"Samantha—"
"No more, Rem." She shook her head. "You've explained yourself quite thoroughly. Now I need to be alone."
Gripping her shoulders, Rem's eyes bore deep into hers. He started to say something, then broke off. "Dammit," he swore softly. "Dammit to hell."
Leaning past Samantha, he yanked apart the curtains, opened the carriage window and ordered his driver to return to Abingdon Street.
Silence punctuated the final moments of their ride. When the carriage halted at number fifteen, Sammy pushed open the door and climbed down unassisted. "Good night, Remington."
"I'll be traveling to Allonshire to speak with your brother first thing in the morning," he informed her in a steely tone that forbade defiance.
Sammy turned, scooping Aunt Gertie's hat off the seat and tilting her head back to gaze up at Rem. "Thank you for confiding that fact in me. For an autonomous man like you, it must have been quite a sacrifice."
The words were as close to a barb as Samantha could muster, and Rem was aware of their sting. But what really clawed at his gut were the tears glistening on Samantha's long dark lashes.
Instinctively, he started to go after her, then checked himself. Watching her disappear into the Town house, he slammed his fist against his knee, knowing there wasn't a damned thing he could do to ease her pain.
Nor to preserve the purity of her faith.
In Allonshire's gilded sitting room, the duke clasped Lord Hartley's hand.
"I appreciate your riding all this way to congratulate me on Bonnie's birth."
"She's a beautiful infant, Drake. Your father would be proud."
"Yes, I rather suspect he would." Drake smiled fondly. "He always had a special place in his heart for Sammy. I think he would be pleased for me to have at least one daughter of my own to spoil." Chuckling, Drake headed toward his sideboard. "What can I offer you for refreshment? Brandy?"
"Actually ..." Hartley shifted uncomfortably. "Now that you've brought up Samantha ... I did have one other reason for visiting Allonshire."
Drake came to a dead halt. "What about Samantha?"
"Probably nothing. Certainly none of my business. Still, I do feel some sense of responsibility toward the child—she is Grayson's daughter."
"You're alarming me, Hartley. What's wrong with Samantha?"
"Nothing is actually wrong. And I don't mean to question your judgment. If you believe Remington Worth is the sensible person to look out for Samantha's well-being, I suppose you know what you're doing. But I wonder if you've considered his reputation... ."
"What the hell are you talking about? What has Gresham got to do with my sister?"
Hartley blinked. "He's doing what you asked of him: escorting Samantha about Town in order to keep her from falling prey to various disreputable blackguards. What concerns me is—"
"I asked no such thing!" Drake thundered. "I'm working with Gresham, building a ship for him. But that's as far as our association goes. I'd have to be out of my mind to entrust my sister to a womanizer like him—hell, he's been in every bed in London!"
"Oh dear." Hartley ran his fingers through his hair. "Then why would he say ...?" A relieved thought suddenly illuminated the elderly marquis's face. "Perhaps Gresham's intentions are truly honorable. Perhaps he invented that story in order to discourage Anders from pressing such a determined suit."
"Anders?"
Drake's eyes flashed emerald fire. "That accomplished blackguard is pursuing Samantha, too? Dammit!" "I didn't mean to upset you—"
"You didn't." Drake was already halfway across the room. "If you'll excuse me, Hartley, I have some business to attend to. Urgent business."
Leaving Hartley gaping in his wake, Drake took the steps two at a time, exploding into Alex's bedchamber, his powerful body quaking with rage.
Alex put down the novel she'd been reading, curiously assessing her husband's rigid stance.
"I'm going to London," he bit out.
"What's happened?" With the innate understanding of Drake that only Alex possessed, she confronted his violent outburst, perceiving instantly that his tirade was rooted in distress as well as anger.