The Bride Thief

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  "Don't be ridiculous, Miss Briggeham," he said more sharply than he'd meant to. "The man and his outrageous escapades are dangerous. It is preposterous for you to consider involving yourself with him."

  The frigid look she leveled at him clearly indicated that he'd said the wrong thing and that their earlier companion-ability was severed. All vestiges of warmth disappeared from her eyes, and an acute sense of loss washed over him. "I'm only thinking of your welfare," he said.

  "Do not concern yourself, my lord." Her frosty tone matched the chill in her gaze. "I am quite capable of looking after myself. And allow me to congratulate you. Your method of questioning me was much more clever than most." She performed an awkward curtsy. "I bid you good evening."

  He stood, rooted to the spot, watching her hurry by several wandering couples on her way from the gallery. He could not recall ever having been so summarily dismissed. And if he had, it certainly wasn't by a woman. And he certainly couldn't remember anyone, save his father, looking at him with such disdain. Clearly, in her opinion, he was no better-albeit more clever-than all the other people who had sought her company solely to glean information about the Bride Thief, a fact that filled his chest with an odd, hollow ache.

  Her pledge to help the Bride Thief echoed through his mind, and his hands fisted at his sides. Bloody hell, she couldn't possibly be contemplating trying to find the Bride Thief and offer him her assistance… Could she? While he didn't fear that any efforts on her part to locate the Thief would prove successful, he did worry that she might do something that could prove potentially dangerous to herself. He well knew the dangers involved in what he did.

  He raked his hands through his hair and blew out a frustrated breath in an attempt to calm the unease coursing through him. On the bright side, Miss Briggeham had clearly not suffered any social repercussions as a result of his kidnapping blunder. Indeed, she was experiencing her first taste of popularity-which, although she may not like it, was certainly preferable to being ostracized.

  Yes, all had worked out well for Miss Briggeham, and he'd been fully prepared to cease worrying about her… until she'd voiced her ridiculous pledge. He gave himself a mental shake. What could she possibly do? Nothing. She was simply making a statement, the way many women did.

  Only instead of declaring that she'd dearly love to own a twenty-carat diamond, Miss Briggeham wished to help the Bride Thief. They were just words spoken in the heat of the moment. They meant nothing.

  Precisely. Now he could stop thinking about her. About her huge aqua eyes that reflected a fascinating combination of intelligence, innocence, seriousness, mischief, and vulnerability. The fact that those eyes had last looked at him with chilled disdain instead of warmth unsettled him in a way he could not name… but he could forget that.

  Just as he could forget those incredible lips, along with her curvaceous figure, both more suited to a practiced courtesan than a country miss.

  Exiting the gallery, he caught sight of her heading toward the foyer, her mother at her heels.

  Still, perhaps he should see Miss Briggeham one more time. Just to ascertain that she'd meant nothing by her comment. Yes, that was an excellent idea. He'd make a point to call on her within the next week.

  Maybe even tomorrow.

  Chapter Six

  The morning after Mrs. Nordfield's soiree, Sammie sat at her escritoire, leafing through the ivory pages of her private journal-the place where all her secret fantasies lived. She paused at an entry dated three months earlier.

  He was the most beautiful man I'd ever beheld, yet his beauty had little to do with his handsome features and manly physique. There was a kindness in his eyes, and a generosity in his spirit that attracted me-that and the fact that he overlooked faults that others did not. Indeed, he claimed it was those traits that others viewed as odd that so endeared me to him. He gazed at me as if I were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Love shone from his eyes, warming me, but something else filled his gaze… a dark longing that sent heat rippling down my spine.

  He gently touched my face, and his hands trembled, as did mine. Slowly he lowered his head until his mouth hovered just above mine.

  "You're everything I've always wanted," he whispered against my lips, his breath beating softly against my skin. Surely he could hear my heart pounding, for it was about to burst from my chest.

  His mouth brushed softly across mine, and my pulse soared as if on wings. He then gathered me in his strong arms, tucking my head beneath his chin. "I love you, Samantha. I want us to travel the world and share exciting adventures together."

