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Every muscle in Rem's body went taut to breaking, rage exploding inside his skull in a violent surge. "What makes you think Samantha wishes to marry you?" he managed between clenched teeth.
Anders's eyes glittered brittlely. "I'm titled, eligible, and more than willing to give the lady anything she desires. I intend to ask the duke for her hand within the month." Triumphantly, Anders raised his glass in mock tribute to himself, and his future. "I've enjoyed successful business dealings with Drake Barrett for many years ... I see no reason why this one should be any less fruitful."
Rem had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. This smug blackguard was describing his precious, unsuspecting Samantha as a business acquisition. The same blackguard, however, was also providing him with just the opportunity he'd hoped for—and now seized. "I hear you just lost another brig."
Suspiciously, Anders's eyes narrowed. "Where did you hear that?"
"The news is hardly a secret."
A reluctant pause. "True," Anders conceded at last. "'Tis a heinous tragedy; a fine ship—constructed by Barrett Shipping, incidentally—a small crew, but valuable cargo."
"This is your third loss, is it not?"
"Unfortunately, yes ... why?"
Casually, Rem shrugged. "A moment ago you proclaimed your intentions to wed Samantha Barrett. I only wondered how you'll provide for her with a third of your fleet gone."
"Such gallantry! Why, Gresham, one would almost think you yourself had personal designs on Samantha."
Watching Anders's lips curve into a condescending smile, Rem knew at once his ruse had worked. The insipid viscount had just come to the erroneous conclusion th
at Rem's questions were rooted solely in jealousy—precisely the conclusion Rem had hoped he'd reach.
"I hate to disappoint you, Gresham, but I'm a very wealthy man. As to my fleet—I collected insurance money for the first two vessels. It will take some time, but I'll do the same for the third."
"Yes, but how will you continue to operate Anders Shipping? Insurance rates have soared due to the number of missing British ships. I shudder to think what this new loss will mean for you. Won't it cripple your business?"
"Far from it. My business is thriving."
"I see." From the Bow Street reports, Rem knew otherwise. Of course, Anders's lie was most likely an attempt to salvage his pride. Still... "How fortunate. I wonder how many of your merchants can make the same claim."
"Your concern is touching. But fear not. Even if the merchants become reluctant and my shipping trade decreases, my income will continue to flourish. I have many investments, all of which yield high profits. Anders Shipping is but one of them. When Samantha becomes my wife, she will assume the life of luxury both you and I agree she deserves. All her whims will be indulged"—Anders cocked a meaningful brow—"both in bed and out."
That did it. Though he understood he was being deliberately goaded, Rem knew if he didn't get out of here soon, he was going to tear Anders apart limb from limb.
"Stay the hell away from Samantha," he ground out, his menacing tone conveying the magnitude of his threat. Flinging open the door with such force it was nearly torn from its hinges, Rem stalked out, unable to bear being in the viscount's presence one second longer. "Don't make the mistake of ignoring my warning, Anders," he cautioned over his shoulder. "Or I vow, you'll answer to me."
He didn't wait for a reply.
"Good afternoon, Lord Gresham. We received your message. The duke is expecting you."
Humphreys, Allonshire's portly butler, acknowledged Rem with a slight bow. "I'll show you to his study."
"Thank you, Humphreys."
Rem had visited Allonshire on but several occasions, and never during the past few years. He'd forgotten how palatial an estate it was. Gilded ceilings and elaborate statues decorated the entranceway, and priceless paintings hung on the walls, stretching as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of rooms on just as many acres defined the Gothic manor, bespeaking both great wealth and great power. Indeed, Allonshire was as formidable as the man who owned it.
Soberly, Rem followed Humphreys through the marble corridor, contemplating his impending challenge: the interrogation of Drake Barrett. The task wouldn't be an easy one. Allonshire's astute, imposing master was not a pompous dolt like Anders. His strong-minded cunning wouldn't blind him to what Rem was about, nor deter him from the realization that Rem's questions were motivated by more than mere curiosity. With the secrecy of his mission at stake, Rem cautioned himself to tread carefully when broaching the subject of the missing ships.
And when broaching the subject of Samantha.
That reminder incited all Rem's protective instincts, and intensified his resolve threefold. His original vow to drown in Samantha's company for no more than four days was long since cast aside, obliterated in a tidal wave of desire so powerful it stripped reason away. And despite her brother's anticipated and justifiable rage, despite her innocence, her tender heart... despite the insanity of it all, Rem was going to have her.
"Your Grace ... Lord Gresham," Humphreys announced.
Drake Barrett turned from the window, leveling his probing gaze on Rem. "Hello, Gresham."
"It's been a long time." Rem extended his hand. "Nearly a year, if memory serves me correctly." Upon close inspection, Rem could see the family resemblance: the thick black hair, the startlingly green eyes, the chiseled, aristocratic features. But where Samantha was soft, delicate—from the velvety meadow-green of her eyes to the fine bones of her face and her slender shape—Drake's features were hard, arrogant, his eyes fiery emeralds, the lines of his face harsh, his shoulders broad, muscled from years at sea. A formidable opponent indeed.
