The Bride Thief

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Irritation rippled through him. Dash it, how was he to protect her if he couldn't find her? And how could he hope to test his experiment to discover the Bride Thief's identity? He simply had to find her.

  Continuing through the unfamiliar woods in the direction where he'd last seen her, he walked along, pausing every few minutes to strain his ears. After nearly a quarter hour, he halted at the sound of muffled voices in the distance. Crouching low, he moved cautiously forward. His heart jumped with relief when he spied Sammie sitting upon Sugarcane. His relief turned to excitement when he discerned a figure speaking to her-a masked man who could only be the notorious Bride Thief.

  He had come! His gaze swept the area. A woman who was surely Miss Barrow stood by a coach, a traveling case clutched in her hands. A huge black horse stood near the side of the road. Based on what Sammie had told him, he deduced this was the Bride Thief's mount. His elation quickly turned to dismay when he realized the group was about to depart the area. He had to act immediately if he had any hope of testing his experiment.

  Keeping one eye on the Bride Thief, he moved toward the black horse. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he opened the leather pouch clutched in his hand. He quickly sprinkled the contents over the animal's saddle, reins, and stirrups, then withdrew, hiding behind a dense clump of hedges.

  Frustration mixed with exhilaration pumped through him. If only he'd had more time! Then he could have emptied his powder inside the Bride Thief's saddlebag and snipped a small hole in the leather to leave a trail he could follow. He cursed the failure of his original plan, but at least by spreading the powder as he did, he'd see if its long-term phosphorescent properties worked. And perhaps the Bride Thief might lead him to the cottage where he'd brought Sammie!

  Seconds later the Bride Thief helped Miss Barrow into the saddle, swung up behind her, then led the way into the woods.

  Making certain to keep Sammie in his sights, he followed behind the group. Disappointment filled him when after a time it became obvious they were heading toward Briggeham Manor, dashing his hopes of finding the Bride Thief's cottage. Fustian! Simply everything had gone wrong! Just before the woods thinned into the clearing that led to his house, the group stopped. On stealthy feet he moved closer.

  "This is where we part company, Miss Briggeham," the Bride Thief said in a low, raspy brogue. "I thank ye again for your assistance and remind ye of your promise."

  "And I thank you as well, Miss Briggeham," said Miss Barrow.

  "God speed to you both," came Sammie's reply.

  No sooner had the words left her mouth, than the Bride Thief turned his mount and raced with Miss Barrow through the woods. Seconds later the darkness swallowed them, and they were lost from sight.

  Hubert watched a slow smile ease over Sammie's face, then she closed her eyes and blew out the sort of long, drawn-out sigh his other sisters usually heaved. She then headed toward the stables.

  The instant she was gone from view, he dashed across the clearing toward the house. In spite of his experiment not going as planned, he was barely able to contain his excitement over his adventure. He'd actually seen the infamous Bride Thief! Heard his voice!

  Would he also, by some stroke of luck, learn the Bride Thief's identity?

  Chapter Fourteen

  From the London Times:

  The Bride Thief strikes again! The infamous Bride Thief's latest kidnapping two nights past answered the burning question, When will he strike again? Stolen was Miss Anne Barrow of Kent, betrothed of Mr. Lucien Fowler. Miss Barrow's coachman, Nigel Grenway, informed the magistrate that just before he fell victim to an inexplicable malady, a hooded figure appeared behind him, leading to speculation that the Bride Thief has an accomplice. The investigation has intensified, and the magistrate has vowed to bring the kidnapper, as well as any other involved parties, to justice.

  In related news, the Bride Thief Posse reports that since allowing any man with a marriage-aged daughter to join their ranks, their membership has swelled to two hundred and is growing daily. The newest member is the latest victim's father, Mr. Walter Barrow. The reward now stands at nine thousand pounds.

  Eric stared at the words that cramped his stomach: speculation that the Bride Thief has an accomplice. Tossing the newspaper onto his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose. An accomplice. Bloody hell. Had the coachman discerned, in spite of the darkness, that the hooded figure was a woman? Had he provided the magistrate with a description of Samantha?