  I breathed in his wonderful scent and nodded my agreement. I'd found the man of my heart.

  Sammie heaved a deep sigh, then gently closed her journal. Had she really been that naive only three short months ago? Of course, three months ago, nary a gentleman had been interested in her. Now, however, she realized how silly and utterly unrealistic her fantasies were.

  Based on what she'd observed so far, a man such as the one she'd created on the pages of her journal simply did not exist. While properly polite, at least to her face, none of the gentlemen now bestowing attention on her appealed to her. None wished to discuss meaningful topics, and there was no mistaking the glazed look in their eyes when she attempted to do so. And even while they brought her punch and conversed with her, it seemed as if they looked through her-until they brought the conversation around to the Bride Thief. Then their attention focused on her like a specimen under a microscope.

  But none of them were interested in her. In what she thought or felt. None appeared to share her zest for adventure, or her thirst for knowledge. If they did, they clearly didn't choose to discuss such topics with her. Her mind had always told her as much, but in the deepest recesses of her heart, she'd always cherished a kernel of hope…

  Only on these vellum pages did she dare reveal her secret longings. Foolish, silly dreams that would never come true, but still, she couldn't stop them from invading her mind. And her heart. So rather than fight her yearnings, she recorded them, pouring out all her unfulfilled dreams of love and adventure, re-reading them on those long lonely nights when sleep eluded her.

  Her sisters and Mama would be stunned if they knew that her logical, practical thoughts wandered in such a manner, and she was careful not to let them know. She couldn't bear to see their beautiful faces filled with well-intentioned but unwanted pity, knowing that "poor Sammie" would never live out any of her cherished dreams. Or find a man who embodied all her feminine imaginings… a man who loved adventure. Nature. Animals. Science.

  Her.

  Yes, growing up with three gorgeous sisters, she knew the futility of her longings. Gentlemen admired beauty above all else. And if a woman was not blessed with a lovely face, she at least had to possess feminine talents such as conversation, fashion sense, musical and dancing ability, and a pleasant singing voice.

  No, there wasn't a man alive who would overlook all her resounding flaws. But he existed in her mind, and in her journal, and she would continue to write about him there. And dream…

  With lingering thoughts of adventure wandering through her brain, an image of the Bride Thief flashed through her mind, bringing with it a warm tingle. Now he was a man who could inspire daydreams of adventure. For the first time in her life, she avidly read the Society pages in The Times, looking for word of him. The fact that a group of men had formed the Bride Thief Posse was most disturbing, and with a veritable fortune now being offered for his capture, the danger the Bride Thief faced increased significantly. Had he rescued any more women? Was he safe? She'd prayed for his safety every night before retiring, asking the Lord to watch over him.

  She'd carefully worded her replies to the probing questions everyone from the magistrate to the neighbors had asked her, partly because she did not wish to say anything that could endanger the Thief, but also because her heart simply couldn't share all the wonderful, enthralling details of their short time together.

  The
Bride Thief. Yes, there was no denying he embodied many of the qualities her fantasy gentleman possessed. She would never forget the brief time she'd spent with him, the thrilling exhilaration of dashing through the dark forest with a man who seemed more mythical than real.

  Yet he was flesh and blood, and impossible questions nudged at her. What was he like under the mask? Where did he live? Her imagination conjured up a hidden fortress, and she nearly laughed aloud at her fanciful thoughts. Of course she'd never know, but she did know he was a man to admire… a man of strong convictions and moral fiber. Certainly not the brigand so many people wished to cast him as. People such as Lord Wesley.

  Her brows collapsed into a frown. For reasons she could not explain, her thoughts had circled back to the irritating man a dozen times since their meeting last evening. She'd easily dismissed all the fops she'd encountered… Why hadn't she forgotten him?

  Perhaps because he'd discussed topics other than fashion and the weather with her. Or the fact that he'd made her laugh. Perhaps because she'd actually enjoyed his company before their awkward parting. Before he'd proven himself to be no different than any of her other false admirers.

