Andrea Kane (38 page)

An unspoken message passed between Rem and Harris. Towers’s life hung in the balance; it was up to them to keep him alive.

“No problem.” Harris stood. “Come, Captain. You must be exhausted.”

Towers cleared his throat. “I owe you all a great debt of thanks, which I’m unsure how to repay.”

“No thanks are necessary.” Rem’s stance stiffened, his gaze locked with Towers’s. “But you never saw Hayword and me before in your life, so you certainly wouldn’t recognize us if you saw us again. Isn’t that correct?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” The tension eased from Rem’s body as quickly as it had come. “Thank you for talking to us. You’re in good hands.”

“Obviously, so is England,” Towers murmured in an awed tone. Rem glanced at Harris. “Nice work.” With that, he was gone.

“Your Grace?” Hatterly, the Barrett’s Town house butler, rubbed his eyes and tightened the belt of his robe. “Forgive me, sir, I had no idea you’d be arriving.”

“Nor did I.” Drake swung off his greatcoat. “I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I assume my sister is abed?”

“Why, I assume so, sir.”

“Good. I want to see her.” Drake was already halfway to the steps.

“Your Grace?” Smitty made his way down the hall, not only awake, but fully dressed and alert at half after four in the morning. Serving by Drake’s side, Smitty had grown accustomed to arising before dawn, both at home and at sea. “We had no idea you’d be visiting … what a wonderful surprise!”

“I doubt you’ll feel that way in a few minutes, Smitty,” Drake muttered for his valet’s ears alone. “May I see you in the sitting room?” he said aloud.

“Of course.” With a cordial nod, Smitty followed.

Drake closed the doors behind them. “We’re alone now. Let’s dispense with the pretense and the formalities. What the hell is going on here?”

A corner of Smitty’s mouth lifted. “Why I do believe you’ve missed me.”

“Very funny.” Drake didn’t smile. “As a matter of fact, I find getting along without you extremely difficult. After all these years, I rely upon your friendship, your insight, and your skill. In fact, there are very few situations that could convince me to part with you, even for a short while.” Drake folded his arms across his chest. “One of those situations, however, happens to be my sister’s coming out. So, I’m asking you again—what the hell is going on here?”

“I heard you the first time, Your Grace. What specific aspect of Lady Samantha’s Season are you referring to?”

“The Viscount Anders. The Earl of Gresham. Am I being specific enough for you?”

Smitty paled a bit. Loyalty to Drake warred with loyalty to Samantha. “I do recall informing you that Lord Gresham came to our rescue when that horrendous storm suspended our trip to London.”

“And I recall informing you that I’d thanked Lord Gresham in person when he came to Allonshire. What about since then? Have either Gresham or Anders been pursuing Sammy?”

“Lady Samantha has attended so very many balls …” Smitty hedged. “It’s hard to recall all the gentlemen who have made a favorable impression on her.”

“Try.”

“Have I mentioned how highly Lady Gertrude regards both Viscount Anders and the Earl of Gresham?”

“Lady Gertrude?” Drake sputtered. “Smitty, my aunt wouldn’t know a rake from a clergyman. So that’s hardly consolation, is it? Now, cease this cat and mouse game and answer my question.”

“Please don’t put me in this position, sir,” Smitty requested with quiet dignity. “I care very much for both you and Lady Samantha.”

“Not to mention that Lady Samantha can speak for herself.” Sammy shut the door firmly and crossed the room. “Honestly, Drake, I can hear your bellowing all the way in my bedchamber.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed her brother’s cheek, ignoring his furious expression. “You’re going to awaken the whole household.”

“Evidently, that doesn’t include you—you’re already awake and dressed. Why is that?” Drake demanded. “It’s not even dawn.”

Sammy dimpled. “I wanted to see the sun rise. It’s like watching an artist create a dazzling painting. Not to mention that I fully intended to reread my favorite sections of
Mansfield Park …
until I heard your thunderous arrival.” She inclined her head quizzically. “What have Smitty and I done to make you so angry?”

“Is it true that you’ve been cavorting with the Viscount Anders and the Earl of Gresham?”

Sucking in her breath, Sammy looked quickly at Smitty, who answered her unspoken question with a brief shake of his head. “I … I …”

“Bloody hell.” Drake raked his fingers through his hair. “Which one? Or is it both of them?”

“Stephen merely visited once or twice and danced with me at several balls,” Sammy blurted out. “I have no feelings for the man and certainly have done nothing to encourage him.” Frowning, she considered her statement. “Of course, he did give me that expensive necklace, but I sent it back right after I told him it was far too extravagant to give to a woman who wanted only to be his friend. I realize he has some foolish misconception that I shall change my mind and welcome his advances … but that’s not about to happen. I wish he and Remington weren’t always fighting, because it makes it terribly awkward and uncomfortable when we run into him. But Rem cannot seem to control his compulsion to protect me. I suppose, if I were to be honest, I’d have to admit that I enjoy his possessiveness. Still, I can’t imagine he’d even suspect I’d be interested in another man under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” Drake echoed. Clenching his fists, he battled for the control he promised Alex he’d exert. “Samantha, are you telling me you’re involved with Remington Worth?”

