The Bride Thief

Chapter Ten

"Why not? " Eric stared at her in amazement. She watched him, her head cocked to one side, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. After what seemed an eternity, he finally cleared his throat and said, "Surely you know why we cannot take this any further. There could be repercussions-and I'm not in a position to offer you marriage."

She raised her brows. "I don't expect a proposal."

"Then what do you expect exactly?"

"That we'd share a wonderful adventure."

Eric's heart thumped so hard he could feel his blood pounding in his ears. He tried to draw a breath, but his lungs seemed compressed in his chest, as if a heavy rock sat on them.

Her response stunned him, elated him, and he wanted more than anything to share a sensual adventure with her. But how could he? His conscience would flog him alive. The silence stretched between them and he knew he had to respond.

"As flattered as I am by your willingness, I'm afraid we must stop."

She frowned, then her eyes widened. "Oh, dear. Do you already have a lover?"

A warm flush crept up his neck. "Not currently, no."

There was no mistaking her relief. Her gaze drifted down to his still-bulging manhood, then returned to his face. "You cannot deny you desire me."

"Obviously not. But there is much more involved here than simply satisfying my desires." His fingers tightened briefly on her wasit, then he released her and dragged his hands down his face. "Clearly you have not thought this through-"

"On the contrary, I have."

"Indeed? 'Tis clear you have not considered your reputation, which would be utterly ruined."

"Only if someone found out. I wouldn't tell anyone. Would you?"

"Of course not. But no matter how discreet we might try to be, someone would suspect and gossip. A servant, a neighbor, someone in your family. It would be impossible to hide an affair in a close-knit village like Tunbridge Wells."

"I disagree." Drawing a deep breath, she clasped her hands in front of her. "I am regarded in this village as an odd, eccentric, homely, firmly-on-the-shelf bluestocking. No one would credit for an instant that any man, let alone a man such as yourself, would grant me more than a passing glance. I find it nearly impossible to credit myself. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that even if we stood in a crowded room and announced to one and all that we'd become lovers, no one would believe us."

The fact that she was most likely correct rushed a surge of anger through him toward every dolt who had ever dismissed her. Damnable idiots.

"I am rapidly approaching my twenty-sixth birthday." – she continued. "I accepted long ago the limitations put upon me by my appearance and unusual interests, but that has never stopped me from yearning for adventure. And passion."

Fragile hope and longing flickered in her eyes, tightening his throat. Damn it, he had to convince her that taking him as a lover was a bad idea-and somehow manage to convince her without crushing her. But it was damn difficult to recall why when his loins ached with need and it seemed he'd lost his voice.

Needing to touch her, he reached out, took her hand, and entwined their fingers. Warmth eased up his arm at her touch, and it required a great deal of willpower not to simply yank her against him and consign his bloody conscience to the devil.

"Ever since my encounter with the Bride Thief," she said softly, "I've been unable to suppress my need for adventure. It's as if he burst a dam inside me."

He froze. "The Bride Thief? What has he to do with this?"

"He made me feel… alive. Made me realize how very much I wanted… things."

His jaw hardened and he narrowed his eyes. "Things such as a lover?"

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Yes."

Unreasonable, irrational jealousy pumped through him, and he abruptly released her hand. "Then perhaps you should approach the Bride Thief with your offer."

Color rushed into her cheeks, and he gritted his teeth. He hadn't considered that she might be harboring… lover-like feelings for his alter personality.

"It is unlikely I shall ever see him again," she said.

Damned unlikely. "And if you did?"

"He did not give me any indication that he… desired me."

Bloody hell, what did she mean by that? Did she want to experience passion with the Bride Thief? The thought of her wanting another man, regardless of the fact that the other man was in reality him, edged his vision with a red haze.

Swallowing his mounting anger, he said coolly, "Have you considered that your adventure could result in pregnancy?"

"Yes, but I understand that there are ways to prevent such an occurrence."

"And do you know what they are?"

"No… not yet."

"Yet? " He raked a hand through his hair. "How do you intend to find out?"

She raised her brows. "Do you know?"

"Of course. I've no wish to father any by-blows."

A smile of unmistakable relief touched her lips. "Excellent. You can tell me everything I need to know."

"I'll do nothing of the sort. You do not require such information as I will not be your lover." He rubbed his hand over his face, shaking his head. "What if you decide to marry in the future?" The instant the words passed his lips, another image of her, wrapped in some faceless man's arms, filled his mind, almost choking him.

