The Bride Thief

Chapter Seven

From the London Times:

Several more outraged fathers have joined the Bride Thief Posse, all of them contributing to the reward money, which now stands at seven thousand pounds. Adam Straton, the magistrate where the last kidnapping occurred, stated that he has redoubled his efforts to solve the case, and he is confident he will apprehend the Bride Thief soon. "I will not rest until I see him hang for his crimes," Straton promised.

Eric stared out the window of his private study. Normally the warmth of the golden sunshine shimmering through the trees, and the sight of his stables in the distance brought him pleasure and comfort. Today, however, they failed to soothe, as he strove for the hundredth time to forget the one thing he couldn't seem to erase from his mind.

Samantha Briggeham.

Three days had passed since he'd called upon her. Three days since her honesty, intelligence, and lack of guile had charmed him, as it had on the two other occasions he'd met her. Three days of wanting to see her again, to the point where he'd actually had to force himself not to call upon her.

Damn it all, there was no need to concern himself with her welfare any longer. She bore no ill effects from his botched kidnapping. Yet he simply could not dismiss her from his thoughts.

Why? What was it about her that attracted him so? Certainly he could lie to himself and claim his interest lay only in the fact that he'd accidentally kidnapped her. But lying to himself was a futile exercise.

No, there was something about Samantha Briggeham that touched him… in a way he couldn't explain. What was it? She certainly was not beautiful, yet the combination of her too large eyes and those too large lips fascinated him in a way that a classic beauty never had. He'd enjoyed the company of many gorgeous women-women whose physical beauty could leave a man breathless, but he'd found them all eminently forgettable. Indeed, he couldn't recall one of their faces. The face that filled his mind during the day and rendered him wide awake at night was not that of a diamond of the first water, but of an unassuming country miss who inexplicably attracted him as no woman ever had.

Crossing to the decanters, he poured a finger of brandy, then stared at the amber liquid as if it held the answer to this extremely vexing puzzle.

Very well, he found her unusual looks intriguing. Pleasing. But that did not fully explain this… thing he could not name… this preoccupation with her. Leaning his hips against his mahogany desk, he sipped his drink, enjoying the trail of warmth easing down his belly. A series of images of Miss Briggeham flashed through his mind. Hiding behind Mrs. Nordfield's potted palms. Laughing as they'd examined Mrs. Nordfield's dreadful paintings. Her initial fright when he'd kidnapped her, her wistful expression when she'd confided her longing for adventure to the Bride Thief… her desire to swim in the Adriatic…

Bloody hell, perhaps that was the problem. He knew things about Miss Samantha Briggeham that he shouldn't, wouldn't know if he hadn't met her as the Bride Thief. And not just her yearnings for adventure. He knew how she felt in his arms, her soft body pressed against him, the heady sensation of galloping through the darkness with her, her honey-scented skin teasing his senses.

Then there was her anger… no, her annoyance… when he'd dared utter a word against the Bride Thief, a man she clearly admired. Her obvious love for her brother, and indulgence toward her mother. Her ambition to develop a medicinal cream to help her friend. She was intelligent, kind, loyal, amusing, horribly outspoken, and…

He liked her.

He was about to enjoy another swallow of brandy when the realization dawned, halting his hand halfway to his lips.

Bloody hell, he liked her.

Liked her smile, her laugh, even her indignation. She in no way exuded the supercilious attitudes of so many women of his acquaintance. She harbored dreams of scientific success and adventure that went far beyond which gown to wear, or which bonnet to purchase.

And her eyes… those extraordinary aqua eyes were filled with hopes, unfulfilled desires, and they hinted at feelings and vulnerabilities that he wanted to learn about. Yes, that's all this preoccupation was: simply a desire to learn more about an interesting woman. Converse with her. Discover all those fascinating thoughts he sensed lurked behind her thick spectacles.

He savored another sip of brandy while employing the decision-making processes he'd honed in the Army. He'd identified the problem-half the battle right there: He couldn't dismiss Miss Briggeham because he liked her and wished to learn more about her.

But how to solve this problem?