“I’m going to marry him.” Sammy sighed. “If that quick temper of yours had permitted you to wait a few hours longer, you could have saved yourself a trip. Rem is riding to Allonshire this morning to ask for my hand.”

That did it. “No.”

Sammy recoiled as though Drake had struck her. “What?”

“You heard me—no. No, I will not see Remington Worth; no, you will not convince me otherwise; and
no,
you will not marry him.”

“But why?” Sammy whispered. “Why?”

“Because I forbid it.” Drake turned his blazing stare on Smitty. “Pack your things and Samantha’s at once. You’re coming home to Allonshire with me. Tonight.”

“Consider what you’re doing, Your Grace,” Smitty tried, his troubled gaze traveling from Samantha to Drake and back.

“More importantly, what have
you
been doing? I sent you to London to look after Sammy, not to deliver her into the hands of a disreputable rake!”

“Don’t blame Smitty!” Tears glistened on Sammy’s cheeks. “He tried to keep me from seeing Rem. But like my brother, I have a mind of my own. I love him, Drake,” she added in a small, shaky voice.

“No, Samantha, you don’t love him.”

“Yes … I do.”

“We’ll discuss it later, at home.”

“I won’t go.”

Drake started. “What?”

“You’re being completely unreasonable.” Sammy backed away until she felt the door handle behind her. “And I will not obey like some small, docile child. I’m a grown woman, Drake. When will you accept that?” In one sharp movement she yanked open the door and fled from the room.

For a long silent moment Drake merely stared after Sammy’s retreating back, pain and shock alternately reflected on his face. In all of her eighteen years, Sammy had never turned her back on him, never fled from his presence. Never … until now.

Recovering, Drake moved toward the hall. “I’ve got to go after her.”

“No, Your Grace.” Smitty stepped in his path. “Give Lady Samantha some time alone. You’ll only make matters worse by confronting her now.”

Drake swallowed. “Exactly how far has this relationship gone?”

“I’m not Lady Samantha’s confidant, sir. But I would suspect she does have very strong feelings for the earl.”

Slowly, Drake averted his head until his gaze locked with Smitty’s. “I don’t think I like what you’re telling me.”

“I’m not telling you anything, Your Grace.”

“If that bastard has touched my sister—”

“Agonizing will get you nowhere. Neither will threatening the earl or coming to blows.”

“Then what the hell do you suggest I do, Smitty?”

“I suggest you accept that you’re not able to deal with this situation rationally.”

“I already accept that. But I’m Samantha’s brother—I feel like her father, dammit. And there’s no one who loves her as much as I do and who could better handle her—”

“Yes, there is,” Smitty interrupted. “Your wife. Let the duchess talk to Lady Samantha. She will do an excellent job of listening”—Smitty let the word hang purposefully between them—“as well as guiding.”

Drake blinked. “Alex … yes. Sammy always does confide in her, maybe she’ll do so this time as well. Of course, nothing of this magnitude has ever happened before, so I’m not sure how Alex will react. An innocent child like Sammy, barely of age, getting involved with a rogue like Gresham, who uses women for only one thing. Hell!” Drake slammed his hand against the wall. “I don’t know if even Alex is equipped to combat this dilemma.”

Smitty’s eyes twinkled, his memory clearly recalling an identical dilemma in the not-so-distant past. “Oh, I think she can, Your Grace. Rest assured, I think the duchess will manage just fine.”

Boydry’s was dark.

Any passerby would assume the pub had closed for the night.

“Now what?” Boyd tossed off a glass of gin, watching Rem pace the silent room.

“Now we find out the identity of Anders’s other partner. Fast.” Rem paused, scowling at his drink. “We’re not discussing ships alone anymore, Boyd. We’re discussing men; men who are being sold like chattel. It sickens me.”

“It appears that your instincts about Anders were right.”

“No.” Rem shook his head. “I never would have thought he’d go this far. Money, yes. Lives, no. The bastard has surprised even me.” Rem’s lips thinned into a grim line. “This sheds a whole new light on that conversation I overheard between Anders and Summerson at Devonshire House. Samantha could be in grave danger.”

“Yes, she could.”

“I’ve got to work fast.”

“Towers’s statement is all the evidence we need. Anders’s association with Summerson, his reference to Atlantis, Summerson’s connection to the privateer—that’s more than enough to put them away for a long, long time.”

“That would be fine,
if
putting them away was all we wanted. But it isn’t. We want their partner.” Rem clenched his fist. “We’ve got to find out who he is. Then we’ll close in on the three of them.”

“And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime it’s up to me to protect Samantha.”

“Lady Samantha, did you say?” Rem’s butler sniffed. “My lady … I’m sorry. The earl is just not at home.”

“But he
must
be home—it’s nearly dawn!” Sammy felt close to hysteria. She’d run all the way to Rem’s Town house, unconcerned about her reputation, unconcerned about anything but getting to Rem before Drake did.

“I assure you, he is not.”

“Where is he?”

“Pardon me?” The butler blanched.

Sammy inhaled sharply and tried again. “What is your name, sir?”

“Peldon, my lady.”

“Peldon, do you know who I am?”

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.”