  Rising, he paced the length of his study. Damn it all, if this Grenway identified Samantha…

  His gut knotted tighter and his hands fisted. Fear more potent than any he'd ever felt for his own safety pumped through him. He had to protect Samantha. But in order to do so, he needed to know what Grenway had told the magistrate. It seemed another conversation with Adam Straton was in order.

  And based on the outcome of their talk, he'd then decide if he needed to provide Adam with some additional "helpful" information.

  In the meanwhile, he-or rather the Bride Thief-had to warn Samantha to watch her words should the magistrate call upon her. He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing her earnest, concerned face as she'd helped him in the woods. He'd been at her mercy, and she easily could have turned him in. The reward on his head would have made her a wealthy woman. At the very least, she could have satisfied her curiosity and lifted his mask.

  Instead she'd risked her reputation, her freedom, her very life to help him. To help Miss Barrow. He was furious with her. Frightened for her.

  And so damn proud of her.

  Frowning, he pushed that disturbing thought away. He needed to concentrate on the fact that she'd poked her nose where she had no business meddling. Yet one phrase kept running through his mind. What an incredible woman.

  Blowing out a weary sigh, he raked his hands through his hair, avoiding the still-tender spot above his ear. Yes, she was incredible. But if the magistrate discovered she'd assisted the Bride Thief, she'd face criminal charges. Not so long as there's a breath in my body.

  Stalking to his desk, he pulled a piece of vellum from the top drawer and prepared to write the most important letter of his life.

  Sammie stood in the drawing room and stared at her name neatly scrawled on the thick ivory vellum. Somehow she knew the letter was from the Bride Thief. The unfamiliar, bold print. The way it had mysteriously appeared on the front step, as if left there by a ghostly hand.

  With her heart beating in slow, heavy thumps, she broke the wax seal.

  My dear Miss Briggeham,

  I write to warn ye. The coachman has informed the magistrate that the Bride Thief may have an accomplice. I do not know if the man was able to offer any description of ye, but ye must prepare yourself for the possibility that the magistrate may call upon ye, either in reference to the other evening, or to question ye further regarding our first meeting.

  For your safety, I remind ye of your promise not to attempt to aid me again. I also remind ye to destroy anything that could possibly link ye to the other evening. Needless to say, ye must bum this note as soon as ye finish reading it. Ye will be happy to know that our friend is safely on her way to a new life of freedom. Please take care of yourself.

  There was no signature, but of course there was no doubt as to who had sent the note. Her eyes drifted shut, and she pressed the letter against her heart.

  Miss Barrow was safe. And free. Embarking on a brand-new life rilled with adventure. Happiness, tinged with a pang of envy, filled her as she mentally wished the young woman a long, happy life.

  The Bride Thief was also clearly safe, thank God, but for how long? A shudder ran through her as an image of him lying helpless on the ground flashed through her mind. He could have been killed. Or captured. She offered a silent prayer of thanks that the rescue had turned out successfully, but what if his next one did not? According to The Times, the Bride Thief Posse was growing daily, along with the price on the Bride Thief's head. How much longer could his luc
k possibly hold out? Her stomach turned over at the thought of that vital man swinging from a hangman's noose.

  That vital man. An involuntary sigh escaped her lips as she recalled the feel of his solid shoulders and muscular arms. Warmth eased through her, and she pressed his letter closer to her heart. For the second time, he'd provided her with a grand adventure, the memories of which she'd always treasure. A heated blush rose up her cheeks when she thought of him gently touching her face with his gloved hand. He was tender and caring. Utterly heroic. Kind and gentle. Just like…

  She blew out a long breath. Just like Lord Wesley. But just like the Bride Thief, Lord Wesley was lost to her-albeit for different reasons. The Bride Thief didn't want her help with his missions, and Lord Wesley simply didn't want her. At least not in the same way she wanted him.

