The Bride Thief

Chapter Sixteen

From the London Times:

The Bride Thief Posse now hails nearly five hundred members, and the price on the Bride Thief's head has grown to ten thousand pounds. There is nowhere in England the Thief can hide now. His days are well and truly numbered.

The following morning, before joining her parents and Hubert in the breakfast room, Sammie peered at herself in the cheval glass in her bedchamber.

How was it possible that she looked the same when everything was so completely, irrevocably different! How could it be that all the extraordinary things she was feeling on the inside did not show on the outside, except perhaps for the color staining her cheeks?

Hugging her arms around herself, she closed her eyes, allowing memories from last night to wash over her. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the intimacies she and Eric had shared, first at the lake, then at his lodge. The indescribable sensation of lying naked before a man who slowly explored her body with his hands and lips, eliciting a passion in her that she had never suspected herself capable of.

Then, the sheer beauty of exploring his naked body in return as he reclined before the hearth, the fire's glow illuminating a fascinating display of masculine planes and muscles. Endless caresses and whispering as he taught her how to please him, and discovered what pleased her. Long, slow, deep kisses that touched her soul. It had indeed been the adventure of her life… yet so much more.

Opening her eyes, she stared at the unremarkable woman reflected in the glass. What did he see in her? He'd worshipped her last night as if she were a queen, yet there was no denying a man like him could have any woman he wanted. For right now, incredible as it was, he wanted her.

But for how long?

Don't think about it, her heart warned, but her mind refused to listen. She'd be a fool to entertain the notion that she could hold his interest for any length of time. How long before he tired of her? A week? A month? Sharp pain knifed through her at the thought of them parting company. Of never seeing him again. Or worse, seeing him and having to pretend that nothing had ever passed between them. Knowing that he was enjoying the intimacies they'd shared with another woman.

Waves of helpless jealousy washed over her at the thought of him caressing another woman… of someone else touching him. Arousing him. Pleasing him. She pressed her hands to her stomach and fought back the hot tears that pooled behind her eyes, valiantly trying to banish the thought before her heart broke in two. You fool, This was supposed to be an adventure. And look what you've done. You've fallen in love with him.

Why hadn't she warned herself against such a disastrous occurrence? Prepared herself? Why hadn't it occurred to her how utterly logical it was for her to lose her heart to him? He not only possessed every trait she admired in a person, he filled every corner of her mind with romantic dreams that she should dismiss as ridiculous and illogical, but that instead suffused her with… love.

A strangled sound erupted from her throat, and she staggered the few steps to her escritoire, dropping down into the hard wooden chair. She tried to deny her inner voice's words, but there was no point. She loved him. Helplessly. Hopelessly. So many "h" words to describe my feelings for him. And of course there was one more 'h' word-the one that would describe her when their affair ended.

Heartbroken.

He would continue on to the next woman, and she would be left with nothing more than the memories of their time together, for she could not envision ever taking another lover. Not when her heart and soul belonged to Eric.

Rising, she paced the length of the room. The longer she allowed their liaison to continue, the worse her heartbreak would be when it ended. She knew with sinking finality that she would only fall deeper in love with him-and she wouldn't be able to bide her feelings from him for she was not a good actress.

She paused in her pacing and buried her face in her hands. Dear God, how humiliating if he knew… if he pitied her for her hopeless feelings. But what else could he do except pity her? There was no chance that he would return her feelings. He might treat her kindly, hold her in some affection, but he would never fall in love with her. Never want to marry her and spend his life with her. His earlier words reverberated through her mind. I've no intention of ever marrying.

She'd had no desire to marry either, a decision that had been simple to accept before today. Why would she wish to spend her life with someone who did not respect her dedication to her scientific studies? She hoped to someday make an important contribution to medicine with her honey cream-something Eric did respect. Now, for the first time, she could see that she would not have to give up her dreams in order to appease a man.

But the man she wanted had made his aversion to marriage very clear. Why did he feel so strongly about it? She shook her head. Although she was curious, in the end his reasons did not matter. He did not wish to marry, and that was that. And even if he should some day change his mind, he would of course choose a beautiful, young wife from the peerage.

Her common sense told her to end things between them. Immediately. Before she further risked her heart. But her heart rebelled, urging her to grasp whatever time she could with him, and to enjoy it while it lasted. She'd have a lifetime to mend her heart.

Perhaps. Yet she suspected her heart would never mend. And she could never bear his pity. And she'd never successfully hide her feelings from him. For her own sake, to save herself from falling so far in love with him that she would never recover, she had to end their affair.

Still, she could not bear the thought of not seeing him one more time. She had to hold him, touch him, just once more. To store up the memories that would have to last her for all the empty, lonely nights ahead. They'd agreed to meet again tonight, at the garden gate at eleven o'clock, then depart for his lodge. She would cherish him one more time, then pray she'd find the strength to let him go.

Eric stood in front of the windows in his private study, sipping his morning coffee. His gaze wandered to the mantel clock and a wry smile twisted his lips. Exactly three minutes had passed since he'd last checked the time.