"I have no desire to marry. My scientific work fulfills me, and I hope to someday travel. If I'd wanted to be a wife, I could have agreed to a match my parents recently tried to arrange. You have my word that I shall not attempt to extract an offer of marriage from you."

"That is wise, as I've no intention of ever marrying. And I would never want to be forced into marriage."

"Nor would I. But what of your title?"

"It will die with me," he said, his voice stiff with cold finality.

"I see." She expelled a long breath, then said, "Well, now that we've discussed and dismissed all the obstacles…"

God knew he ached to make love to her. But with his damned conscience all but hammering him in the head, he felt compelled to save her from herself. For in spite of her protestations, she obviously didn't realize how much she stood to lose.

Forcing aside the need that threatened to overwhelm his good intentions, he took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. Praying she would see the depth of his regret, he said, "I cannot be your lover. Not because I don't want you, because I do." A humorless laugh escaped him. "Desperately. But I cannot, will not be responsible for your social ruin."

She lifted her chin a notch higher. "I've told you I would not hold you responsible for any adverse effects stemming from our association."

"I understand. But I am not the sort of man who can simply walk away from or ignore my responsibilities."

Confusion flashed in her eyes. "But what of your previous lovers? Were you not concerned for their reputations?"

Tenderness washed through him. Cupping her heart-shaped face between his hands, he brushed his thumbs over her smooth cheeks. "None of my previous lovers were innocents. Any association with me, or any other man, would not harm their social standing. You would be ruined. I cannot do it."

His words drained all the expression from her eyes. "I see." She stepped jerkily backward and his hands slipped from her face. "In that case, I suppose it's best if I go home. May I have my spectacles, please?"

"Of course." He extracted her glasses from his jacket pocket and handed them to her. He watched her slip them on, his insides aching with a sharp pang of loss.

After adjusting her glasses, she offered him a formal nod. "I bid you good-bye, Lord Wesley." Turning on her heel, she headed down the path toward her home.

Good-bye. There was no mistaking her meaning or her tone. This was clearly the last she expected to see of him.

It was for the best. He should be happy. But damn it, his heart bloody well hurt at the thought of not seeing her ever again. Seeing her smile. Hearing her laugh. Touching her. Kissing her. Making love to her.

He pressed his lips together to keep from calling her name, planted his feet firmly in the dirt to keep from running after her, clenched his hands into tight fists to keep from grabbing her. Then he squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to watch her walking away from him.

He'd done the right thing. The noble thing. For her. Although where he'd found the strength to resist her offer, he'd never know.

Never know. Yes, now he'd never know what it would have felt like to have Samantha Briggeham under him. Over him. Wrapped around him. Moaning his name. Awakening her to the passion she longed to experience… and had wanted to share with him.

He opened his eyes. The path she'd taken was now deserted. Forcing himself to move, he turned to leave, but his footsteps halted as his gaze riveted on the jar of honey. He'd set it down near a clump of bushes before he'd approached her. Instantly a swarm of images bombarded him. Her pleasure at his gift. Her desire-glazed eyes after he'd kissed her. Her earnest, achingly hopeful expression as she asked him to become her lover.

A humorless sound emerged from his throat.

Yes, he certainly was noble.

A noble idiot with an ache in his heart that he feared might not ever subside.

Sammie sat at her escritoire, drumming her fingers against the polished cherry wood surface. He refused. I must put the idea out of my mind.-

Unfortunately her mind was not cooperating at all.

Pursing her lips, she blew out a slow breath. His refusal should have left her embarrassed. Humiliated. Chastened. Instead she was frustrated. Disappointed.

And more determined than ever to have her way.

But how? How to convince him… entice him… seduce him? Why did he have to be so excruciatingly noble?

Yet even as she asked herself that question, she had to admit that she admired him even more for his concern for her welfare and reputation. If he weren't so honorable, she suspected he would not appeal to her so much. Still, she could not let this opportunity to experience passion pass her by. She could not imagine wanting to share such intimacies with anyone other than Lord Wesley, and if she failed to convince him, she feared she'd grow old without ever knowing what physical love was like. Perhaps if she hadn't met Lord Wesley she might have remained content to simply record such dreams in her journal.

But now that she'd tasted his kiss, knew the strength of his arms around her, felt the heat of his desire, she had to know more. And since she was determined to proceed, she needed to learn how to prevent pregnancy.