  The memory of their passionate kisses rushed through her, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. The sensation of his body pressed against hers, his hands caressing her breasts. All right, clearly he does want me, but unlike me, he is unwilling to undertake the risks involved. If only Lord Wesley were as daring as the Bride Thief!

  Of course, Lord Wesley had offered her friendship, which was more than any other man had ever offered her. And while she would accept and cherish his friendship, a portion of her heart still wished for more from him. His kiss. His embrace.

  But for right now, she needed to stop thinking about both Lord Wesley and the Bride Thief, and burn this incriminating letter. The vellum crinkled against her bodice and sadness swept through her. She hated to destroy her only memento of the man, but for safety's sake she must. By her own promise, she'd never see him again, a vow that lay heavy on her heart, but that she wouldn't break. She had to keep him, and herself, safe.

  Opening her eyes, she turned toward the fireplace, then froze.

  Lord Wesley stood in the open doorway, regarding her with an intense expression.

  Heat singed her, as if she'd set herself on fire. Thrusting the Bride Thief's letter behind her, she inched backwards toward the desk. "Lord Wesley, what are you doing here?"

  He closed the door, then walked slowly toward her, like a sleek cat stalking its prey, his dark gaze riveted on her. "I wished to speak to you. Your butler advised me you were in the drawing room and I offered to announce myself."

  The back of her legs bumped into the desk and she swiftly turned, thrusting the letter into the top drawer, then slamming it shut. The bang reverberated through the quiet room, then silence reigned.

  Eric walked across the room, not stopping until he stood directly in front of her. He fisted his hands to contain the hot jealousy pumping through him. He'd stood in the doorway for at least two minutes watching her before she'd noticed his presence. Watching her clutch the Bride Thief's letter to her heart, her eyes closed, heaving dreamy sighs, her color high. She'd looked innocent and beguiling. And utterly aroused. For another man.

  Damn it all to hell and back. He'd called upon her to make certain she'd suffered no ill-effects from her adventure, and to hopefully discover if Adam Straton had visited to question her. But every thought had drained from his head when he saw her holding that damn letter. Every thought except the one that chanted Mine. Mine. Mine.

  And it was about damn time he did something about it.

  Leaning forward, he braced his palms on the desk on either side of her, bracketing her in. Her eyes widened and she leaned back slightly, but otherwise did not attempt to escape. Good. Now he had her right where he wanted her. Trapped.

  "What did you thrust so hastily into the drawer, Miss Briggeham?" he asked in a silky voice.

  "Oh, just a letter."

  "It seemed like an important letter."

  She swallowed once. "It was from a… friend."

  "Indeed? Was it from a… gentleman friend?"

  She lifted her chin and cocked a brow. "Why do you wish to know?"

  Because I don't want you thinking about any other man, even if the other bloody man is me. He raised his hand and trailed his fingertips down her crimson-stained cheeks. "You're blushing. I was. wondering if your letter was the cause."

  "If I'm blushing it's merely because it's very warm in here. And because you're standing… so close."

  He looked down, carefully assessing the several inches that remained between them. His gaze wandered slowly upward, pausing on the generous swell of her breasts that even her modest neckline could not hide. He drew a deep breath, and her honey-sweet scent filled his head, overwhelming him with the urge to bury his face in her fragrant flesh. Raising his gaze back to hers, he asked, "And if I were to move even closer?"

  Her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips, and his groin tightened in immediate response. "I imagine I would grow warmer still."

  His eyes intent on hers, he deliberately moved forward, erasing the few inches between them. Her scent fully enveloped him, and it took every ounce of his rapidly deteriorating control not to simply yank her into his arms and devour her. Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth across her jaw.

  "Warmer?" he whispered against her ear. He flicked his tongue over her delicate lobe, then captured it gently between his teeth, enjoying her gasp of feminine pleasure.

  "Very much warmer," she said in a breathless voice.

  Leaning back just enough to look at her, he barely managed to swallow the growl that rose in his throat. Desire dilated her aqua eyes, and her lush mouth begged to be kissed.

