The Bride Thief

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 luck 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 keeps 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."

She'd sought the information for him, then, not some other man. She'd hoped he'd change his mind, and by God, he had. A combination of relief and heat surged through him. Reaching out, he once again entwined their fingers. "In that case," he said softly, "I'm glad you know what to expect."

"Well, actually I don't. Which method do you suggest we employ?"

He stepped closer to her, until their bodies just touched. "I shall withdraw myself from your body before I spill my seed." An image of them, naked, locked in a sensual embrace, her legs wrapped around him, his erection buried in her velvet warmth, flashed through him like a lightning bolt. Blood pooled in his groin, and he nearly groaned aloud at his strong reaction. Hell, if he did not depart her company immediately, he knew he stood in danger of kissing her again… and not being able to stop.

"You have my word that I shall protect you, Samantha." He squeezed her fingers, then reluctantly released her.

"Until midnight." Wide-eyed, she nodded her assent, and forcing his feet to move, he walked to the door.

He had only to wait until tonight. Twelve more hours. Then she'd be his. His conscience tried to speak, but he ruthlessly beat his inner voice back. He wanted her. She wanted him. They would have each other.

Closing the door softly behind him, he strode swiftly toward the foyer where he encountered Hubert.

"Good afternoon, Lord Wesley," the boy greeted him with a broad grin.

He smiled in return. "Hello, Hubert. Are you off to your Chamber?"

"Yes. I'm finishing a new invention. A cutting machine for the kitchen staff to assist them in food preparation." A hopeful light came into his eyes. "Would you like to see it?"

"I'd be very interested, but I'm afraid I have another appointment right now. May I stop by tomorrow to see it?"

The boy's face flushed with pleasure. "Of course, my lord."

"Excellent. Shall we say around two o'clock?"

"I'll await you in the Chamber." He dipped his chin shyly downward. "Perhaps you'd also like to see…" His voice trailed off as his gaze riveted on Eric's riding boots. The boy frowned, then pushed his glasses higher on his nose. After blinking several times, he jerked his head upward and stared at Eric with an utterly confused expression.

"Is something amiss, lad?"

"I… no." Hubert shook his head so vigorously, his spectacles slid to the tip of his nose. He again looked at Eric's feet, staring at them as if he'd never seen riding boots before.

Eric's gaze followed Hubert's, but he saw nothing unusual, except perhaps that his boots appeared unusually dusty. A grin pulled at his lips. "Looks as if my valet polished these in the dark," he remarked. Opening the door, he walked out into the warm sunshine, followed by Hubert. Emperor stood tethered to a nearby tree, and Eric swung himself into the saddle. As he pulled on his riding gloves, Hubert slowly approached the horse, his gaze alternating between the saddle, the reins, and the stirrups. His face appeared pinched and pale, and bore an unmistakably worried frown.

Concerned, Eric asked, "Are you certain you're all right, Hubert? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

The boy slowly raised his somber gaze to Eric's. He swallowed audibly, then jerked his head in a nod. "I'm fine, my lord. I'm merely… puzzled."

"Oh? Anything I can help you with?"

"I don't believe so."

"And you're certain you're not feeling ill?"

"Positive, my lord."

Eric smiled at him. "Well, then, let me know if you change your mind about needing my help. Of course, you're an extremely bright lad. I'm certain you'll figure out your puzzle. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, he turned Emperor and trotted away.

Hubert stared after him, a whirlwind of disturbing questions storming through his mind. But one question glared brighter than all the others.

Why did Lord Wesley's boots, saddle, stirrups, and reins bear unmistakable traces of the phosphorescent powder he'd made and sprinkled on the Bride Thief's belongings?

He searched for a reasonable, plausible explanation-actually any explanation-but his logic screamed that there was only one conclusion to be drawn from the irrefutable evidence.

Lord Wesley was the Bride Thief.

But even as the thought entered his mind, another part of him tried to refute it. How could that be? Lord Wesley was a gentleman! Not a swashbuckling rescuer of damsels in distress. He was titled and wealthy. What earthly reason could he possibly have to undertake such a dangerous enterprise?

