Samantha (Barrett 2)

"Aren't you overreacting a bit, Rem? Is it so terrible to be reminded you're not just a machine? That you do have feelings?"

"Since when does passion require feelings?"

"We're not talking solely about passion, and you know it. You've had an army of women over the years. Not one of them has affected you this way."

"Then perhaps I should continue in that vein."

Boyd made a wide sweep with his hand. "Go ahead. You can have virtually any woman you want. What's stopping you?"

"Shut up, Boyd."

"No, I don't think another woman would be your solution," Boyd continued, unbothered by Rem's warning scowl. "Not any longer. I think it's this particular woman you want. . . and I think you want her in more than just your bed."

"This conversation is pointless." Brusquely, Rem cut Boyd off, his expression fierce. "Whether or not I want Samantha Barrett—in bed or out—is irrelevant. It's not going to happen. She has her fanciful dreams, and I have a job to do."

"But what if—"

"Enough, Boyd! I mean it." Rem rubbed his temples. "Did the Bow Street Magistrate come through?"

"I just left Harris. The magistrate will have the order prepared by morning. Harris and Templar will begin visiting the shipping companies on their lists tomorrow."

"Fine. Unless something happens sooner, let's meet with them on Monday night at Annie's."

Boyd nodded. "I stopped by the docks. No news yet. But it's still early."

Early. The word clicked in Rem's head, bringing to mind the data he'd acquired from one of his informants just prior to last night's ball. He should have taken care of it first thing this morning, but he'd been so bloody preoccupied with thoughts of Samantha. "What time is it?" he demanded.

"A little after ten. Why?"

"I've got to change clothes. I'm off to see Goddfrey; I want to surprise him by noon."

"Goddfrey ... I thought he fled after that last ship of his went down?"

"He did. I've tracked him down in Bedfordshire. I have some questions for him before he bolts for parts unknown."

"Such as?"

"Evidently, Goddfrey's business reverses are severe, and have been steadily worsening for some time. Coincidentally, more than a few of his ships have been among those lost—enough to collect a substantial amount in insurance." "A possible motive," Boyd commented, "Indeed. And his sudden attack of conscience makes me want to chat with him before he vanishes into thin air." "Understood. But why by noon?" "Because I need to be back in London by late afternoon," Rem replied offhandedly. "I'm taking Samantha for a ride in Hyde Park at five."

"I see."

"Wipe that smug look off your face, Boyd. I arranged the outing to discover exactly what Samantha knows about Barrett Shipping."

"I don't doubt it." Boyd came to his feet. "I'm certain you can unearth numerous truths from Lady Samantha—and possibly from yourself in the process." He grinned, placing his empty cup on the desk. "You know, Rem, it is a bit chilly during the fashionable hour. Might I suggest you abandon your phaeton in favor of your coach? It affords a good deal more warmth … and privacy."

"You're treading dangerously, Boyd, very dangerously."

Unconcerned, Boyd chuckled. "You'll have to fill me in later; on Goddfrey ... and on your fruitful outing in the park."

"Oh! I beg your pardon."

The Viscount Goddfrey recovered his balance in the inn entranceway, glancing up quickly to see if the person with whom he'd just collided was unhurt. "Gresham?" He paled.

"Goddfrey, whatever are you doing here?" Rem smoothed his coat, his brows lifting in apparent surprise.

"I'm ... that is ..." Goddfrey swallowed audibly. "I'm meeting someone."

"As am I. Quite a coincidence." Impatiently, Rem glared up and down the quiet street. "However, my colleague is late." He frowned. "And yours?"