The Bride Thief

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  She peered up at him with a quizzical expression. "Was there something else, my lord?"

  His eyes narrowed, and he studied her upturned face. There was nothing even resembling desire in her eyes, in fact, she was regarding him with nothing more heated than cool detachment. Bloody hell, she looked downright disinterested.

  Damn inconsistent woman. One moment she wanted him as a lover, now it seemed she couldn't get away from him fast enough. His common sense told him this was good. Every other part of him rebelled against it. Why this sudden change? Even though he'd refused to become her lover, his desire had not lessened. Not one damn bit.

  "Is something amiss at home, Miss Briggeham? You seem in a hurry."

  "No, my lord. But there's a… project I need to start on as quickly as possible."

  "What sort of project?"

  She lowered her gaze, apparently fascinated by something on the ground. "Nothing that would interest you."

  An acute sense of loss flooded him. She didn't want to share the details with him-details of a project that was clearly important to her, as she couldn't wait to get home to start on it. Hell, he hadn't anticipated that he would so sorely miss the easy camaraderie they'd shared. He should let her simply walk away.

  But he couldn't.

  Moving to stand directly in front of her, he tipped her chin up until their eyes met. "About our discussion yesterday…"

  Crimson flooded her cheeks. "Have you changed your mind?"

  Yes. "No." A scowl pulled down his brows. "But I was hoping that we could remain… friends."

  Whatever reaction he'd expected from her, it certainly wasn't the flash of temper that ignited in her eyes.

  "Friends?" she repeated, raising her brows. "Yes, I suppose we can remain friends. Lord knows I do not have so many that I can turn one away."

  "Yet you're angry with me."

  "No, I'm disappointed. However, I am angry at the situation I'm in. The same situation thousands of women are in. Because we're not beautiful or witty or heiresses-or for whatever reason-we are forced into celibate spinster-hood. Forced to live our lives without ever experiencing a man's touch." Sparks all but flew from her eyes. "A woman should be able to choose. Good lord, it's just as bad as being forced into an unwanted marriage."

  He stilled. "It's not the same-"

  "Yes, it is. It's exactly the same." Yanking her arm from his suddenly lax fingers, she stepped away from him. "The Bride Thief would understand."

  His every muscle tensed. "The Bride Thief? What rubbish. He's nothing more than a common criminal, absconding with women who-"

  "Have no choice. Who are being forced into a life they do not want." Her voice shook with feeling. "He gives women a choice. And offers them the priceless gift of freedom. 'Tis more than a woman like me shall ever have."

  His heart ached for her, as there was no denying the truth of her words. Women's choices were severely limited. He, too, railed against such unfairness, but not in a way he could ever share with her.

  Fisting his hands at his sides to keep from touching her, he said, "Even if the Bride Thief did understand, you'll never see him again."

  The determined look she gave him snaked an icy chill of foreboding down his spine. "That's what you think," she said in a tight voice. Before he could recover himself, she brushed past him and stalked down the path.

  He stared after her, stunned. Surely she was merely spouting nonsense in a moment of pique, as women were wont to do. But the instant the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. Samantha Briggeham was the most forthright woman he'd ever encountered. He couldn't imagine her making such a statement unless she believed it to be true.

  Clearly she intended-or at the very least hoped-to see the Bride Thief again. Of course she couldn't very well accomplish that without his cooperation, but she did not know that.

  Apprehension filled him. For her. And himself.

  Bloody hell, what was she planning?

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time Eric arrived back at his stables, he still had not figured out what Miss Briggeham might be planning. Distracted, he dismounted and handed Emperor's reins to Arthur.

  "We need to talk," Arthur said in an undertone.

  His gaze snapped to Arthur's, and his heart thumped against his ribs as he instantly recognized the look in the older man's eyes. Eric nodded. "We'll meet in the usual place in half an hour."

  Thirty minutes later, Eric entered the gazebo near the rear of the gardens. Arthur paced inside the marble structure, his weathered face taut with worry.

  "I've heard word of another who needs help," Arthur said without preamble.

  Eric leaned his hips against the balustrade and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm listening."

