"No, petite fleur, you're not obvious . . . only adorably forthright. I find your family devotion quite touching." He moved toward her. "Now, if I could only convince you to extend that devotion to me."
"Is there anything"—she held up a restraining hand— "other than that, I can do to help?"
He grinned. "You've already brightened my mood considerably with your visit. Despite your maidenly qualms, I shan't give up hope."
"I—I'd best be going." Sammy inched toward the door, wondering where to turn now. She'd gotten nowhere with Anders. And she dared not stay—not when he was looking at her like a hungry lion about to pounce on its dinner. "Well, good-bye, Stephen."
She nearly knocked Cynthia down in her haste to leave.
"Are you all right?" her maid demanded.
"Yes. Just as uninformed as I was prior to my visit, but fine."
"Good. Let's go home." Scarcely had Cynthia taken a step, when she came to a grinding halt.
Curiously, Sammy followed Cynthia's stare, spotting the sandy-haired, powerfully built man approaching them. He stopped, his eyes on Cynthia.
"Hello." He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure if you remember me. We met the other night at"—the slightest of pauses—"a coffeehouse."
The wall of Cynthia's self-protective reserve seemed to waver. "I remember. Boyd, isn't it?"
His entire face broke into a smile. "Yes, Cynthia. It's Boyd." Belatedly, he glanced at Samantha. "Oh, forgive me. We haven't met. I'm—"
"I know. Boyd." Sammy shot him an impish grin. "You're the tavern keeper at Boydry's, my sanctuary from this Season's first storm. You're also a friend of Remington's. I'm glad to meet you."
If Sammy didn't know better, she'd swear Boyd already knew who she was. She'd also swear he was fighting back laughter. But he'd have no way of knowing her, and a man as rugged as he wouldn't find a green girl like her amusing. "My name is Samantha Barrett," she offered.
"Rem speaks of you
often. I'm delighted to meet you."
"He does?" Sammy lit up like a ray of sunshine.
"He does." Boyd's chuckle was genuine. "He also mentioned that Cynthia had sought employment with your family."
"I'm sure Lord Gresham had a few other choice words to say about me," Cynthia interjected dryly. "None of them flattering."
"You're wrong."
"Not necessarily." Rem's voice cut through the morning air. With barely leashed fury, he stalked over, his anger a palpable entity that loomed closer with each step. "What the hell are you doing alone at the docks at this ungodly hour?" he demanded without preliminaries. His steely gaze was fixed on Samantha.
It was Cynthia who answered. "Samantha had an appointment. I accompanied her."
"An appointment." His eyes bore into Sammy's soul. "With Anders? Before noon? You didn't mention it a few hours ago when you were in my arms."
"Christ, Rem ..." Boyd's head snapped around at Rem's unprecedented display of jealousy.
Rem ignored his friend. In fact, he didn't even see Boyd, or Cynthia for that matter. All he saw was Samantha ... with that bloody bastard Anders.
"Stephen lost another ship, Rem. One of ours." Sammy's heart pounded wildly in her chest. Rem was jealous. Jealous, livid, and harshly possessive. She was ecstatic.
"Really? And did the two of you console each other?" Rem's tone was lethal.
"No, as a matter of fact, we had a business meeting."
"A business meeting." He repeated the words with the same utter contempt as if she'd just confessed to a heinous crime.
"Yes." Sammy was playing with fire and she knew it. Yet something propelled her forward, some innate knowledge of the man she loved. "A business meeting... much like the one Cynthia overheard you directing your coachman to a few hours ago, at Annie's."