Samantha (Barrett 2)

And he knew just the way to do it.

"Gresham, hello. Quite a surprise, seeing you here. We didn't expect you." The Marquis of Gladdington gestured to Rem as he rose from the whist table. "But I, for one, am delighted you arrived. You're most likely the only sober fellow in the room. Care to join this evening's game?"

"Is it my superior skill you require or my as-of-yet unsquandered funds?" Rem chuckled, strolling over.

"Both," Gladdington responded cheerily. "Also, if you glance at the Betting Book, you'll note that your latest conquest is in dispute."

Rem stiffened. "My latest conquest?"

"Of course. The only time you're ever conspicuously absent from White's for any period of time is when you're ... er, diverted by a particular lady. And, as we haven't seen you in nearly a week, we're trying to guess who she might be this time."

"I sincerely hope no one had the poor judgment to risk offending any of White's patrons," Rem commented, reversing his steps and heading toward the infamous Betting Book.

"Offend us? Why ... is your current paramour one of our wives?" Gladdington chuckled.

"Hardly. But I'd best see whose names are penned lest I be challenged to a duel without cause."

In truth, Rem wasn't the least concerned with the upset of his peers, nor did he give a damn whose names were mentioned. But Gladdington's taunt had just spawned an uneasy worry that he had conveniently eluded these past few emotion-charged days. Gossip.

He and Samantha had been seen together, not only for a casual dance at Almack's and an innocent chat at Carlton House, but as a twosome: a covert ride through Hyde Park, an evening at Covent Garden Theater, Lover's Path at Vauxhall... Lord alone knew who had spotted them. Not to mention how many tongue-wagging biddies had spied his phaeton arriving at the Barrett Town house. Dammit, how could he have been so careless? Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd dismissed the notion as preposterous, assuming the beau monde would scoff at the idea of a notorious rake being sexually involved with a total innocent. Hell, he'd scoffed himself not a fortnight ago. But if anyone thought otherwise—if rumors had spread—he would kill whoever had started them.

Whatever names were penned in that damned book, they'd bloody well not be Samantha's.

Expediently, Rem scrutinized the pages. The speculations were amusing, if not accurate. Clarissa's name appeared several times, followed in frequency by the delectably buxom Duchess of Ladsworth, trickling off to a diverse list of equally attractive, overtly available women, who were cited as contenders for Rem's bed. Samantha's name was blessedly absent.

Relief surged through him.

"That's quite an impressive assortment," Rem commented dryly as he returned to the card table. "Although I must admit I'm grateful as hell that Sheltane and Ladsworth are patrons of Brooks's and not White's."

"Understandable," Gladdington agreed. "But tell me, Gresham. Are you going to end our speculation and arouse our envy by telling us who your current interest is?"

Rem's dimple flashed. "I think not. I'll let the book become a bit plumper in wagers and more extensive in names before I satisfy your curiosity."

Gladdington groaned. "I was afraid you might say that. Very well, then, I suppose we'll have to settle for your superior card playing."

"Hello, Gresham." The voice was distinctly familiar, and Rem averted his head, surprised and pleased to see Viscount Goddfrey approaching him.

"Goddfrey ... welcome home." Rem extended his hand.

Soberly, Goddfrey shook it. "Gladdington, I'd like a word with Gresham. Would you mind delaying your game a moment?"

"Not at all," Gladdington assured him. "There's no hurry. Our final two players are satisfying their thirst."

Goddfrey drew Rem off to a quiet corner across from White's bow window. "Thank you," he said simply.

"No thanks are necessary." Rem didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I was delighted to participate in Knollwood's downfall; he's destroyed too many innocent men. As for the message I sent you, I'm only glad I knew where to reach you. With that filthy parasite locked up, I felt certain you'd want to return to your family ... and your business."

"You were indeed correct. But my gratitude isn't limited to your missive. It also extends to your generous loan."

"Loan?" Rem's brows rose in question.

"I know you paid off my debts, Gresham," Goddfrey replied quietly. "It wasn't easy to pry the information out of my colleagues. According to them, my anonymous benefactor wanted to spare his reputation by keeping his embarrassingly vast business loss as quiet as possible. He assured them he planned to tell me he'd repaid the debt as soon as I arrived in London ... and compensated them generously for their discretion. But since he—you—obviously opted not to tell me, they eventually decided I had the right to know. I found the details very informative, as I couldn't quite remember your owing me any money at all, much less two hundred thousand pounds.

"Moreover, the most remarkable transition seems to have occurred during my absence. I've regained the trust of all my former business associates. And why? All because of the astounding profit I presumably made from my business transaction with the Earl of Gresham." Goddfrey's eyes grew damp. "There aren't words to express my thanks, Remington. And, now that my life has been mercifully restored, I intend to pay back every penny."

"You needn't repay nor thank me. The money I used wasn't mine." Rem grinned. "Actually, your thanks should go to Knollwood. His blackmail funds are what paid your debts. All I did was arrange to borrow the exact sum that I knew you owed your creditors. So, it all worked out rather nicely. Besides," Rem's grin grew broader, "Mr. Knollwood will have no use for such a vast amount of money in Newgate, now will he?"

Goddfrey chuckled. "I suppose not."