  "Chit named Anne Barrow. Seems like the usual scenario, but…"

  When Arthur didn't elaborate, Eric prompted, "Something is bothering you?"

  "Well, I just think it's damned odd how I heard about it."

  His gaze locked onto Eric's. "It seems Miz Sammie's the one wot started the gossip."

  Eric froze. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Surprised me, too, it did, 'cause Miz Sammie's not one to carry tales. But I heard it straight from Sarah, the Briggeham's cook. Told me Miz Sammie came into the kitchens this mornin' and told her about this Anne Barrow bein' forced to wed a horrid man, and wouldn't it be wonderful if the Bride Thief rescued her? Even went on to say how she would be traveling along a certain route two nights from now." Arthur scowled and scratched his head. "Damned odd if you ask me. Where do you suppose Miz Sammie would hear such a thing?"

  "I'm not certain," Eric said slowly. "Has anyone else carried the tale to you?"

  "No. And that's also strange. Story like this usually makes its way to me from several sources."

  "Tell me exactly what Sarah told you."

  Arthur obliged, then said, "This Bride Thief Posse is gainin' in numbers, and they're determined to catch ye. The magistrate, too. This whole story could be a trap. What are ye going to do?"

  "I'll let you know as soon as I decide. In the meanwhile, quietly see what you can find out about this Anne Barrow."

  Eric strode into his private study and immediately poured himself a brandy. Tipping back his head, he drained the potent liquor down his throat, enjoying the heated path it burned through his chilled insides. He poured another, then walked to the fireplace where he stared into the low-burning flames while his mind spun with questions.

  Why had Samantha spread the news about Miss Barrow? By her own admission she wasn't interested in gossip. Had she merely stumbled upon the news, or been told by someone else and was simply passing it on? If so, why hadn't she told him when they'd spoken by the lake? Had a member of the ever-growing Bride Thief Posse told her the story, hoping to start the rumor as a trap for the Thief? Perhaps. Still, why use Samantha? It didn't make sense. Unless…

  Had someone hoped she'd carry the tale to him? Did someone suspect him?

  But if he were under suspicion, why hadn't someone brought the tale directly to him, to ensure he knew of Miss Barrow's plight rather than relying on the unpredictability of the gossip grapevine-especially if a trap was being set?

  Setting his snifter on the mantel, he dragged his hands down his face and considered the other possibility… the one he'd pushed aside but could ignore no longer.

  Had Samantha made up the entire tale as a way to lure out the Bride Thief so she could see him again? Could that be the "project" she'd spoken of? He recalled the words she'd spoken at the lake when he'd said she would never see the Bride Thief again. That's what you think. Damn it all, was there really a girl who needed rescuing or was it just a ruse? And if there was a girl in need, how did Samantha fit into the situation?

  Part of him instantly rebelled against the idea that she would lie and spread a false story for her own means. She was too honest and straightforward.

  But another part of him taunted: How else could she ever hope to see the Bride Thief again?
It's a smart plan, and she's a smart woman… A woman who clearly admires your alter personality. A woman who wants to experience adventure.

  A woman who wants a lover.

  Searing jealousy pulsed through him and a bitter laugh escaped him. Bloody hell, he was losing his mind. He was burning up with jealousy-over himself. But there was one way to fix that.

  After taking extra precautions to ensure his safety, the Bride Thief would rescue Miss Anne Barrow-if indeed she existed.

  And if Miss Samantha Briggeham happened to be involved, he'd see just how familiar she hoped to become with the Bride Thief.

  The following afternoon Eric reined Emperor to a halt and tipped his hat to the magistrate riding toward him.

  "Good afternoon, Straton," he greeted. "Fine afternoon for a pleasurable ride."

  Adam Straton tipped his hat in return. "A fine afternoon indeed, Lord Wesley. However, I'm not on a pleasure ride. I'm on my way to London. I've several new leads to follow."

  Eric raised his brows. "Oh? For a new investigation or one already in progress?"

  "They concern the Bride Thief investigation."

  "Indeed? Have you caught the brigand?"

  "Not yet. But some new information has come to my attention that I'm hoping will lead to his capture."

