Samantha (Barrett 2)

"Talk to him, Cynthia. I promise you won't frighten him away. Then let time and nature take over."

Cynthia smiled faintly. "When did you become so wise?"

"When I fell in love."

Silence. "The thought of caring scares me to death," Cynthia whispered at last.

"You're far from alone," Sammy returned cheerfully. "Just look at the two reformed rakes under this roof. My brother, who thought of women as worthless chattel and now cherishes his wife with all his heart, and Remington, who was transformed from a faithless womanizer to the most splendid of heroes. Without Alex and me to open their eyes, both men would have remained paralyzed by their pasts, unable to love. Let Boyd do the same for you."

"All right, Samantha. I'll try."

"And you'll succeed. Now, on to tonight's arrangements." Sammy glanced at the bed, tapping her forefinger thoughtfully to her lips. Her gaze fell on Rascal, who was rolling merrily amid the fluffy pillows, and her whole face lit up. "Perfect!"

"What's perfect? What arrangements?" Cynthia demanded. "I'll never get used to your wild vaulting from one subject to the next."

Sammy was barely listening. "Rascal, if we tuck you into the bed amid three pillows and give you two of your favorite stockings to chew on—Cynthia, you'll have to provide those—it might just keep you still enough for my plan to work. Cynthia, will you spend the night in my bedchamber? Just as a precaution, really. In case Alex should visit. No one else comes to my room after dark. Also, Rascal detests sleeping without company. This way you can be his companion and my sentry all at once!"

"Samantha." Cynthia gripped her shoulders. "What are you talking about? Why are you hiding Rascal in

your bed and why would he be alone if I went to my own chambers? Where will you be?"

Sammy arched her brows in exasperation. "With Remington, of course."

"With ... Remington." Cynthia repeated the words slowly, as if she were unsure she had heard them correctly. "Are you totally mad?" she hissed. "You're going to spend the night with the earl under your brother's roof?"

"Of course. Rem will only be at Allonshire this one night. At daybreak, he'll be returning to London. After that, who knows when we'll have another opportunity to be together."

"I have a novel idea: why not wait for your wedding night?"

A grin. "My, you've become quite a prig. The wedding isn't for two months. I've barely survived two days! No, Cynthia." Sammy began enthusiastically stuffing pillows beneath the bedcovers. "I refuse to lie awake all night knowing the man I love is doing the same right down the hall." She straightened, her cheeks glowing. "Will you help me ... please?"

"I must be totally insane," Cynthia muttered, rolling her eyes to the heavens. "Very well; what would you have me do?"

"Thank you!" Sammy hugged her. "No more than what I just said: furnish Rascal with two stockings, post yourself near my door to ward off guests, and spend the night in my bedchamber. Oh! And one more thing." Sammy dimpled. "Help me don my new peach nightrail."

"Remington Worth had best prepare himself. Nothing in his experience has prepared him for Samantha Barrett."

Another impish grin. "I know. Glorious, isn't it? "

Rem was every bit as restless as Samantha.

Tossing off his second glass of brandy, he stood at the bedchamber window, staring off into the night, planning his procedure for tomorrow. He'd map out a walking route of the docks for himself during his carriage ride back to London. The scrutiny would begin tomorrow night at dusk and continue every night thereafter until the culprits were apprehended. At which point Rem could pursue his future.

Smiling, he recalled the expression on Samantha's face when Drake had called her down, given her his blessing. Joy, love, gratitude, excitement; her beautiful, expressive features had revealed them all. She'd hugged her brother, Alex, Smitty, Humphreys ... and four or five footmen who happened to be in the vicinity. Then she'd gazed up at Rem with such love that even the footmen beamed their approval.

Rem had stared down into those incredible jade-green eyes, his own chest tight with emotion, and lightly kissed her cheek.

What he really wanted was to take her to bed.

Slamming down his brandy glass, Rem shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it to the chair.

Two months, he reminded himself, scowling. Two endless, bloody months.

He'd never last.

He was in the midst of plotting lengthy closed-carriage rides around Hyde Park when his door creaked open.

Instinctively, Rem seized his pistol, aiming it at the widening doorway.