Samantha (Barrett 2)

Her first thought was that her throat was on fire.

Coughing violently, Sammy sagged against the sideboard, struggling to suck in a breath. Vaguely, she was aware that Remington was at her side, removing the drink from her hand and pressing a glass of water to her lips.

She gulped it gratefully.

"Are you all right?" he demanded, hooking his forefinger beneath her chin.

Mutely, she nodded.

"Imp, brandy is meant to be sipped, not guzzled." Rem caressed her flushed cheek with his thumb. "Perhaps tea would be more appropriate—just this once?"

"Perhaps what Lady Samantha needs is rest rather than food," Smitty suggested pointedly from the doorway.

What Lady Samantha needs,

she thought, utterly mortified, is for the floor to swallow her whole. Valiantly, she fought the tears of embarrassment that burned more painfully than her throat. "I have a better alternative, if you'll allow me, Smithers," Rem returned. His tone was gentle, his expression unreadable. "Lady Samantha mentioned that she wished to select some new reading material at Hatchard's today. As it happens, I'm heading to Piccadilly myself. Since Samantha's aunt is obviously unable to accompany her at this time, perhaps I can serve as a substitute . . . with a proper chaperon, of course."

"That would be wonderful; I'd love to go," Sammy answered before Smitty could utter a word.

"Good." Rem inclined his head in Smitty's direction. "Would that be acceptable, Smithers?"

Smitty was in the process of shaking his hea

d when he caught the pleading look in Sammy's eyes—his perpetual undoing. "Well, I suppose . . ." he faltered.

"Oh, thank you, Smitty!" Forgetting her earlier resolution to act demurely, Sammy flew across the room and hugged the valet. "I'll alert Millie at once and we can be off!"

Rem watched her rapid departure with a rich chuckle, until he caught the disapproval on Smitty's face.

"Smithers," he began tactfully, "I'm aware of your concern, and I respect it—though, I assure you, it is entirely unnecessary. Despite my reputation, I'm not in the habit of seducing innocents. Especially well-bred innocents who are barely out of the schoolroom. So, stop worrying. My intentions toward your charge are completely honorable. I shall bring her home happy, submerged in new reading material and thoroughly intact."

"Thank you for your assurances, my lord." Smitty sounded as encouraged as a fly who'd just been told to make himself at home in a spider's web—by the spider himself.

Moments later, studying Samantha's shining head in the Piccadilly-bound carriage, Rem wondered at his own curious reaction to the lovely, hopelessly romantic young woman beside him. It wasn't her artless infatuation that touched him, for he was wise enough to know how swiftly those tenuous feelings would fade once she was introduced to an army of adoring men. No, it was a deeper quality—an unconditional, untainted faith she seemed to possess. Still, she thought him a hero; a moral, gallant gentleman. He was anything but.

It was time to quickly dispel her misguided notion. "Samantha . . ." he began quietly, hoping the rattle of the carriage would keep Millie from overhearing.

"Yes?" Sammy turned, tilting her chin back to gaze up at him.

Her eyes were as green as rare chips of jade; subtle, yet compelling, and so wrenchingly vulnerable. Maybe there was still a bit of the hero in him after all. "I suggest you avoid drinking brandy," he said solemnly. "It doesn't appear to agree with you."

"I've never tasted it before today. What I did was stupid. I apologize."

With uncustomary tenderness, Rem tucked a lock of ebony hair behind Sammy's ear. "It wasn't stupid and there's no need to apologize. Imp, are you always so very honest?" At her questioning look, he continued, "Sweetheart, let me give you some advice. You're about to embark on your first Season. Dozens of men will be attempting to win your hand ... and anything else they can acquire in the process. I would suggest you temper your sincerity just a bit."

"Why?"

He started. "Why? Because if you bare your heart before the entire ton, you'll have no protection from the unscrupulous blackguards of the world."

"As I said yesterday, you'll protect me." Sammy lay her hand on his. "So I feel quite safe."

She turned to gaze out the window.

Strangely moved, Rem stared down at the small hand covering his. Her faith was staggering; as astounding as it was misplaced. What the hell was he going to do with her?

"Oh look, Remington! There's Hatchard's!" Sammy was out of the carriage almost before it stopped, leaving a bewildered footman staring after her.

Rem helped Millie alight with a sympathetic chuckle. The poor lady's maid looked positively stricken, as if she had no idea what to do next. Not that Rem could blame her. Acting as Samantha's chaperon was a bit like standing in the path of an oncoming tidal wave.