  He wanted her with an intensity he'd never experienced for any other woman. His entire body pulsed with a need that demanded to be met. A need he knew only she would satisfy. All the reasons he shouldn't make love to her flashed through his mind, but he squashed them like bothersome insects. He would protect her. Employ the discretion that ruled every other facet of his life. And she would be his.

  Tipping up her chin with his fingers, he met her gaze. "I want you more than warm," he said softly. "I want you hot. Melting. Burning. For me. With me." He watched her absorb his words, her skin flushing deeper, the pulse at the base of her neck quickening. "Are you still willing?"

  "I was never unwilling."

  Heat scorched him at her reply. Stepping back, he ran his hands down her arms and entwined their fingers. "Unfortunately, this is not the time or place." He wanted no interruptions when he took Samantha Briggeham on the biggest adventure of her life. And erased all thoughts of any other man from her mind. And satisfied his hunger for her.

  Raising her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss against her honey-scented palm. "Meet me tonight. At midnight. At the lake."

  A long look passed between them, and his heart thumped in slow, hard beats as he awaited her reply.

  "All right," she whispered.

  He refused to examine the relief that washed through him at her consent.

  "How do you propose we go about…" her voice dropped even lower, "you know what? "

  "I'm not certain I know which you know what you are referring to."

  She drew what appeared to be a bracing breath, then rushed out with, "Which method of preventing pregnancy shall we employ?"

  He stared at her, completely nonplussed. No woman had ever asked him such a thing.

  "I've researched the various ways-"

  "Researched? " Thank God his jaw was firmly attached or it would have dropped to the floor with a thud. "How did you do that?"

  "I discussed the matter with my sisters."

  A feeling he could only describe as horror pierced him. "Your sisters?" Good God, there went all hope for discretion. She was ruined before they'd begun.

  Before he could find his voice, she continued, "They were quite knowledgeable on the subject, although I'm afraid they did not tell me exactly where I could secure a sea sponge such as they described." She looked up at him with a hopeful expression. "I don't suppose you would know?"

  Bloody hell, could this conversation possibly get any worse? When he simply continued to stare at her, she clarified in a conspiratorial whisper, "The sort of sponge that ke
eps the you know what from going you know where."

  Jesus. It apparently could get worse. Releasing her hands, he dragged his fingers down his face. "Samantha. Why did you discuss something of such an intimate nature with your sisters?"

  "They were the logical choice, my lord, as I could not very well ask my mother. I needed information… information that you were unwilling to provide-"

  "Because at that time you did not need such knowledge. Surely they were shocked when you questioned them."

  "They were somewhat surprised, but I assured them that I wished to know for purely scientific research reasons."

  "Scientific research?"

  "Yes. When I explained I wished to conduct a comparative study of the reproductive cycles of several species, among them frogs, snakes, and mice, as they relate to humans, they were quite willing to discuss the matter with me. Believe me, there is no need to worry that they suspected the true reason I wished to know."

  "But surely they thought your questions… odd."

  "There is not much I could do, especially concerning scientific matters, that my sisters would consider odd. They're quite accustomed to my inquisitive nature. We've nothing to fear from them." Her lips twitched slightly. "So you may now remove that aghast and alarmed expression from your face."

  He instantly rearranged his facial muscles, annoyed that he'd allowed his feelings to show so clearly. Could she really be correct in her assessment of her sisters' reaction to her inquiries? Did they really believe she only wished to know for scientific reasons? If any other woman had made such a claim, he'd have laughed at her. But Samantha… well, he had to admit such a claim somehow seemed reasonable coming from her. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. Frogs, snakes, and mice? Yes, that sounded like Samantha.

  But then a thought occurred to him that narrowed his eyes. Bloody hell, had she considered taking another man as a lover? Like perhaps the Bride Thief? "If we'd already decided not to become lovers, why did you still seek such information?"

  A decidedly guilty-looking flush washed over her cheeks, and his hands fisted at his sides. But rather than averting her gaze, she raised her chin a notch and met his stare. "Actually, my lord, you had decided we should not become lovers. I was hoping you would change your mind, and I wished to be prepared in case you did."