Samantha (Barrett 2)

"Thank you." Sammy gave her guardian a quick, hard hug.

"All right," Smitty conceded. Roughly, he cleared his throat. "The duke would have my head."

"Perhaps." Sammy dimpled. "But I much prefer your heart, anyway."

Rem was still reeling as their carriage sprinted off into the foggy London night. "Well, imp, even Smithers is captivated by your charm." He drew Sammy against him, tenderly pressing her head to his shoulder. "I can't blame him. You're fatal, you know."

"Am I?" Sammy snuggled closer, inhaling Rem's heady masculine scent. "I hope so." A nagging thought plagued her, marring the perfection of the moment. "I've never lied to Smitty before."

"You didn't lie to him now." Rem nuzzled her hair. "You said I'd keep you safe ... and I will."

"I also said we'd be attending dozens of extravagant London balls," she reminded him.

"And so we shall."

Sammy sat bolt upright. "What? But I thought—"

Rem smoothed his knuckles over her flushed cheek. "Patience, my beautiful romantic. Patience."

She turned her lips into his hand. "Patience has never been one of my virtues, my lord."

"Nor mine, my lady. But tonight we shall both learn to exercise some." He tipped her disappointed face up to his. "By the time I take you to bed, I want you on fire for me." Slowly, hungrily, he buried his lips in hers.

With a low moan, Sammy relinquished herself to the kiss, Rem's words seeping into her like the most potent aphrodisiac. She was already on fire for him, her untutored body clamoring for more, unwilling to wait.

Avidly, she tried to deepen the kiss ... and was thwarted by Rem's maddening refusal to do so.

"Patience," he murmured softly, nibbling at her lower lip.

"But when will we—"

"Trust me. Didn't I give you my word that I'd never leave you aching again?"

"But I am aching," she said in a

bewildered whisper.

Rem made a husky sound that was part laugh, part groan. "You won't be. I promise, once this night is over, you won't be. Will you have faith in me?"

Sammy stared into the mesmerizing gray of his eyes. "Yes."

"Good." He brushed his lips across hers, a whisper of sensation against her feverish skin. "Then, Lady Samantha, I suggest you prepare for a long and exhausting evening."

15

Long?

Endless would have been a better choice of words, Sammy rued silently, feeling her leg muscles throb their agreement.

She and Rem had finally arrived at Devonshire House. It was well after midnight, the ballroom crammed with partygoers, and Sammy was coiled tight as a spring. In three hours time, she'd made appearances at five balls and three soirees, danced with over a dozen men, drunk enough Regent's punch to make her dizzy, and smiled until she thought her cheeks would break.

Only two things sustained her.

One was the possessive way Rem escorted her into each gathering; keeping her staunchly by his side, his hand firmly gripping her elbow, almost as if he were publicly proclaiming her as his; relinquishing her only when protocol insisted he allow other men their chance to dance with her.

The other was the constant flow of suggestive words and intimate looks Rem lavished upon her throughout the night, making everything inside her turn liquid with longing.

Sammy wondered if she could withstand the torment much longer.