  But no matter. She would most likely not find herself in Lord Wesley's company again. After all, except for last evening, she hadn't seen him in years. Even though her family enjoyed prominence in Tunbridge Wells, the earl's social world orbited far above hers. She knew from Mama that the earl spent most of his time in London. No doubt pursuing all manner of debauchery, as the nobility was wont to do.

  Yet, while so many others gazed upon her with speculation and shrewd glances, there had initially been something in Lord Wesley's eyes-an unexpected warmth, a surprising kindness-that had put her at ease. And had attracted her.

  She drew in a sharp breath. Attracted? Heavens, no! She most certainly was not attracted to that man! Of course any woman would find him physically… pleasing, but a handsome face meant nothing. Not when one was arrogant and presumptuous and claimed her desire to help a noble man was "preposterous."

  No, indeed, she didn't find him the least bit attractive. The only reason she hadn't dismissed him from her mind was because he had managed to anger her… and recalling their parting angered her still. Yes, that was all there was to it.

  Satisfied, she carefully tied her journal closed with a strip of satin ribbon, then slid the well-worn leather book into the hidden compartment she'd fashioned in her escritoire.

  Rising, she wandered to her bedchamber window. The late-afternoon sun gleamed, casting a swatch of bright warmth across the colorful braided throw rug.

  Pushing aside the dark green velvet drapery, she opened the window, then leaned on the sill to gaze upon the grounds. Flowery scent wafted up from Mama's roses, which bloomed in a wild profusion of reds and pinks. No one in the village had finer roses than Cordelia Briggeham, and Sammie loved to wander the paths meandering through Mama's garden, breathing in the glorious, heady scent.

  The tap of footsteps on the terrace caught her attention.

  Looking down, she saw Hubert crossing the flagstones with his gangly stride, nearly staggering under the weight of a large box.

  "What do you have there, Hubert?" she called.

  Hubert stopped and peered upward, his face breaking into a wide grin at the sight of her. A lock of chestnut hair fell across his forehead, lending him a childlike air at odds with his sixteen years.

  "Hallo!" he called. "The new telescope has finally arrived! I'm off to the Chamber. Would you care to join me?"

  "Most definitely. I'll join you in a few moments." She waved, then watched Hubert head toward the old barn that he'd converted into his laboratory several years ago. Sammie left her bedchamber and walked toward the stairs, excited at the prospect of seeing the new telescope. As she approached the landing, Mama's voice drifted upward.

  "How lovely of you to call, my lord. And such beautiful flowers! Chester, please escort his lordship to the parlor. I'll see to this bouquet and inform Samantha she has a guest."

  "Yes, Mrs. Briggeham," intoned Chester in his deep, butler voice.

  Botheration! No doubt the "my lord" currently on his way to the parlor was that annoying Viscount Carsdale, come to discuss the weather. Sammie leaned against the wall and fought the urge to sprint back to her bedchamber and hide in her wardrobe. She'd have done just that if she'd thought there was any hope of avoiding Mama and her guest, but the swish of Mama's skirts and the tread of her feet upon the stairs indicated she was trapped. Drawing a bracing breath, she met Mama at the top of the stairs. Mama bore a large bouquet of summer flowers and a radiant smile.

  "Samantha!" Mama said in an excited undertone. "You have a caller, darling. And you'll never guess who it is!"

  "Viscount Carsdale?"

  Mama's eyes widened. "Heavens, is he planning to call upon you as well? You must tell me these things, darling."

  "What do you mean 'as well'? Who is Chester showing to the parlor?"

  Mama leaned forward, her face alight with delight. "Lord Wesley." She breathed his name with a reverence normally reserved for saints and monarchs.

  Much to her annoyance, a tingle that felt suspiciously like anticipation skittered down Sammie's spine. What on earth was he doing here? Did he wish to continue their discussion regarding the Bride Thief? If so, his visit would be brief, indeed, for she had no intention of answering any more of his questions or listening to any more unkind words issued toward the heroic man. Or had he perhaps called for some other reason? If so, she couldn't imagine what. And why had he brought her flowers?