  "Excellent. Bad having a scoundrel like him roaming about-although I haven't heard that he's stolen any brides lately."

  "Last victim was Miss Briggeham," Straton agreed, "and he botched that one." His lips tightened into a grim line. "If I'd arrived only minutes earlier I might have apprehended him. Unfortunately Miss Briggeham proved a rather uncooperative witness."

  "Did she?"

  "Yes. Kept glaring at me and insisting the man's actions were heroic. Rather than being outraged at him, she was annoyed with me for casting aspersions on his character." He shook his head. "A most unusual woman."

  Eric fought to suppress a smile. "Obviously."

  "You mark my words, my lord, the Bride Thief won't be at large much longer. The botched Briggeham kidnapping proves he's growing careless. He's bound to make another mistake, and when he does, I'll be waiting."

  "I wish you the best of luck, and I hope your new information proves helpful."

  "As do I." Straton spent several seconds adjusting his gloves, then asked, "How is your sister faring, my lord?"

  "She's coming home. I expect her within the next several days. Darvin passed away."

  Straton seemed to freeze in place. He swallowed once, then said in a strained voice, "I'm sorry for her loss."

  Eric didn't bother to point out that Darvin's death was no loss to anyone, least of all Margaret. "I'll be certain to pass along your condolences."

  "Thank you. Good afternoon, Lord Wesley." With a curt nod, Straton applied his heels to his horse's flanks and trotted down the road leading toward London.

  Filled with grim satisfaction, Eric turned Emperor toward the path leading to Wesley Manor. It would take Adam Straton at least two days in London to investigate the "information" Eric had arranged for him to receive about the Bride Thief.

  It was more than enough time for Eric to carry out everything he needed to accomplish without the magistrate's sharp eyes nearby. He disliked tricking Adam, for he admired the hardworking man's honesty and integrity. But since success for Adam on this particular matter meant the hangman's noose for Eric, he managed to bury his guilt.

  Just before he entered the dense forest, Eric glanced back over his shoulder. The sight of a carriage appearing from around the bend in the road leading to London made him rein Emperor to a halt. Shielding his eyes against the sun's glare, he studied the vehicle. His entire body tensed when he recognized not only the vehicle but the chestnut-haired figure inside.

  What the hell was Samantha Briggeham doing riding back from London?

  Hubert pounced on Sammie the instant she entered the Chamber.

  "Well?" he demanded. "Were you successful?"

  She patted her reticule and nodded. "I have everything right here. The money, and a ticket for passage aboard the Lady Seafarer, departing for America tomorrow morning."

  "Did Cyril suspect anything?"

  Guilt suffused Sammie for deceiving the loyal coachman. "No. The dear man believed I was in the bookstore the entire time."

  Hubert nodded his approval. "Now let's go over the plan one more time to make sure you're prepared."

  "All right." She paced in front of Hubert, ticking off each item on her fingers. "After dinner I shall claim fatigue and go to my bedchamber. Cyril retires at nine. At half after, you and I shall meet in the stables, where you'll help me saddle the horses. I'll ride Sugarcane and lead Dancer to the spot Miss Barrow indicated in her letter. I estimate it will take an hour to an hour and a half to arrive-sufficient time, as Miss Barrow is not scheduled to pass by until after midnight."

  Hubert nodded. "Excellent. Go on."

  "When I arrive, I'll tether Dancer so she's close to the road, but hidden from view. I'll then hide and wait for Miss Barrow's coach to approach. If the Bride Thief appears to rescue her, I'll simply remain bidden and then come home. If he doesn't appear, I'll stop the coach, claiming my horse has gone lame, and ask for help. While her coachman examines Sugarcane, I'll slip the money and ticket to Miss Barrow and tell her where to find Dancer. I'll then distract the coachman for as long as possible to give her a chance to escape."

  "Have you written the directions to the ship and the instructions about where she should leave Dancer, so Cyril can retrieve her?"

  "Not yet, but I shall do so before dinner. According to the agent who sold me the ticket, there is a livery within sight of the dock. Miss Barrow should have no trouble finding it." She pushed her glasses higher on her nose. "Did we leave anything out?"

