"Since last Season to be exact," Drake agreed, shaking Rem's hand. "The final ball at Almack's." He indicated a large, tufted chair. "Have a seat and we'll get to the purpose of your visit. What can I offer you?"
Noting the nearly empty glass of brandy on Drake's sideboard, Rem replied, "Brandy would be fine."
"I'll see to the earl, Humphreys," Drake informed his butler. "That'll be all for now."
"Very good, Your Grace." Humphreys turned to go.
"Oh ... Humphreys?" Drake looked up, ran an agitated hand through his hair. "You'll call me if I'm needed?"
"Of course."
Rem watched the exchange with interest, taking in Drake's unsettled state and unsteady hand. Evidently, something was troubling the duke.
"You seem distressed," Rem commented, leaning back in his chair. "Is it the ship that just went down?"
"Hmm? Oh, the ship." Drake handed Rem his drink and began to pace restlessly about the room. "Of course I'm deeply concerned by the loss. I've arranged a thorough investigation to determine its cause." He tossed down the remaining contents of his own glass. "As for my agitation, you'll have to forgive me. I am a bit out of sorts. My wife is in the process of gifting me with our second child." He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if seeing through to their second story bedchamber. "I'd almost forgotten how unbearable it is to see her in pain," he added softly.
Rem started to rise. "Forgive me. This is obviously not the time to discuss business. I'll come back after—"
"No." Drake gestured for Rem to remain. "A diversion would be welcome, I assure you. Besides, I've been asked"—a corner of Drake's mouth lifted—"actually, ordered to leave Alex's room."
"By a midwife?"
"No, by Alexandria herself. Evidently she feels I'm more hindrance than help." Drake grinned. "My duchess is a tyrant, Gresham. The idea that I rule her is questionable at best. And, as if that notion alone weren't humbling, she's managed to pass her winsome brand of defiance on to my son. At two years of age, Gray is a little devil who upends the whole household, then flashes me one of Alex's angelic smiles and I relent." Drake shook his head, his expression baffled and tender all at once. "For a man who's used to intimidating all he meets, it's unnerving as hell."
Rem was stunned by two distinct and simultaneous realizations: one, he completely understood the emotions Drake was describing, and two, the tightness constricting his chest was not disdain, but envy. "Unnerving as hell," he murmured in agreement.
"Pardon me?"
Coughing discreetly, Rem forced himself back to coherence. "It's difficult for me to envision Alexandria as a tyrant. From what I've seen, she's a beautiful, charming woman."
"True. She's also an opinionated, outspoken hellion who has turned my life upside down since the day she burst into it three years past. And I wouldn't trade a moment of our time together for all the riches in the world." Selfconsciously, Drake rolled his empty glass between his palms, dispelling the conversation's sentimental tenor. "In any case, it will do me good to concentrate on business for a while—which I assume is the reason you're here. You certainly didn't come all the way to Allonshire to hear me ramble on about my family." Drake perched at the edge of his desk. "What's on your mind?"
In truth, what was on Rem's mind at that moment was Samantha's description of her brother's marriage. Love, she'd said. Well, perhaps she was right. Certainly Rem had never witnessed such tenderness from Drake Barrett, never even suspected he was capable of it.
"Do you intend to tell me why you wished to see me?" Drake prodded.
"Of course." Sipping his brandy, Rem berated himself for his lack of concentration. This was not the time to lose control. "I'm considering making an investment. I wanted your opinion on it."
"My
opinion?" Drake's brows rose. "Why?" "Because it involves purchasing a ship. Or rather, commissioning one to be built."
"You're going back to sea?"
"Not in any official capacit
y, no. I'm looking for a merchant brig, not a warship."
"I see." Drake set down his glass. "What kind of vessel did you have in mind?"
"One large enough to transport extensive amounts of cargo, yet fast enough to reach her destinations more swiftly than all her competitors."
"Is that all?" Drake looked vastly amused. "Just a five-hundred-ton runner laden with three decks of cargo that can traverse the seas in the blink of an eye."
"Exactly." Rem leaned forward. "And one other thing. She has to be immune to the disastrous fate so many English ships have suffered these past months."
Instantly, Drake's smile vanished. "Guarantees such as that I cannot offer." "How do we ensure that you can?"