Samantha (Barrett 2)

"Good."

"What about after the meetin'? Then what are ye gonna do with me?"

"I repeat, you're insignificant in this matter. If you do as you're told, I'll throw you back to sea to rejoin the slime from whence you came. However," Rem gripped Fuller's shirt, "I'd better never hear about you pilfering another ship. Understood?"

"I don't 'ave a choice, do I?"

"No. You don't." Rem straightened. "Now, I'll produce a quill and paper and we can begin composing that letter. It's been a pleasure chatting with you, Fuller."

"Did you have a good time? Or need I ask?" Sammy placed her current novel facedown on the bed, grinning at the telltale flush staining Cynthia's cheeks.

"Yes. Thank you for allowing me the day off. Boyd and I really needed to talk. We rode for hours." Cynthia hovered in the doorway. "I told him, Samantha."

"And?"

"And he believed me—truly believed me. He was enraged ... murderous, in fact. Not at me, as I'd feared, but at the nobleman who'd forced himself on me. Had I not begged Boyd to let it go, I believe he would have ridden to Surrey and killed the man himself. To defend my honor. Me, Samantha. Boyd actually feels I'm worthy of defending." There was wonder in Cynthia's eyes.

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?"

A genuine laugh erupted from Cynthia's chest. "You may gloat as much as you wish. You were right—and thank God for it."

"Did you discuss the aftermath of your horrid experience?"

"If you mean, did I tell Boyd about my fear of intimacy, yes. Do you know what he said?"

"No. What?"

Cynthia sank down on the bed beside Samantha, clutching her friend's hands. "He said that it was natural for me to be afraid since, after all, it would be my first time. I reminded him that it was far from my first encounter, and he disagreed adamantly, saying that I'd been violated and used ... but never made love to. So, in all ways that mattered, I was a virgin. Samantha, he looked into my eyes and told me he was determined to be the first, the only man, who would ever make love to me. He told me he loved me and that he would wait as long as it took—forever, if need be—for me to return his love. And that once I did, he intended to marry me and spend the rest of his life showing me how special I was."

"Oh, Cynthia, I'm so happy for you." Sammy flung her arms around her friend's neck.

"He wants to invest in a coffeehouse, to close Boydry's," Cynthia murmured in a dazed tone. "He said that Boydry's is tied to a past he no longer needs, whatever that means."

Sammy blinked back tears, knowing precisely what Boyd meant. "What a marvelous idea. The two of you can create the most splendid coffeehouse in all of London ... Hayword's, in honor of the new Mr. and Mrs. Hayword."

"Samantha ... " Cynthia drew back. "I haven't said—"

"But you will." Sammy dashed away her tears. "I shall miss you, of course. You are quite splendid at arranging hair. Ah, well. I'll just have to wear my unruly tresses in a simple style until a new lady's maid can be engaged. As for helping me dress, I'm certain Remington will be more than willing to take on my gowns' troublesome buttons ... permanently, in fact. So you can feel free to marry the man you love. My only condition is that you accompany Boyd to Gresham on all his visits ... which, from what I understand, number two or three times a week. Then, on alternate days, we shall visit you. You see, I have no qualms about relinquishing you as my lady's maid, but I could never bear losing you as my friend." Sammy's voice quavered. "I love you, Cynthia. And so does Boyd. He's going to make you ecstatically happy."

Abruptly, Cynthia stood, averting her head and dabbing discreetly at her eyes. "I believe our friendship has taken an unexpected turn. Rather than hardening you to the realities of life, I fear I've become as sentimental and softhearted as you. I weep, I glow like an innocent schoolgirl, I allow myself to fall in love." She turned to meet Sammy's gaze. "Thank you."

Sammy didn't trust herself to speak. She merely nodded, her heart in her eyes.

"Oh, before I succumb to an entirely inappropriate emotional display ... " Cynthia reached into her pocket and extracted a folded slip of paper. "Boyd asked me to give you this. It's from Lord Gresham."

"Oh, thank you!" Sammy bolted to her feet and snatched the note.

"I have some tasks to tend to," Cynthia added tactfully. "Summon me when you need me."

Already immersed in her reading, Sammy didn't reply. Nor, knowing her friend, did Cynthia expect that she would. Smiling, Cynthia closed the door behind her.

Sammy dropped back onto the bed, frowning. This note was different from its two predecessors. Rem's other letters had spoken of his love, of the ache he felt being apart from her, and of the frustration he was encountering as a result of his unsuccessful endeavor, which Sammy understood was a cryptic way of stating that his disguise at Barrett Shipping had, as of yet, yielded no results.

This missive, however, was terse, stark, impersonal—it was Remington Worth, special agent to the Crown:

The moment of reckoning is upon us. I'll come for you tomorrow night. Until then, remain securely at Allonshire with your family.

Thoughtfully, Sammy read between the lines. Then, refolding the note, she began to pack.