Samantha (Barrett 2)

a with you while standing in a brothel. So which is it?"

"I'll get my coat."

"Do you want another drink?"

"Thanks, no ... I've had my fill." Boyd folded his arms behind his head and settled himself on a straight-backed chair in Rem's study.

Rem poured himself a brandy.

"Evidently, you haven't," Boyd noted dryly.

"Haven't what?"

"Had your fill. Is the brandy for pleasure or courage?"

"I'm not enjoying your barbs tonight, Boyd." Perching on the edge of his desk, Rem raised the glass to his lips. A sudden image flashed through his mind, of Samantha's mortified face when she'd downed half a goblet of brandy in two gulps. Her charming, transparent attempt at sophistication had blown up in her beautiful, disappointed face.

He'd actually felt her unwarranted shame, and his response had been instant and fierce—he had to restore her smile and resurrect her spirit. Hatchard's had been the ideal solution; seeing her lost in her joyous world of books had given him more satisfaction than—

"Rem?"

Boyd's questioning voice yanked Rem from his musings. "What?"

"Where are you tonight? You're staring at that brandy as I if there were somebody in it."

"Sorry." Rem sipped his drink, then placed it on his desk. "Templar and Harris will do quite well, don't you think?"

"You know they will. We're not here to talk about Templar and Harris. In fact, we're not here to discuss business at ail. We're here to talk about Samantha Barrett."

"I beg to disagree with you, Boyd. Samantha Barrett is business."

Boyd frowned. "You've lost me."

Rem extracted his copy of Briggs's list. "Did you read the names of the shipping companies on this list?"

"Of course."

"Did you notice that one of them was Barrett Shipping?"

"You knew Samantha was Drake Barrett's sister. What's the great revelation?"

"When I was scanning the Times at Hatchard's this afternoon, Samantha noticed—"

"You took Samantha to Hatchard's?" Boyd's shaggy brows shot up. "I thought you only returned her carriage?"

"I did. Then I offered to escort her to Hatchard's so that she might purchase some books. It was hardly a romantic liaison."

"I see."

Clearing his throat, Rem ignored the pointed disbelief in Boyd's tone. "As I was saying, Samantha noted that I was reading an article concerning the missing British ships. We chatted about the situation. I discovered that she is highly knowledgeable . . . much more so than I expected."

"Rem . . ." Boyd leaned forward. "You're telling me that the girl you keep referring to as 'a child' knows something about who's guilty of—"

"No. Rather, if she does know something, she isn't consciously aware of that fact. But she's obviously privy to detailed conversations between her brother and his colleagues ... conversations that could prove highly useful to us." Rem gripped his knees. "Boyd, if I spend time in her company, encourage her to talk, it's possible she could provide me with motives or information that would otherwise take me weeks to learn."

"And if she suspects what you're doing?"

A small smile touched Rem's lips. "Samantha is the most guileless, trusting young woman I've ever met. It would never occur to her to suspect anything other than genuine friendship."