Samantha (Barrett 2)

"No." Shutters descended over his eyes. "That would be far easier from which to recover."

"Then..."

"Now is not the time, Samantha." He lifted the reins.

"Remington." Sammy stayed him with her hand. "It's never the time; not for us to talk, nor to be in each other's arms. You tell me I'm a dreamer. Perhaps I am. But, in truth, I think it is you who seeks to escape, not I."

For a long moment Rem was silent, motionless. Then he brought Sammy's fingers to his lips. "Perhaps you're right, imp. Perhaps you're right." With a snap of his wrist, they were on their way.

The opera had scarcely ended when a stout, purposeful messenger scurried down the aisle, halting beside Rem's seat.

"Lord Gresham?"

"Yes?"

"I have an urgent message for you, my lord."

"Thank you." Rem took the slip of paper, pressing several shillings into the grateful man's palm.

"Thank you, sir." He waited while Rem scanned the contents of the note. "Will there be any reply, my lord?"

"Hmm?" Rem looked up, his thoughts already far away. "No, no reply will be necessary."

"Very good, sir. And thank you again, sir. Good night." The messenger bowed and took his leave.

"Remington? What is it?" Sammy peered around to see what the note said.

Hastily, Rem crumpled the message and jammed it into his pocket. "I have to meet someone. Immediately."

"Oh. I see. Is anything amiss?"

"No, only a business matter. But a crucial one." He raised his voice a bit. "One that could result in my recovering a great deal of money."

Sammy looked startled. "Are you in need of funds?"

"Unfortunately... yes, at the moment I am." He frowned. "Samantha, would you be terribly upset if I arranged for someone else to see you home?"

"Disappointed, yes, but not upset—especially if it's a matter of such grave importance." Sammy scrutinized the room. "I see at least a dozen people I know, Remington. Any one of them can escort me home. Please don't be concerned."

A smile touched his lips. "I fear I'm destined to be perpetually concerned over your well-being, imp. I don't seem to be able to help it."

"That's because you're a—"

"I know. A hero." He touched the tip of her nose. "We'll argue that point another time. In the interim—"

"There's Aunt Gertie's dear friend, the Dowager Duchess of Arvel," Sammy interrupted. "I'll seek a ride with her."

"Fine. Let's go speak with her."

"You needn't—"

"Samantha, I'm not leaving until I know you're provided for."

''Very well."

The wistful note in her voice gave him pause. "I'm sorry our evening is ending like this, imp. I promise to make it up to you."

"When?"