Samantha (Barrett 2)

"Yes ... and no." Sammy wet her lips. "I hate the thought of you and ... her together. But I also adore being in your arms."

There was that dimple again. "How do I combat such enchanting honesty?"

"She's married, Remington."

The dimple vanished. "Samantha ... there are some things you don't understand. . . ."

"Oh, I understand better than you think," Sammy returned, holding Rem's gaze. "My mother was as faithless as your Clarissa. From what I eventually learned from Drake, she enjoyed countless lovers—and my poor father never discovered her duplicity. And Drake, well, married women have pursued him since as far back as I can recall. Many still do, despite the fact that no one exists for him but Alex." Sammy gripped Rem's arms. "A dishonest liaison is beneath you, Remington."

Some intangible emotion crossed his face. "Hell, imp, you don't even know me," he muttered, a muscle working in his jaw. "I'm not the fictional hero you imagine me to be."

"Yes," Sammy breathed, "you are. If you weren't, you'd be with her right now. Instead, you're with me." She brought his fingers to her lips.

A muffled oath rumbled from Rem's chest. Involuntarily, he tugged Sammy against him, ravaging her mouth in another series of deep, probing kisses. He shifted restlessly, taut with some imperceptible need—a struggle between mind and heart.

"I don't want you to stop," Sammy whispered.

"And God help me, I don't want to stop," he returned in a strangled tone.

"Samantha? Where are you, dear?"

Sammy's fingers dug into Rem's coat. "Aunt Gertie."

"It's all right." Instantly taking control, Rem murmured soothing words as he quickly rearranged Sammy's disheveled tresses. "Go. I'll stand behind the door until you and your aunt are no longer in the hallway. She'll assume you were alone."

"Again?" Sammy couldn't help but smile.

"The alternative is to tell her you were in my arms. And, given that she is almost entirely deaf, you'd have to shout the truth throughout Almack's." Rem grinned. "Is that preferable?"

"Good night, my lord." Sammy scurried for the door.

He chuckled. "Good night, imp."

One hand on the latch, Sammy hesitated, inclining her head in Rem's direction.

"Tomorrow, my transparent d

reamer," he promised, "I'll take you and your skittish maid for a ride in Hyde Park. How would that be?"

"Perfect." Sammy's eyes glowed. "Well... almost perfect. Perfect is what just happened here."

She was treated to a fleeting glimpse of that incomparable dimple before closing the door behind her.

"Here I am, Aunt Gertie." Sammy tried, in vain, to keep her exultation from showing. "Are you ready to go home?"

"There you are, Samantha! I'm ready to go home," Gertrude declared brightly. "By the way, the Viscount Anders has been insistently searching for you. You seem to have made quite an impression."

"I'll locate him and say good night." This time Sammy pronounced her intentions loudly.

"Fine, dear. I'll wait here."

Sammy didn't have far to go.

Just outside the ballroom, his back to her, was the Viscount Anders. He was deep in troubled conversation with Lord Keefe, the prominent banker who managed the majority of the ton's funds, including her family's.

"It wasn't just his ship, Anders," Keefe was saying. "Nor even the cargo, although evidently Goddfrey lost a fortune in goods. The heinous part is the loss of his crew—quite a substantial one, from what I hear—and his finest captain."

"A tragedy," Anders agreed somberly. "I myself have lost two ships in much the same manner. Something must be done."