"Insurance money," Boyd put in.
"Exactly."
"But our Bow Street men examined Anders's and Summerson's records; in both cases they were impeccable."
"Anders muttered something of the kind to Summerson. Which tells us what we already know—that records can be tampered with."
"True." Boyd still looked troubled. "There's another hole in our theory," he continued with a frown. "The name Atlantis wasn't on the list Briggs gave you."
"All that says is that the Admiralty has no record of a ship by that name going down, or that the Atlantis hasn't sunk—or possibly even sailed—yet."
"How do you suggest we proceed? We have no proof."
"First, I'll contact Briggs, have him run a check on any ship by the name Atlantis. If such a vessel does exist, we'll find out who built it, who owns it, and what its current status is.
"In the interim, we need to more thoroughly investigate our friends Anders and Summerson: find out what they're up to, who their cohorts are, why they're conducting secret meetings at midnight." Rem gulped down a cup of black coffee. "Since they were clever enough not to leave clues in their business accounts, let's delve into their personal lives."
"Should I notify Templar and Harris?"
"Good idea. I'll need them to take over some of the covert work. I plan to spend most of my time keeping a close eye on Samantha. No one is going to hurt her."
Hearing the anxiety in Rem's tone, Boyd frowned. "Do you think Anders's relentless pursuit of Samantha relates to his illegal business dealings? That he wants to get close to her because of her connection to Barrett Shipping and that he's hoping to gain information from her without her realizing it?"
"I think Anders's interest in vying for Samantha's hand could very well have begun for those reasons. But no longer." Rem resumed his long strides. "I've seen the hungry look in his eyes when he watches her, and believe me, it has nothing to do with Barrett Shipping. I also saw his reaction tonight when Summerson attempted to go after her. Anders stopped him—quite insistently—ordering him to stay away
. So, while I'm sure the viscount wants to learn all he can about whatever Barrett Shipping information Samantha might possess, I can safely say that his futile designs on her are quite personal."
Boyd cleared his throat. "How much do you want me to tell Templar and Harris?"
"Just tell them we'll all meet tonight at Annie's. By then I'll have mapped out our plan."
"Done." Boyd studied Rem's haggard expression. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked at last.
" 'It'? Which 'it' are you referring to?"
"The one that's tearing you apart. Other than worry. Is it guilt? Because if it is, I'd reconsider. That was one happy woman who left here a few hours ago." Boyd found himself chuckling. "She's quite a little whirlwind, your Samantha."
"She's like a dazzling watercolor, all vibrant and rare and beautiful. And fragile." Rem turned to stare moodily out the window. "I hate being the one destined to cause her pain."
"Why do you assume you will?"
"You, of all people, know that my capacity for deep feelings is long gone."
"Is it? It doesn't sound that way to me. It sounds to me like you're in love with Samantha Barrett."
"I am. God help her, but I am."
"Perhaps your capacity to love is greater than you think."
Rem shrugged. "Perhaps. But it can never be the all-encompassing love Samantha dreams of, the kind that dwarfs all else, that consumes one's life and one's being."
"I see. Quite a quandary. How do you plan to resolve it?"
"I plan to go to Allonshire and ask Drake Barrett for his sister's hand. And then I plan to do my damnedest to ensure that Samantha never regrets becoming my wife."
"But Rem—"
"Enough. Let's talk about you." Rem poured himself another cup of coffee. "How did your evening with Cynthia go?"