Pulling a clean sheet of vellum from the top drawer, she penned a quick note to Lucille asking if she could visit her this evening after dinner. Folding the missive, she sealed it with wax, then headed downstairs to find Hubert. She knew he would be happy to deliver the letter to their sister's house in the village, as Lucille always kept ajar filled with Hubert's favorite honey biscuits in her pantry.

While she waited for Lucille's reply, she'd formulate a logical list of questions to ask her sister regarding ways to prevent pregnancy.

And hope she would have a reason to make use of the information.

At nine o'clock that evening Sammie entered Lucille's cozy drawing room, but froze in the doorway as she met the inquisitive stares of three pairs of eyes.

"Good evening, Sammie," Lucille, Hermione, and Emily chimed in unison.

Oh, dear. This was not at all what she'd had in mind. Normally she'd be happy to spend an evening with all her sisters, but these were not normal circumstances. Clearly she'd have to wait to discuss the topic uppermost on her mind until another time, but she chafed at the delay. Swallowing her disappointment, she walked into the room and hugged her sisters.

Once the greetings were complete, they settled themselves on chintz-covered chairs around the fireplace. As Lucille poured generous glasses of sherry, she asked, "All right, out with it, Sammie. What's going on with him?"

Sammie's hand froze in the act of reaching for her glass. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, don't be coy," Hermione scolded, scooting her chair closer to Sammie. "We're absolutely dying to know all about it."

Sammie took her sherry and immediately quaffed a hefty mouthful. Oh, dear. She had a sinking feeling she knew which "him" and "it" her sisters referred to. Her suspicions were confirmed when Emily, who shared the settee with her, shifted so close she nearly sat in Sammie's lap. "Oh, he's ever so handsome, Sammie," Emily said, her eyes shining. "And wealthy and-"

"Titled," Lucille cut in, setting the decanter on the table next to her chair. "A very impressive lineage. He's the eighth earl, you know."

"No, I didn't know," Sammie murmured. "But-"

"The earl's aversion to marriage is well known, but it appears he's changed his mind about taking a wife if he's courting our Sammie," Hermione said, accepting a tray filled with sweet biscuits from Lucille.

Sammie nearly spewed a mouthful of sherry. Instead she swallowed the liquor and nearly choked. While she knew no one else would believe the earl was pursuing her, she should have known her loyal sisters would accept such an unlikely notion.

Emily thumped her on the back several times and added, "Imagine him claiming he'd never marry. What nonsense. We all knew he'd change his mind when he found the right woman." Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she gazed at Sammie with something akin to awe. "We just never knew you would be the right woman."

Sammie coughed and frantically waved her hand in front of her watering eyes. "No," she gasped. "Not right."

"Pass me her glass to refill, Emily," Lucille instructed. "And keep thumping on her back. Look there, her color's returning."

"When is he planning to call upon you again?" Hermione asked, accepting more sherry while Lucille was pouring. "You must make it a point not to be available every time he calls."

"Hermie's right," Emily said. "And make certain you keep him waiting at least a quarter hour before you appear. Don't worry that he won't wait. A sophisticated gentleman such as the earl is quite used to such things."

"And," chimed in Lucille, "you must spend at least a half hour a day practicing your flirtatious looks in the mirror. The one that always worked best for me was this." Lowering her chin, she cast her gaze demurely downward. Then she slowly raised her gaze and fluttered her lashes.

"Oh, marvelously done," Emily said, nodding her approval. "Or peek at him over the edge of your fan-"

"-and pout your lips like this," Hermie said, puckering her mouth into a perfect 0. "And be sure to-"

Sammie held up her palm. "Stop. Cease. You must listen to me."

Her sisters fell silent and looked at her with a trio of eager, inquisitive, rapt expressions. Heavens, what a tangle. She needed to nip this disastrous state of affairs in the bud before it bloomed into a full garden. Shoving her spectacles back into place from where they'd slid down her nose during her coughing fit, she said, "You've quite misinterpreted the situation. There is nothing going on between me and the earl."

"But Mama said he called upon you and brought you flowers," Lucille protested.

"Every unmarried gentleman in the village has done the same since my abduction, all seeking to question me about the Bride Thief. Lord Wesley is not besotted. Like all the others, he is merely a curiosity seeker."

