Samantha (Barrett 2)

Gertrude sighed. "I seem to be becoming terribly absent-minded these days."

"Fatigue, I'm certain." Sammy cast a please-be-tolerant glance in Smitty's direction. "I hope your visit here with us this Season won't tire you out."

"Oh, definitely not! I'm savoring the thought of introducing you to London society. Let me have a look at you." Gertrude stepped back, scrutinizing Sammy with a satisfied lift of her creased lips. "Why, you've become a true beauty, Samantha! Drake never mentioned that in his letter!"

"I was quite gawky and shapeless until this past year. Drake probably hasn't noticed the change, and continues to view me as his homely little sister."

"Impossible!" Gertrude smoothed Sammy's damp ebony tresses from her face, smiling into eyes the color of a velvet-green meadow. "Why, the gentlemen at Almack's will be tripping each other in order to be the first to claim a dance with you."

A mischievous smile touched Sammy's lips. "Then I'll be in luck. If all the gentlemen are sprawled in an undignified heap, they can never discover how graceless a dancer I am."

"You don't care for dancing?"

"Oh, I adore dancing ... but it doesn't return my affection. My last instructor told me that my movements much resemble those of a newborn colt."

Gertrude gasped. "A boring dolt? Why, the audacity of that scoundrel. I assume your brother discharged him at once!"

From behind Sammy, Smitty gave a discreet cough, which sounded suspiciously like a stifled chuckle. "Pardon me, my lady," he offered in as loud a voice as he could muster. "But I do believe Lady Samantha will catch a chill if she remains in her wet gown … ?"

"But of course!" Gertrude snapped to action at once. "I'll send for Millie—she'll be attending you during the Season, my dear. I brought her with me from Hampshire—a delightful young girl. The two of you will get on famously. I'll advise the footmen—wherever they are—to bring a tub of hot water to your room. Oh, your room." She looked about in bewilderment, then turned befuddled eyes to the second floor landing. "Do you remember where it is?"

"Yes, Aunt Gertrude; I remember. I spent last Season here with Alex and Drake."

"Did you? Then why on earth didn't your brother bring you out?"

"Drake thought seventeen was too young." Sammy jumped quickly to her revered brother's defense, despite the numerous arguments they'd had on this very subject. "Since Father's death, Drake has taken on a rather paternal role with me ... and, well, he tends to be a bit protective. But only because he loves me."

"I see."

Sammy wasn't certain whether Gertrude saw or not, because her vapid look clearly indicated that her aunt hadn't heard a word of her explanation.

"I'll go to my chambers and await my bath," Samantha said.

"Since you know which room is yours, why don't you go up and await your bath?" Gertrude replied brightly.

"Good idea." Ducking her head so Gertrude wouldn't see her uncontainable grin, Sammy hastened up the stairway.

The room was as she remembered it; a deep rose with white frilly bedding and rich mahogany furniture. And the bath, which arrived shortly, did indeed feel wonderful.

"Ah, Rascal, this is going to be a splendid Season," Sammy informed the white ball of fur, who was now curled lazily before the roaring fire, absorbed in the process of drying himself.

Smiling, Sammy sank into the tub, closing her eyes and leaning back against the smooth copper surface. "And I am looking forward to all the balls and parties and excitement. But I can't help feeling a bit guilty about allowing Aunt Gertie to go to such trouble. After all, she's quite old, deaf, and a bit feebleminded. Acting the part of my chaperon is bound to be an enormous drain on her. And it's really quite unnecessary, given the circumstances. After all, my future is already decided for me."

Dreamily, Sammy wrapped her arms around herself, ripples of water lapping up about her slender shoulders. "The Earl of Gresham," she whispered reverently. "Remington Worth. It's a glorious name, don't you think Rascal?" She didn't wait for a reply. "Did you see his eyes—that incredible piercing gray? Did you feel his power—that authoritative strength he emanates?" She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "He'll be here tomorrow, Rascal. Here. I wonder if he'll ask to call again the next day. No. He's too polished, too experienced to act in so boorish a manner. He'll most likely wait several days ... then ask permission to call. Perhaps he'll be my first partner at my first ball. Perhaps he'll be my only partner at my first ball! Is that permitted? Or must he alternate with other gentlemen? Oh, how I wish Alexandria were here! Aunt Gertrude is hardly the one to consult on romantic matters . . . my books promise to be more informative than she." The bright gleam of anticipation burned within Sammy's eyes once again. "Ah, well. I suppose I'll have to discover all there is to know about love on my own." She grinned impishly. "Well. . . not entirely on my own. I'll have the finest of instructors.

Remington."

3

The sun had not shown itself, and a lingering fog hung over the muddy banks of the Thames, nearly concealing London Dock from view. The burly man hoisted his pants higher about his waist, shifting from one foot to the other and rubbing the back of his neck impatiently.

"The River Run won't sail by here for ... I'd say twenty minutes. You must be losing your touch, Johnson." The startled man whirled about, paling beneath his dirt-smeared face, his terrified eyes searching the murky bank for his detector.

A small orange glow caught his gaze, the burning cheroot a mere ten feet from where he stood. How could he not have heard its holder approach?

There was only one man deft enough to catch him so totally off guard.

"Gresham?" The question was a hopeful croak.