Clearly he had two options. He could force her from his mind, but since he'd been unable to accomplish that since he'd met her, he quickly discarded that option. Therefore, the only other possibility was to see her again, to speak with her and discover more about her. Once he did, his curiosity would be satisfied. Then he'd be able to put this preoccupation with her in its proper perspective. Perfect.

He raised his glass to salute his brilliant logic and toast his infallible plan.

Eric reined Emperor to a halt behind a copse of oaks near the fringe of the woods. Squinting against the glare of the early-afternoon sun, he watched Miss Briggeham approach from the direction of the village. Instead of the brisk strides she'd employed when last they met, she walked slowly across the verdant clearing, lifting her face to the sun, clearly savoring the warm weather. Her bonnet hung down her back from its ribbons, and her chestnut hair glinted in the sun, as if capturing its golden glow. A smile lit her face, and she twirled once in a circle, swinging the basket she carried with a joyful abandon, then bent over to smell a grouping of wildflowers.

He suddenly envied the carefree, relaxed picture she made. When was the last time he'd simply enjoyed the sunshine? Taken pleasure in a lovely day, savored the scents and sounds of nature without the gravity of his responsibilities and obligations weighing on his mind?

Not since that last summer before he'd entered the Army, he realized after a moment's thought. He and Margaret had enjoyed long rides around the estate, often bringing bundles of food with them. On several occasions, they'd ventured no farther than the stables, spending the afternoon grooming horses with Arthur.

It had been too bloody long since he'd passed a free and easy afternoon, and the urge to join Miss Briggeham, to lift her in his arms and swirl in lighthearted circles with her, share in her delight, tugged at his insides.

Pushing away the desire to indulge in behavior totally unsuitable for an earl, he continued to watch her, a smile pulling at his lips when she leaped over a pile of rocks with an exuberance that reminded him of a puppy.

He remained hidden until only a short distance separated them. Then, touching his heels to Emperor's flanks, he stepped onto the path.

"Why, Miss Briggeham, how nice to see you again."

She halted as if she'd walked into a glass wall. Color rushed into her already pinkened cheeks, and a host of expressions streaked across her face. But while she was clearly surprised to see him, she did not appear displeased. "Lord Wesley," she said in a breathless voice. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you. Are you returning home from the village?" he asked, as if he hadn't been informed by Arthur that Miss Briggeham walked this path to the village nearly every day.

"Yes. I visited my friend, Miss Waynesboro-Paxton."

"And how is her joint pain today?"

"Worse, I'm afraid. I brought her another jar of my honey cream. I massaged some into her hands, and it offered some temporary relief to the aches in her fingers." Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked up at him. "Are you going to the village?"

"No, I was just exercising Emperor, enjoying this beautiful day." He smiled down at her. "As I believe Emperor has tired himself running, may I walk with you?"

Emperor laid his ears back, huffed out a whinny, then pawed the ground once. She chuckled and said, "Of course. But it appears Emperor does not appreciate you casting aspersions on his stamina. In fact, I never knew a horse could look indignant until just now." Patting the gelding's neck, she said, "If you'd like, we can detour toward the lake so Emperor can enjoy a drink."

"A marvelous suggestion." Eric dismounted, then turned toward her intending to offer to carry her basket, but the words died in his throat as he looked at her. The sunlight reflected an enticing array of vibrant reds and hidden golds from her shiny hair. Her chignon was more than a little disheveled, obviously from all her twirling about. Yet it looked as if the strands might have been mussed by a man's hands… a man who'd given in to the impatient need to run his fingers through those silky-looking curls.

The bright light glinted off her spectacles, drawing his gaze to her eyes… eyes that looked at him with a mildly expectant expression, as if she were waiting for him to say something, a feat he seemed unable to perform.

Her skin glowed with sun-kissed color that bloomed on her cheeks like roses. His gaze lowered to her full lips, where a half-smile lingered, and he had to force himself to look away. He noted she wore a pale blue muslin gown, completely modest and unadorned, but from the slow roll his heart performed, she might have been wearing a lace negligee.

Instantly, an image of her wearing a lace negligee popped into his mind, her enticing curves barely covered with sheer material. Heat shot to his groin, and he barely suppressed the frustrated growl that rose in his throat.

Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? He shook his head to clear the disturbing image.

