Samantha (Barrett 2)

"The man. He told me Papa was Aunt Sammy's hero. He told me to wish for a sister so I could be a hero, too."

"I see." Drake grew thoughtful. "When did you see this gentleman?"

"In the garden. Just now."

"Rem ... Remington Worth?" Alex questioned Drake. "Is that who your business meeting was with?"

Drake nodded. "He commissioned Barrett Shipping to build his brig."

"I didn't know he had a fleet."

"He doesn't. This will be his first ship ... an odd time to be taking such a risk, considering the unsettled status of British waters. I fully intended to delve a bit further into the reasons behind his unexpected purchase. However, given the circumstances, I hadn't the chance. I bolted the moment Humphreys broke in to tell me . . ." Drake's voice trailed off.

Alex understood at once. "Lord Gresham was with you," she finished quietly. "Gray . . ." Hooking a forefinger beneath her son's chin, she asked, "Did you mention to the gentleman—Rem—that you wanted a brother?"

"Yes, but he was right. I don't want one now. I want Bonnie."

"I know, darling. And you have Bonnie. We all do." Alex inclined her head in Drake's direction. "What a sensitive thing for the earl to do."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it? I'll have to remember to thank him. I think."

"You think?"

"I'm not sure why, princess, but I have a nagging feeling that my association with Gresham is going to be a turbulent one. Oh, he's charming as hell. Intelligent, too. Still. . ." Drake shook his head, bemused. "Underneath all that inherent charm, I sense a core of calculated planning and rigid discipline; almost as if I were the fly and he the spider preparing to snare me in his web."

"He sounds a great deal like you," Alex commented dryly.

"True." Drake didn't smile. "But there's one difference."

"Which is?"

"I know my motives. I have yet to figure out his."

13

Rem never considered going home. Totally off balance, his emotions raw and unsettled, he ordered his driver to take him directly to Abingdon Street. To Abingdon Street... and Samantha.

"Good day," he greeted the Town house butler. "Please tell Lady Samantha the Earl of Gresham is here to see her."

Hatterly didn't budge. "Is she expecting you, my lord?"

"Actually, no. I've come directly from a business meeting and had no opportunity to alert her to my imminent arrival. But I'm certain she'll receive me."

Hesitating an instant longer, the butler shrugged. "Follow me, my lord."

As they approached the sitting room, Rem heard the sound of melodic laughter. Samantha's laughter. Like a haven from the storm, it beckoned him, offering him the solace he craved, the cause and the cure for his inner turmoil.

The butler had not yet completed his formal announcement of Rem's arrival when Rem strode into the room, nearly tripping over the carved armchair that held Cynthia and her needlepoint.

"What the ... ?" Rem's glance slid from Cynthia's startled face to the room's large settee, which currently held Samantha and Viscount Anders ... several feet apart, but beside each other nonetheless.

"Remington!" Sammy's eyes lit up as she rose to greet him. "I didn't expect you."

"Evidently not." Rem's fists clenched at his sides and he counted slowly to ten, simultaneously planning the viscount's sudden, violent demise. "If you recall, I did say I'd be here late this afternoon."

"You said you'd see me later today," she corrected, glancing uneasily from Rem to Stephen. "You never mentioned what time, nor that you intended to visit me at home." Attempting to defuse the tension permeating the room, she smoothed the folds of her gown and walked toward Rem. "But I'm delighted to see you. May I offer you some refreshment?"

"Why is the viscount here?"