  Mama thrust the bouquet under Sammie's nose and said, "He brought you these. Aren't they magnificent? Oooh, flowers from an earl… I cannot wait to tell Lydia." Her eyes quickly assessed Samantha's plain gray gown. "Dear, oh, dear, you really should change into one of your new gowns, but I suppose this will have to do. We do not want to keep his lordship waiting."

  Commandeering Sammie's arm with a strength that belied her petite proportions, Mama all but propelled her down the stairs, then down the corridor toward the parlor, whispering terse instructions the entire way.

  "Don't forget to smile, darling," Mama said, "and make sure you agree with everything the earl says."

  "But-"

  "And be sure to inquire after his health," Mama continued, "but do not broach any of those unladylike topics such as mathematics and science you are so fond of."

  "But-"

  "And whatever you do, do not mention Isadore, Cuthbert, or Warfinkle. It is not necessary that the earl be apprised of your… unusual pets." She cast Sammie a narrowed-eyed, sidelong glance. "They are outdoors, are they not?"

  "Yes, but-"

  "Excellent." They paused in front of the parlor door, and Mama patted her cheek. "I'm very happy for you, darling."

  Before Sammie could even attempt to utter a word, Mama opened the parlor door and sailed across the threshold. "Here she is, Lord Wesley," she announced, nearly yanking Sammie off her feet. "I'll rejoin you in a few moments-just as soon as I've seen to these lovely flowers and arranged for some refreshments." She beamed an angelic smile, then withdrew, leaving the door properly ajar.

  Although anxious to join Hubert and his new telescope as soon as possible, reluctant curiosity about the reason for the earl's call pulled at Sammie. Determined to be polite, she turned toward her guest.

  He stood in the center of the diamond-patterned Axminster rug, tall, imposing, perfectly turned out in glossy black boots, fawn-colored riding breeches, and a midnight-blue jacket that hugged his masculine frame to perfection. For just an instant, she inexplicably, and uncharacteristically, wished she were wearing one of her new gowns.

  The only aspects of his appearance that weren't perfect were his cravat, which looked as if he'd yanked upon it, and his dark hair, which looked as if he'd raked his hands through it. She admitted, albeit grudgingly, that these flaws in his appearance were somehow… endearing.

  She nearly rolled her eyes at her choice of wo
rd. He wasn't in the least endearing. He was annoying. Questioning her regarding the Bride Thief in what could only be described as an underhanded manner, then scoffing at her desire to aid the heroic man, claiming to be concerned for her welfare. What enormous impudence! Well, the sooner she greeted him and discovered the reason for his call, the sooner she could show him on his way.

  "Good afternoon, Lord Wesley," she said, attempting her best, for Mama's sake, to sound friendly.

  "And the same to you, Miss Briggeham."

  "Er, thank you for the flowers."

  "You're welcome." His gaze swept over the room, taking in the abundance of bouquets that adorned every available surface. "Although, if I'd known that you already possessed so many floral tributes, I would have brought you something else."

  Her gaze followed his, and she couldn't suppress a sigh. "Mama says a woman can never have too many flowers, yet I shudder to think of all the poor plants that have been beheaded for these bouquets." The instant the words left her mouth, she realized how impolite they must sound to a man who'd just presented her with flowers. Hoping to make up for her faux pas, she asked in her politest voice, "Would you care to sit down, my lord?"

  "No, thank you." He walked toward her, his gaze resting on hers in a way that oddly unsettled her. When only several feet separated them, he said, "I prefer to stand to express my regrets that we parted company on a strained note last evening. I did not mean to upset you."

  The warmth radiating from his velvety brown eyes indicated his sincerity, but she'd learned over the past few weeks that seemingly sincere words flowed from gentlemen's lips like honey from a hive.

  "You did not upset me, Lord Wesley."

  When he raised his brows in a manner that clearly indicated he didn't believe her, she clarified, "You annoyed me."

  Something that looked like amusement flashed in his eyes. "Ah. Then please allow me to express my regrets forannoying you. In spite of how it may have appeared, I was not trying to glean information from you. And I merely wished to point out the extreme folly of your desire to aid a wanted criminal."