Deeply troubled, he started to walk toward the Chamber, but froze when a disturbing thought hit him with the force of a brick. Good God, did Sammie know? Did she realize the man she'd befriended was England's Most Notorious Kidnapper? He pressed his hands to his churning stomach.

No. Impossible. Sammie would have confided in him. And she hadn't known how to get in touch with the Bride Thief when she'd received Miss Barrow's letter. He had to discuss this with her. Perhaps she could offer him a plausible explanation for how the Bride Thief's powder was on Lord Wesley.

Turning, he strode swiftly into the house. He found Sammie in the drawing room staring into the fire. She signaled him to close the door behind him. When he'd done so, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the settee.

"I received a note from the Bride Thief," she whispered once they were seated. "His rescue of Miss Barrow was successful." Her gaze wandered to the fireplace. "I'd let you read the note, but I just burned it."

"A wise decision. I'm glad all went well." He wiped his moist palms on his breeches and cleared his throat. "Um, Sammie, have you ever wondered who the Bride Thief is under the mask?"

Sammie pursed her lips. "I must admit I've speculated more than once about what he looks like, but it is really not important. It's his work, his mission that matters." Reaching out, she gave his hand a quick sympathetic squeeze. "I know your questioning nature must chafe at the mystery, but you must put the matter from your mind. If anyone were to discover the man's identity, his life would be in grave danger."

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Hubert's stomach. He cleared his throat, then said, "I saw Lord Wesley leaving a few moments ago."

A deep flush raced into Sammie's cheeks, and she fidgeted with the lace on her gown. "Indeed?"

"Yes." Watching her closely, he asked, "Do you like him?"

Her blush deepened. "Of course. He's a very fine gentleman."

He shook his head, frustrated at his inability to ask the correct questions. "No, I meant, do you have… feelings for him?"

He wouldn't have thought it possible for her face to flame any brighter, but it did. "I'm sorry to ask you something so personal," he said in a rush. "It's just that I, well, I… I only want your happiness," he finished lamely.

Tenderness filled her gaze and she laid her palm against his cheek. "I'm very happy, Hubert. My work in the Chamber fulfills and challenges me, and I enjoy assisting you. You make me happy."

"And Lord Wesley… does he make you happy as well?"

The sort of dreamy expression he was well accustomed to seeing from his other sisters' entered Sammie's eyes. "Yes," she said softly. "My friendship with Lord Wesley pleases me."

Hubert pressed his lips together. It did not take a genius to deduce that Sammie's friendship with Lord Wesley pleased her a great deal. And from what he'd witnessed, Lord Wesley seemed to care for Sammie as well. Dash it, how could he possibly risk discussing the evidence of the powder with her? What if he were wrong? Or even worse-what if he were right?

Perhaps Lord Wesley meant to tell her himself. Or perhaps he meant to retire from his Bride Thief activities. Or perhaps there was nothing to tell or retire from. If he told Sammie of his suspicions, he might ruin any chance she and Lord Wesley might have at happiness… at a life together.

But what if Lord Wesley really was the Bride Thief?

"Sammie, what would you do if you found out a suitor hadn't been entirely… truthful with you?" he asked in what he prayed was a casual voice.

She frowned, but then understanding dawned in her eyes. "Why, is there a young lady you're interested in?"

Hubert nearly swallowed his tongue. Heat swamped his face and neck. Before he could find his voice to reply, she grasped his hands between hers, "Do you wish to talk to me about it?"

He mutely shook his head.

"All right. But remember, honesty is crucial, Hubert. I know you would never speak untruthfully to a young lady, and I pray she would return the courtesy. Lies destroy trust, and without trust there is nothing. I would never consider a future with someone who deceived me."

Unease rippled down his spine. No, he couldn't talk to Sammie about the evidence of the powder. At least not without verifying his suspicions first. And there was only one way to do that.

He'd have to confront Lord Wesley.