Free Andrea Kane by Samantha Page B

Gertrude,” Rem answered smoothly, his smile never wavering. “For I’m certain he could not have entrusted his sister to a more discerning guardian.”
    “Why … no, he couldn’t have; thank you, Lord Gresham.” Gertie stood a tad taller, preening her thin wisps of white hair.
    The musicians struck up a waltz.
    “May I have your permission to dance with Lady Samantha?” Rem requested, the essence of proper decorum.
    “Of course, Lord Gresham.” Gertie tucked Sammy’s hand through Rem’s arm. “I only wish every gentleman were as well-bred as you.”
    Her hopes shattering along with her pride, Sammy lowered her lashes, accompanying Rem to the dance floor in distraught silence. For the first time, he’d actually been viewing her as she willed him to—not as an amusing child, but as a woman. Now Aunt Gertie had ruined everything with her appalling announcement. Not only did it make her sound like a mindless dolt who relied upon others to unearth her proper mate, but it made her feel like a piece of sought-after chattel.
    She wanted to die.
    “You can look at me, you know,” Rem murmured as he led her into a waltz.
    “No … I can’t.” Sammy stared at the buttons of his waistcoat.
    “Why not?”
    “I’m certain you know the answer to that, my lord. You were present during that disaster of an exchange.”
    Rem chuckled. “Hardly a disaster, imp. You yourself told me your aunt was deaf; consequently, I was prepared.” He paused, tightening his grip around Sammy’s fingers. “What I wasn’t prepared for was you.”
    Embarrassment cast aside, Sammy’s chin came up, her eyes meeting his. “I?”
    “Ah … you can raise your head above my waistcoat. Tell me, am I really so dreadful to look at?”
    Her lips curved. “You know you’re sinfully handsome, my lord.”
    “And you’re exquisitely beautiful, my lady.”
    Which scorched her more deeply? Samantha wondered, pleasure shooting through her in lightning streaks. Was it the heat of his gaze, his words, or his touch, which burned right through her glove?
    The combination was lethal.
    Hope was reborn.
    “Are you warm?”
    “Hmmm?”
    Rem’s thumb brushed her cheek. “You’re flushed. I was wondering if you were warm.”
    “I don’t know.”
    He smiled. “Would you like some punch?”
    “I’ve had some, thank you.”
    “Shall I return you to your aunt for further instruction?”
    “No. Nor should you continue to tease me. It makes me feel flustered.”
    “I see.” He swept her around the far corner of the ballroom. “You aren’t thirsty, you don’t wish to join your aunt, and you won’t allow me to tease you. Then, as we have no reading material to divert you, the only other remedy I can suggest is a few minutes respite in less frenzied surroundings. Would you care to stroll through Almack’s with me?”
    “Yes,” Sammy answered without hesitating.
    “I’ll just tell your aunt—”
    “No.” Glancing over, Sammy saw that her aunt was talking with the elderly Dowager Duchess of Arvel. “Aunt Gertie won’t object. In fact, she’ll probably never notice.”
    Chuckling, Rem led her into the hall. After a quick perusal of the nearby chambers, he guided her into a small, dimly lit anteroom. “How’s this?”
    “Perfect.” Sammy could scarcely see, especially after Rem shut the door behind him. Still, she’d managed to determine the most important thing—they were alone. She turned to face him.
    “Are you enjoying your first ball, Lady Samantha?” Rem’s voice was deep and husky as it echoed through the empty room.
    Sammy’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Very much.”
    “I’m glad.” He wrapped a tendril of her hair around his finger. “And is the uncrowded room helping to cool you?”
    “No.” She stepped closer, wishing she knew what to do next, unaware that she was already doing it. “I don’t think a change of scene is what I require.”
    Something smoky and intangible flashed in his eyes. “Really?”