Fourteen hours until he saw her again. No, actually fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes. How the hell was he going to fill the time? He glanced at his desk. Several dozen pieces of correspondence required his attention, as did the accounts for his Norfolk estate.

He expelled a long, frustrated breath. No matter how he might try to engross himself in work, nothing would banish the memories of last night. The feel of her under him. Over him. Wrapped around him. The sound of his name on her lips as she climaxed in his arms. Discovering all the fascinating secrets of her body. Her wide-eyed, wondrous exploration of his. The white-hot intensity tempered by the laughter they'd shared.

None of his previous sexual encounters had prepared him for what he'd experienced with Samantha. Never before had he felt this overwhelming rush of fierce protectiveness. This chest-aching tenderness. This sharp-edged desire to know everything about her… her mind as well as her body. This raw need to please her in every way. To hold her to him and simply not let her go.

Draining his last sip of coffee, he set the china cup on his desk, then pressed his fingers to his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the unsettling emotions scraping at him. Damn it all, he felt edgy, yet at the same time, uncharacteristically vulnerable. And he didn't like it one bit. How had she-an innocent in the ways of love-managed to arouse and enchant him as no experienced woman ever had? Why wasn't last night proving to be like all the other nights he'd spent in a lover's arms-delightful while it lasted, yet eminently forgettable once the act was completed?

A dozen words to describe last night jumped into his mind, but forgettable was not one of them. A humorless laugh rumbled in his throat as he recalled how less than a fortnight ago he'd entertained the notion that he could see Samantha Briggeham one more time and then forget her. What a raging jest on him! He hadn't been able to push the woman from his thoughts before he'd made love to her. Now she occupied every corner of his brain.

Forget her? How could he hope to do so when the feel of her, the scent of her, was indelibly etched in his mind? And, he feared, more than his mind. It was as if she'd engraved her name across his heart. And soul. A disturbing development to be sure.

This desire, this need for her, sorely tested his control, a facet of himself he'd always prided himself on. It had required a Herculean effort keep from spilling his seed in her last night. In truth, he'd barely managed to withdraw in time.

His gut clenched, and he mentally cursed himself. How had he allowed their relationship to progress to this point? Why had he pursued something so utterly impossible? Because you're a selfish bastard and you couldn't keep your hands off her. As much as it shamed him, he couldn't deny the truth of his inner voice. And there was only one way to fix what his selfishness had wrought.

He would have to end their affair.

Everything in him cringed in protest, and he swore his heart screamed No! But damn it all, these… feelings, these soft and tender emotions she generated in him did more than unsettle him. They frightened him. He could not offer her the sort of future she deserved. Indeed, any long-term liaison with him might possibly place her in danger.

Their affair would have to end sooner or later. For both their sakes, he needed to make it sooner.

But God, not just yet.

He had to see her again. One more time. To memorize every look, every touch, every inch of her. Because he knew, in his suddenly heavy heart, that he would never meet another woman like Samantha Briggeham.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the study door.

"Come in."

Eversley entered, his normally impassive butler's face showing unprecedented animation. "You've a guest, my lord."

His heart jumped. Had Samantha come to him? Forcing his voice to remain impassive, he asked, "Who is here?"

An unmistakable sheen glinted in Eversley's eyes. " 'Tis Lady Darvin, my lord."

At that moment, his sister, Margaret, appeared behind Eversley. Perfectly coiffed dark hair surrounded her face, which in spite of showing signs of strain and fatigue, was still beautiful. Tears shimmered in her dark eyes that exactly matched his own. He searched her gaze, relieved that no suffering lingered in her eyes, although it was painfully obvious she remained haunted and pitifully unsure of herself.

Her bottom lip trembled. "Hello, Eric. Thank you for-"

He reached her in three long strides, catching her against him in a fierce hug that cut off her words. Her arms slipped around his waist, and with her hands fisted against his back, she buried her face against his shirt. Long shudders racked her body, and he tightened his arms around her, prepared to stand there all day and absorb her tears if that's what she needed.

A lump lodged in his throat, and he cursed his inability to absorb her suffering as well. Damn, she felt so small and fragile in his arms, yet he knew she possessed an inner strength that defied her delicate appearance. He nodded to Eversley who discreetly withdrew. The instant the door closed behind the butler, Eric lowered his head, resting his cheek against her soft hair.

A smile touched his lips. She still smelled of roses. She always had, even as a little girl. Even at the age of ten, when she'd escaped the watchful eye of her governess and played in the mud. She'd returned to the house utterly filthy and bedraggled, but by damn, she'd still smelled like roses.

After several minutes, her shudders subsided. Lifting her head, she looked up at him through damp, spiky lashes. The bleak emptiness shadowing her eyes squeezed his heart like a fist. It was a look he vowed to erase.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I fell apart like that. I'm just so glad to see you. And to be here."

He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. "You have no idea how good it is to have you here. This is your home, Margaret. You are welcome to live here as long as you wish." He offered her a smile. "It's been lonely here without you."