  "I did think of a potential problem, Sammie." His eyes turned troubled. "What if you are not able to distract the coachman long enough for Miss Barrow to escape? And even if she does manage to get away, what if he realizes she's gone? He might suspect you aided her, and then there's no telling what he might do to you."

  "An excellent point." She tapped her fingers against her chin. "But what can I do? I wouldn't want to cosh the fellow."

  "Indeed not. You might not hit him hard enough."

  "I was actually thinking I might strike him too hard."

  Hubert blinked. "Oh. Well, that would be equally as disastrous I suppose."

  A wry smile curved her lips. "It's too bad he wouldn't voluntarily take a little nap until Miss Barrow was safely gone."

  The instant the words left her mouth she stilled. Her eyes met Hubert's startled gaze and a long look passed between them.

  "I could give you something," Hubert said, his voice low and excited. "It's derived from a combination of herbs that I developed based on my studies of South American tribes. It's very useful for putting animals such as chipmunks temporarily to sleep so I can examine them without risking injury to myself or them. It would ensure the coachman takes a nap."

  "It wouldn't harm him?"

  Hubert shook his head. "He'd simply fall asleep. For an hour or two."

  Sammie raised her brows. "But how would I give it to him? I can't very well hand him a cup and say drink this."

  "Do you have a hat pin?"

  "A hatpin? Why on earth would I-"

  "I'll coat the pin with the substance. All you'd have to do is stick him with it."

  "And you don't think he'd notice?" she asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice.

  "By the time he realizes it wasn't a bee sting, he'll be asleep."

  A slow smile pulled at Sammies lips. "Why, Hubert. I believe you're a genius."

  A pleasure-filled flush colored his cheeks. Peering at her over the rims of his glasses he asked, "Did you ever doubt it?"

  "Not for a moment." Reaching out, she ruffled his unruly hair. "I believe we have now thought of everything."

  "Yes… except for the fact that I'll worry horribly about you. I wish you would allow me to
come with you-"

  "Absolutely not. I need you to remain here to distract Mama should she discover my absence." She didn't add that she couldn't risk involving him in an outing that might prove dangerous. She grasped his hands and squeezed them tightly. "I love you for wanting to protect me, but I'll be fine. All I'm going to do is give Miss Barrow the money, instructions and ticket, and if the Bride Thief shows up, that won't even be necessary."

  "In that case, it's not fair that you get to have all the fun," Hubert mumbled. "You've already seen the Bride Thief."

  "And if I see him again tonight, it shall be at a distance. You make it sound as if we'll be sitting about, chatting and visiting, sipping tea and nibbling biscuits."

  Hubert ducked his head and scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe. "I know it won't be like that, but I'd still like to come."

  "But you cannot." Sammie drew a deep breath. "Now that that's settled, I'm going to go write out the instructions. I'll see you at dinner." She left, closing the door gently behind her.

  Hubert planted his hands on the long wooden table and blew out a long breath. He knew the real reason Sammie didn't want him to accompany her-she didn't want anything to happen to him. But devil take it, what sort of man would he be if he allowed his sister to traipse through the woods at night unescorted? Why, no sort of man at all. Something could just as easily happen to her, and then he'd never forgive himself.

  Therefore, the only logical thing to do was to follow her without her knowledge. That way, he'd not only be able to protect her, but he'd have himself a grand adventure. And perhaps even learn the answer to the question that had haunted him since Sammie's kidnapping.

  His gaze rested on the experiment he'd been working on for weeks. Would his idea work? He didn't know, but he'd find out tonight.

  And if it did, he would discover the identity of the Bride Thief.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sammie stood hidden behind a tall clump of bushes near the side of the road, running her hands gently over Sugercane's neck to keep her quiet. So far everything had gone according to plan. Her heart slapped against her ribs with such a wild combination of exhilaration and trepidation, she marveled that it simply didn't leap from her chest to land at her feet. Clouds obscured the moon, suiting her purposes perfectly. Crickets hummed nearby, and a gentle earth-scented breeze cooled her heated skin.