"Is something amiss, Lord Wesley?"

"Er, no."

She stepped closer to him and squinted up at his face.

The subtle scent of honey filled his head, and he clenched his teeth.

"Are you certain? You appear somewhat… flushed."

Flushed? Surely she was mistaken, although he did feel as if someone had lit a fire in his breeches. "It's merely rather warm. Here. In the sun." Damnation, was that gravelly sound his voice? Offering her his arm, he inclined his head toward the path leading into the woods. "Shall we?"

"Of course. It will be much cooler in the shade."

Yes, cooler. That was simply all he required. For some inexplicable reason, the sun seemed to be having an odd effect on him. Holding Emperor's reins in one hand, and with Miss Briggeham's hand resting lightly on his sleeve, they walked into the forest.

He exhaled in relief when the shade provided by the soaring trees swallowed the heat, offering the much needed coolness. Gentle sounds surrounded them as they strolled, the quiet rustle of leaves, the trill of a bird, the crunch of twigs beneath their feet, Emperor blowing out a soft breath.

He searched his mind for something to say, something clever to make her laugh or smile, but for reasons he could not decipher, he felt like a tongue-tied, green schoolboy. The only thing he could think to ask her was Do you taste as sweet as you smell? and he certainly couldn't say that. For the first time he could recall, his normally smooth sophistication abandoned him. If he'd had a free hand, he would have raked it through his hair. He'd wanted to see her, to talk to her, to find out more about her. Yet here she was, and he'd all but swallowed his tongue.

He was saved from trying to think up conversation, as they had arrived at the lake. The water shimmered dark blue, reflecting golden ribbons of sunlight. He released Emperor's reins, allowing the gelding to walk to the water's edge to drink. Miss Briggeham released his arm, leaving him with the urge to snatch her hand back. She strolled several yards away to lean against the trunk of a huge willow.

"The last several evenings have been particularly clear," she remarked, breaking the silence. "Have you taken advantage of the weather to observe the stars?"

He pounced on the topic as a dog would a meaty bone. "Indeed, I have. Tell me, is Hubert pleased with his new telescope?"

"Yes. It's a fine instrument, but he plans to someday build one of his own. He believes it's likely that more planets exist, and he wants to construct a telescope powerful enough to find out."

"Rather like William Herschel did when he discovered Uranus," Eric remarked.

She regarded him with pleased surprise. "Precisely. Hubert quite worships the man."

"My telescope is a Herschel."

"A Herschel? Oh!" She pushed her spectacles higher on her nose and gazed at him with an awed expression. "It must be wonderful."

"Indeed it is," Eric agreed. "I was fortunate enough to meet Sir William several years ago, and purchased it directly from him."

"Heavens, you've actually met him?"

"Yes. Fascinating fellow."

"Oh, he must be! His theory of binary star systems is utterly brilliant." Her entire face lit up as if he'd just presented her with a handful of pearls… or rather, stars. "Tell me, can you see Jupiter with your Herschel?"

"Yes." Ducking his head to avoid the hanging leaves, he joined her under the shady tree. "And last evening I observed several falling stars as well."

"As did I! Were they not marvelous?"

Nodding his agreement, he said, "They remind me of diamonds, streaking across the heavens, leaving a trail of jewel dust in their wake."

She smiled at him. "A very poetic description, my lord."

Captured by her enchanting smile, he took several steps closer to her. "And how would you describe them, Miss Briggeham?"

She didn't answer right away. Rather, she tipped her head back against the tree trunk and looked up at the ribbons of blue sky visible through the veil of willow leaves. "Angels' tears," she finally said, her voice soft. "I watch the stars fall and wonder who in heaven is weeping, and why." She lowered her gaze back to him, and his throat tightened at her wistful expression. "Why do you suppose an angel would cry?"

"I can't imagine."

The hint of a self-conscious smile flashed over her lips. "Angels' tears. Completely unscientific and illogical, I know."

"Yet a very apt, clear description. The next time I see a falling star, I too shall wonder if there's an angel who weeps."

Their gazes locked for the space of several heartbeats, and he swore some manner of invisible spark all but crackled in the air between them.

