He shifted a bit uncomfortably.
"I thought not. Well, I am not one of the earl's paramours. I am Lady Samantha Barrett, the Duke of Allonshire's sister, and"—she paused for effect—"the Earl of Gresham's betrothed. Remington and I are to be married in less than a month." Even as she said the words, she prayed they were true. "Now, I don't want to have to tell Lord Gresham that you were uncooperative. But I do need to see him at once. It is urgent, or I would not be here unchaperoned. So, I'd appreciate if you—"
"Forgive me, my lady." Peldon had turned a curious shade of green. "But the truth is, I'm not precisely certain where the earl is. I do know that he's with Mr. Hayword."
Boyd. Of course. "Thank you, Peldon." Sammy gave him as brilliant a smile as she could muster, although she suspected he knew more than he cared to admit. "You've been a great help. I'll be sure to speak highly of you to the earl. Now, I need just one more favor ... a carriage."
"A carriage, my lady?"
"Yes. I wal—rode here with friends. They assumed the earl was at home. Now I'm without a vehicle."
"Oh, I see. Well, the earl took his phaeton, so I'll have the carriage brought around at once."
"Oh, would you?" Sammy's relief was instant and genuine. "You are a saint, Peldon. Thank you with all my heart." She began to wrack her brain. Where would Rem and Boyd be? At Annie's? At Boyd's house ... wherever that was? Where?
Sammy had endured all she could. Her lips began to tremble in frustration.
"Of course, you understand this is just speculation"— Peldon's brow furrowed in concentration as he brushed an imaginary speck from his uniform—"but I believe I would try Mr. Hayword's establishment, my lady ... if your reasons for seeking out Lord Gresham are as urgent as you say. It seems to me I recall—"
"Boydry's! Of course! Oh, Peldon, you're wonderful!" This time Sammy cast protocol to the wind and hugged the startled servant. "Thank you!"
Fortunately, Rem's carriage driver knew the quickest route to Boydry's, as Sammy could scarcely recall its exact location. A half hour later the tavern stood before her.
Hastily, Sammy gathered her skirts and made her way to the bolted door. Her hand poised to knock, she hesitated, for the first time pondering what she would say, how Rem would respond to what she told him. Not with fear, that was for certain. The man was afraid of nothing, not even her formidable brother.
Footsteps sounded from within, and instinctively Sammy stepped back and hid behind the door as it creaked open.
"Incidentally, Rem, I assume you recall it was Hartley's company that built the Bountiful." Boyd's muffled words reached Sammy's ears.
"Yes, I remember that from Briggs's list." Rem paused in the doorway, rubbing his temples. "I have no reason to distrust Hartley. Still, I'm grateful as hell that Barrett Shipping didn't construct Towers's ship, if that's what you're getting at."
"That's exactly what I'm getting at. You're in a precarious enough situation with Samantha. You don't need to worsen it by having to question her again."
"No. Thankfully, we can get our answers elsewhere. At this point I don't think I could live with myself if I had to use Samantha to garner facts on—" Abruptly, Rem broke off, as if sensing that he and Boyd were no longer alone. Slowly, like a tiger assessing its prey, he averted his head, searching the dimly lit walk leading to Boydry's. Then, without warning, he grabbed the door handle and pulled, simultaneously whipping out his pistol.
His piercing stare met Sammy's horrified one.
"Samantha . . ." Rem lowered the pistol, visibly shaken, and took a step toward her.
Sammy's face drained of color, but she didn't retreat. "Tell me what I'm thinking isn't true," she demanded in a fierce whisper. "Tell me."
The agony in her voice tore at Rem's heart. "What you're thinking isn't true."
"You weren't using me all this time? Last night... tonight in your carriage ... everything you said, did . . ."
"No ... dammit no!" Rem shook his head violently as he reached for her. "If you believe nothing else, believe that."
"Rem? Who the hell ... Christ!" Boyd went white when he poked his head out and saw Samantha.
"Go home, Boyd. Get some sleep. I need to talk to Samantha. Alone." Rem drew Sammy against him.
The door closed quietly.
Dazed and unmoving, Sammy tried to grasp all she had just overheard. "Who are you, Remington Worth?" Her eyes fell on Rein's pistol as he tucked it away. "Or should I say Worthless? Who are you really?"
Despite the drama of the situation, Rem felt himself smile. "I'm not the villain in a real-life Gothic, if that's what you're thinking. Listen to your heart, not your fanciful mind." Softly, he kissed her hair. "Sweetheart, I know you're confused. I can't do a thing to abate that. But as far as what's happening between us—it was, is, real. I am not using you."
"All your questions about Barrett Shipping—the brig you commissioned Drake to construct—and now, what I just heard you say ... you're investigating those missing ships, aren't you?"