Emily emptied her sherry glass, then held it out for a refill. "But Mama said he invited you to his home and-"

"Sent his carriage for you," Lucille finished.

"Then surely Mama told you the earl invited both Hubert and I for the sole purpose of viewing his Herschel telescope. His invitation was purely scientific in nature."

A frown crinkled Hermione's perfect brow. "Has he called upon you since?"

"No," Sammie said, quickly rationalizing that him finding her at the lake today did not qualify as calling upon her. "Nor would I expect him to. Mama has read far too much into his actions." Good lord, if Mama even suspected what half the earl's "actions " had included, she'd chirp herself into a real faint.

Emily's lovely smile collapsed with obvious disappointment. "Then you mean he's not-"

"You mean he hasn't-" cut in Lucille, her expression matching Emily's.

"Indeed not," Sammie said in her briskest tone. "There is absolutely nothing between me and Lord Wesley." She pursed her lips and settled her features into her most prim expression, praying the flush heating her face wouldn't give evidence of her blatant lie. "I suggest you dismiss the matter from your minds."

Although obviously let down by this turn of events, her sisters all mumbled their consent. Then Emily reached out and squeezed her hand. "Well, if Lord Wesley spent an evening in your company yet failed to recognize how special you are, well, then the man is simply…"

"A dolt," supplied Hermie, laying her hand on top of theirs.

"An ass," Lucille pronounced in a too-loud whisper, followed immediately by an unladylike hiccup. "More sherry, anyone?"

They all held out their empty glasses. As Lucille refilled their drinks, she said, "If you didn't want to discuss your relationship with the earl-"

"There is no relationship to discuss," Sammie managed through gritted teeth.

"Right. Then why did you wish to speak to us?"

She did not bother to point out that she hadn't wanted to speak to all of them-only Lucille. But clearly Lucille had dispatched messages fetching their sisters with the promise of finding out the details of Sammie's relationship with the earl. She was tempted to abandon her entire scheme, but her sisters were her only hope of gaining the information she sought. So long as she made it crystal clear she wished to know simply for scientific reasons, all should go well.

After swallowing another bracing mouthful of sherry, she said, "Actually I need your assistance on a scientific matter."

Her announcement was met by three completely blank expressions. "We know nothing about such things," Emily said after taking a dainty bite of biscuit. "You should ask Hubert."

Sammie prayed her embarrassment didn't show. "The topic is one I'm afraid I cannot discuss with a… man."

Hermione frowned. "Then perhaps Mama could help you."

Sammie somehow managed not to wince at the suggestion. "I don't think so. You know how excitable Mama is, and I fear she would misinterpret the meaning behind my questions."

"You may ask us anything," Lucille said with an encouraging smile.

"Excellent. I need to know how one goes about preventing pregnancy."

Three completely slack-jawed, bug-eyed expressions met her announcement. Her heart sank. Botheration. Did her sisters not know? But surely they must, as they were all married. Didn't all married women know such things? The three of them exchanged odd glances, then returned their attention to her. Sammie suddenly felt like a specimen under a microscope.

Lucille took a healthy sip of her sherry. "I thought you said there was nothing going on…"

Emily gulped her sherry. "Between you…"

Hermione tossed the remainder of her drink down her throat. "And the earl."

Heat rushed through Sammie like wildfire until even the tips of her ears burned. "There is nothing between us." Yet. "My inquiry is strictly to gather information for a scientific experiment I wish to conduct. Of course I realize this is a highly sensitive topic, and I couldn't ask just anyone."

"It's highly improper to discuss such things with an unmarried woman," Emily said with a frown, her words slightly slurred.

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "What sort of experiment would require such information?"

Adopting the monotone she knew bored her sisters to tears, she stated, "I wish to conduct a comparative study of the reproductive cycles of several species, among them frogs, snakes, and mice, as they relate to humans." As if on cue, at the mention of frogs, snakes, and mice, her sisters immediately looked as if they'd all bitten into the same sour lemon. Pretending to warm to her subject, she continued. "Take for instance, the snake. After it sheds its skin-"

"Fascinating stuff, Sammie," Lucille broke in quickly, "but it's not necessary to go into detail." She shoved the platter of biscuits at Sammie.

Sammie accepted a sweet, and swallowed her guilt at manipulating her sisters in such a shameful manner.

Emily cleared her throat, then imparted in an undertone, "Well, so long as it's for science, I heard that some women wash themselves you know where with vinegar afterwards."