Did she feel it as well? Before he could decide, she averted her gaze and said, "I cannot wait to tell Hubert that you've met Sir William Herschel, and that you own one of his telescopes." A smile touched her lips. "Of course, perhaps I'd best not tell him. If I do, he'll ask you a thousand questions. And whichever ones he might not think of, I will."

"I'd be pleased to answer them," he assured her, surprised that he meant it. "I've no one who shares my interest in astronomy. In fact, perhaps you and Hubert would like to come to Wesley Manor to see my Herschel?"

Her eyes widened behind her glasses, and he clenched his hands to keep from plucking those spectacles from her face.

"Hubert would all but expire from the excitement, my lord," she said, her voice breathless.

"And you, Miss Briggeham… would you also all but expire?"

"Indeed," she said, her expression perfectly serious. "I never thought to have such a rare opportunity."

"Excellent." He looked toward the glimpses of cloudless, azure sky visible through the leaves. "It looks as if tonight might be clear. Are you free this evening?"

"Well, yes, but are you certain…?" Her voice trailed off and she sent him a searching look.

"You appear quite astonished at my invitation, Miss Briggeham. And here I thought 'a' words were to be used to describe me."

Amusement flickered in her eyes at his teasing words, then she smiled-a shy, pleased smile that for some ridiculous reason set his heart thumping.

"I assure you," he said, "I'd enjoy having you and Hubert as my guests this evening."

"In that case, my lord, I can only thank you for your most 'agreeable' invitation. Hubert… and I… shall look forward to it."

"Excellent. I'll send my carriage for you. Shall we say at eight?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

He watched her full lips form the words, his attention fixed on that fascinating freckle gracing the corner of her mouth. Her lips puckered when she said "you"… as they might if she were about to be kissed.

Kissed. The word slammed into him like a punch to the gut. Bloody hell, her mouth was incredible. The most kissable he'd ever seen. Awareness pulsed through him, and those moist lips beckoned him like a siren's call. The urge to touch that alluring mouth with his own, just once, for an instant, overwhelmed him, overriding his normally fine-tuned common sense.

Like a man in a trance, he walked slowly toward her. She watched him, her eyes growing rounder with each step he took. When he paused directly in front of her, she looked up at him with confusion.

He braced one arm on the willow's trunk, next to her shoulder, and allowed his gaze to roam over her. His nearness obviously unnerved her, a fact that shouldn't have pleased him, but did. Clearly he was not the only one experiencing this… whatever it was.

Her magnified eyes reflected uncertainty, and her cheeks bloomed with color. Her pulse beat visibly at the base of her delicate throat, and her chest rose and fell with her increasingly rapid breaths. Her delicious scent filled his head, and he leaned closer to better capture that elusive fragrance.

"You smell like… porridge," he said softly.

She blinked twice, then her lips twitched. "Why, thank you, my lord. However, I'd best warn you that such flowery words might swell my head."

His brows pulled down. Had he just compared her to porridge? How did this woman manage to strip him of all his finesse? Unable to stop himself, he leaned closer, until only several inches separated them.

Breathing deeply, he murmured, "Porridge with honey drizzled over it. My favorite morning meal." His lips hovered a breath away from the fragrant curve of her neck. "Warm. Sweet. Delicious."

He inhaled once more, and his entire body tingled. God, she smelled good enough to eat. The desire pulsing through him was so strong, so unexpectedly heated, it smacked him like a brick to the head, rousing him from his stupor. What the hell are you doing? He'd clearly taken leave of his senses.

Beating back his desire, he pushed himself away from her, backing up several steps. Damn it, he hadn't even touched her, yet his breath puffed from his lungs as if he'd run a mile. And one look at her confirmed that she was as affected as he. Her eyes were aqua saucers, staring at him in dazed wonderment. Rapid breaths whooshed from her slightly parted lips, her chest rising and falling in a way that drew his gaze to her ample curves. He barely managed to swallow the groan that rose in his throat.

Why hadn't he kissed her? Simply pressed their lips together, taken a quick taste to satisfy his curiosity, and been done with it? Obviously because his common sense had come back to life and reminded him that Miss Briggeham was a respectable young woman, not one to be trifled with. But just as his common sense had spoken up, so now did his pesky inner voice. You didn't kiss her because you know, deep down, that a quick taste wouldn't be enough.

