"Samantha?" Anders's jaw tightened. "In that case we have nothing to discuss."
"You're wrong." Rem caught the door a split second before it slammed in his face. Thrusting it open, he stepped brazenly into Anders's office. "Now, we can either have this disagreeable conversation in private, or in full view of your workers. The choice is yours."
A charged moment ticked by, then Anders moved stiffly aside. "Suit yourself." He walked over to the sideboard and poured himself another drink. "You'll forgive me if I don't offer you one."
"This isn't a social call." With a swift, nearly imperceptible shift of his head, Rem scanned the office, affirmed that it was empty save the two of them. Then, kicking the door shut, he got right to the point. "Your behavior at Carlton House was reprehensible."
"My
behavior? I wasn't the one who made a scene." "I wasn't the one who prompted it."
With a mirthless laugh, Anders tossed off his drink. "You're questioning my morals? You, who have none of your own?"
"We're discussing your morals only as they pertain to Samantha. Otherwise, quite frankly, I don't give a damn who you bed."
" 'Tis your mind in the gutter, Gresham, not mine ... an amusing fact, considering that yours are the contemptible actions here. After all, it wasn't I who whisked Samantha away—not once, but twice—at an Almack's ball. Nor was it I who returned her, breathless and out of sorts each time." Anders refilled his glass. "No, Gresham, if anything, I intend to maintain Lady Samantha's respectability ... and her innocence. Which is more than I can say for you."
Blood began to pound through Rem's temples. Resolutely, he steeled himself, curbing his possessive fury with great effort. He had to stay calm. There was too much at stake. "Are you trying to tell me you're not plotting ways to get Samantha into your bed?"
"No, I'm not telling you that at all. I can hardly wait to make Samantha mine. However, I intend to place a wedding ring on her finger first."