Sammie stared at her in stunned surprise. Finding her voice, she murmured, "Is that so? And, er, why would they do that?"

"To wash away the you know what." Emily's face turned crimson, and she quickly reached for another biscuit.

Fascinated, Sammie opened her mouth to question Emily further, but Lucille interjected, "Well, I heard…" She paused, glancing quickly around the room as if to ensure no one had entered, then leaned forward. Her rapt audience strained forward, Sammie leaning so far she nearly slid off the cushion. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Lucille continued, "some women go so far as to douche themselves with vinegar."

Emily's eyes rounded. "Never say so!"

"Or lemon juice," Hermione added, nodding. "Although that is more difficult to come by." She picked up the decanter and refilled everyone's glass to the rim. "But I heard tell of some women using sea sponges."

"What do they do with them?" Sammie asked, wondering where on earth she might obtain a sea sponge.

"Soak them in vinegar-"

"Or brandy," Emily broke in.

"Then insert them you know where" Hermione finished.

"And, urn, what does that do?" Sammie asked, hoping you know where was where she thought it was.

A delicate burp escaped Emily's bow lips. "It prevents the you know what from going you know where and making a baby."

"Oh, yes, I understand that's quite common," Lucille said, "But I also heard that there's a device gentlemen can put on their you know what that keeps the you know what from going you know where." She waved her hand in front of her face and loosened her lace fichu. "My goodness, it's hot in here!"

"Well, I heard," Emily said, "about a method that requires the man to remove himself from you know where before he you know whats."

The group froze for several seconds, then Hermione collapsed into giggles. "Good heavens, Emily, I'm not certain I wanted to know that!"

A spurt of laughter sprang from Emily's lips, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her giggles were contagious, and within seconds the four of them were bent double with laughter.

"Well, I for one would not dream of employing any of those methods," Lucille said, wiping tears of mirth from her cheeks with the hem of her gown. "I very much want to be a mother."

"As do I," said Hermione. "Although the thought of giving birth is more than a little scary. One of us needs to have a baby so she can tell the rest of us how it feels. Emily, I vote you go first."

"Me?" Emily glared at her sister. "Why don't you go first?"

Hermione turned to Lucille. "You've been married the longest, Lucille. You should have the first baby."

"All right. Since you insist, I shall give birth before the year is finished."

"Oh, but that's impossible," Emily scoffed. "It takes nine months and it's now already July."

Lucille simply raised her brows, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. Realization dawned in Sammie and she gasped.

"It's not impossible," Sammie said, looking at Lucille with wonder, "if she's already with child."

Silence reigned for several seconds, then pandemonium broke loose as they all squealed in unison, laughing, crying, hugging, and talking all at once.

"How long have you known?"

"How are you feeling?"

"You don't look like you're with child!"

"Does Mama know?"

Lucille laughed. "Heavens, slow down! I've known for several weeks, but I wanted to tell Richard first, and he didn't return from visiting his mother until yesterday."

"Is that why you didn't go with him?" Hermie asked.

Lucille nodded. "We suspected I might be with child, and we did not want to risk me taking such a long trip. The doctor confirmed our suspicions while Richard was away. As for the rest, I'm feeling marvelous and my condition will become obvious within the next several weeks. I told Mama the good news earlier today, but I made her promise not to tell you, as I wished to do so myself."

Another round of hugs ensued, then Sammie sat back and listened to Emily and Hermione bombard Lucille with questions.

A pang of longing resonated through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. How would it feel to carry the child of the man you loved inside your body, feeling it grow? A child you'd created together? Based on Lucille's radiant face, it was a beautiful, wondrous feeling.

Having a child. How marvelous that it was the best news in the world for Lucille.

How sad that it would be an utter disaster for her.

For a moment her heart flooded with yearning for a loving husband and a child, but she ruthlessly pushed back such impossible desires into the deepest recesses of her soul. Her choices were to become a dried-up spinster or to pursue a passionate adventure-and now that she knew how to prevent pregnancy, there was nothing to stop her.

Except Lord Wesley.

But surely she could convince him.

Couldn't she?

Yes, by informing him in a logical manner of all the reasons they should enter into a liaison, coupled with the information she'd gleaned from her sisters, she would surely convince him.

But just in case, she supposed it couldn't hurt to practice flirtatious looks in the mirror.