Bloody hell. Best to leave now, before he did something he'd regret. Like take her up on the almost irresistible invitation he doubted she realized glowed in her eyes. Forcing himself to take several more steps backwards, he offered her a formal bow. "I must go," he said, managing to ignore the beguiling blush that colored her silky cheeks. "But I shall see you this evening."

A frown yanked at his brows. Perhaps having her in his home was not a wise idea. But he instantly pushed aside the worry. They would be properly chaperoned by her brother, and surely he'd have no problem resisting whatever mild attraction he felt for her. Whatever odd notion had come over him moments ago was gone, and he was totally in control of himself. Miss Briggeham was perfectly safe with him.

She pushed her glasses higher on her nose and cleared her throat. " 'Til this evening," she said in a calm voice that somehow irked him. Of course, he had sounded perfectly calm… but he hadn't expected her to.

He strode to Emperor, then swung himself into the saddle. After nodding at Miss Briggeham, he headed down the path leading toward his home at a brisk trot.

Vexing woman. He must have been mad to invite her to his home. But no matter. It was only one evening. Just several hours in her company. Quite easy to get through.

After all, hadn't he just proven to himself that he could easily resist her?

Sammie remained leaning against the tree trunk, riveted in place, watching the path long after he'd disappeared from sight, her pulse pounding erratically.

Heavens above, he'd been about to kiss her. Kiss her, with those firm, lovely lips. A feminine sigh the likes of which she'd never heaved, puffed from her lips. Her eyes slid shut as she recalled the way he'd braced his arm on the tree trunk beside her, the way he'd leaned in close to her, surrounding her with his woodsy, clean scent. Heat had all but pulsed from him, and she'd had to press her palms to the scratchy willow bark to keep from touching him, to see if he was really as warm as he seemed.

Another dreamy sigh worked its way toward her throat. Just as she was about to expel it, however, sanity returned with a resounding thump.

Of course, she must be mistaken. Why on earth would Lord Wesley want to kiss her? No doubt he'd simply been curious about her fragrance, wondering why she smelled like porridge.

But the way he'd looked at her… with that intense expression that had all but stolen her breath. Surely he hadn't meant to stand so close. No doubt he'd just wanted to stand more in the shade.

And what had she done? Acted like an utter idiot, rendered breathless and weak-kneed by his proximity, her heart pounding in anticipation, yearning for the touch of his lips on hers.

Embarrassment washed through her. Had he known? Had her longing shown in her eyes? She clapped her hands to her burning cheeks. He'd simply wanted to stand in the shade, and all her logic had scattered like ashes in a windstorm. Good heavens, what on earth had come over her? She did not know, but there was no denying that the man affected her in the most dismaying fashion.

Perhaps she shouldn't go to his home… out no, the lure of seeing a Herschel telescope was too strong. She couldn't deny herself or Hubert such a rare opportunity. And besides, Hubert would be with her to act as chaperone. There would be no reason for Lord Wesley to stand close to her, and therefore, logically, no reason for her heart to flutter or her breath to stall. She and Lord Wesley merely shared an interest in astronomy. Naturally she would feel a… kinship toward him. Why, it was really no different than discussing the stars with Hubert.

Satisfied with her logical explanation, she pushed off from the tree, then walked briskly down the path leading toward her house. With a sigh, she realized one possible problem with this visit to Lord Wesley's home would be Mama. She did not want her mother to misinterpret the earl's invitation as being anything more than what it was-a kind and generous gesture toward fellow enthusiasts to view a telescope made by the world's foremost living astronomer. Lord Wesley was simply being… amiable. In fact, he was so amiable, it was… alarming. Astonishing.

Yes, she'd have to be very certain that Mama understood there was nothing more to it than that. Otherwise she suspected that Mama's matchmaking mind would leap with impossible, hopeless thoughts.

And you yourself would do well to remember that they're hopeless, impossible thoughts.

Yet while that stern inner warning stiffened her spine, it did little to squelch the impossible longing that Lord Wesley's nearness had kindled in her heart.