She did not return his smile, and his gut clenched at the reminder that this was not the same bright-eyed, laughing girl from his youth. He inwardly cursed their father and the man he'd forced her to marry, for stealing her laughter and joy. By God, I'll do everything in my power to see that you are never sad again.

"Actually, this is your home, Eric," she said, "and I am grateful for your generosity."

" 'Tis no hardship to enjoy the company of my favorite sister."

She did not smile, but he thought he detected a tiny glint of amusement in her eyes. "I am your only sister."

"Ah, but even if I had a dozen others, I know you would still be my favorite."

Instead of the laugh he'd hoped for, she stepped back from his embrace. Walking to the window, she looked out at the flowering garden. "I'd forgotten how… beautiful it is here."

His hands fisted. The catch in her voice broke his heart. Forcing his own voice to be cheery, he asked, "Why don't we stroll through the gardens, and I'll bring you up to date on all the local news. Then, this afternoon, perhaps you'd care to accompany me on a visit."

She turned to face him. "Who are you visiting?"

"The Briggehams. Do you remember them?"

Pursing her lips, she considered for several seconds, then nodded. "Yes. There are several daughters and a young son, I believe."

"Four daughters, all married except the eldest. Actually, it's the son, Hubert, whom I'm calling upon. An incredibly intelligent lad. He's made a fascinating laboratory he calls the Chamber, in the old barn. I promised to look at an invention he's working on." He joined her by the window and gently clasped her hands. "Come with me. You'll enjoy meeting Hubert, and his sister and his parents as well, if they are home. I believe you'd quite like Miss Briggeham. The two of you are of similar ages and-"

"Thank you, Eric, but I do not feel up to answering questions about…" Her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped to the floor.

Placing his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face until their eyes met. "I have no intention of subjecting you to pain, Margaret. Samantha… I mean, Miss Briggeham, is not prone to gossip. She's kind, and like you, she could use a friend."

He suddenly froze as in a flash it occurred to him what he'd just done. He'd offered to introduce his sister to his mistress. Suggested they befriend each other. Bloody hell! Never before would he have considered such a breach of propriety toward Margaret, but he simply hadn't considered Samantha in those terms. Damn it, she was his… friend.

The enormity of what he'd done to Samantha crashed down on his head like a boulder dropped from the sky. He'd made her his mistress. As far as Society was concerned, her actions would render her no better than a harlot. Fury rushed through him at the idea that anyone might ever think of her like that. She was a loving, intelligent, kind, generous young woman who deserved so much more than he'd given her.

Just another compelling reason to end their affair. Tonight. But now he realized that in order to retain any of his tarnished honor and not subject her to further disrespect, he'd have to end things before he made love to her again. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, knowing he wouldn't have the opportunity to touch her again. But what drove a knife of pain through his heart was the realization that by taking her as a lover, he'd destroyed any true hope of them remaining friends. He could not envision being able to go back to the casual camaraderie they'd once enjoyed. Not when he'd want her with every ounce of his being.

Margaret's voice jerked him from his thoughts. "All right, I'll accompany you to the Briggehams'." She searched his gaze for several seconds, her eyes dark and serious. "Eric, I know you do not want my gratitude, but I must thank you. Not only for allowing me to live here, but for not… pressing me for details."

"I won't question you," he said, "but know that I am willing to listen should you care to talk to me."

A single tear slid down her cheek, clenching his heart. "Thank you. It's been so long since…" Pressing her lips together, she swallowed hard. "I do not want to talk about… him. He's gone." Some deep emotion flickered in her eyes. "I cannot mourn him. His death freed me."

Her words, her fervent tone, pumped rage through his veins. Not only at Darvin, but at himself. "I should have killed the bastard," he bit out. "If only I'd-"

She pressed her fingers to his lips, cutting off his words. "No. Then you would have hung for murder, and he was not worth losing you. I made marriage vows before God and it was my duty to honor them."

"He did not. I should have-"

"But you didn't. Because I asked you not to. You honored my wishes above your own, and I'm grateful." Determination fired in her gaze. "I've spent the last five years in darkness, Eric. I want to enjoy the sunshine again."

He grasped her hands, squeezing them tightly. "Then let us go outdoors immediately and frolic in the sun."

The barest ghost of a smile touched her lips, and his heart turned over.

"I believe," she said, "that is the best invitation I've received in a very long time."

Eric and Margaret stood in Hubert's Chamber, listening with interest as Hubert explained his latest invention, a device he called The Guillotine Slicer.

"Several weeks ago, our cook Sarah cut herself slicing potatoes," Hubert said. "The knife slipped right out of her hand, the blade nearly cutting her foot as well when it fell to the floor. With my slicer, this ceases to be a problem. Observe." He stuck a round metal disk studded with a dozen short prongs into the end of a potato. Slipping his hand through a leather strap attached to the disk, he then set the potato on his invention, which indeed resembled a horizontal guillotine set on sturdy, six-inch wooden legs.

"The blade is fixed in place," Hubert explained. "I hold the metal disk so as not to cut my fingers, then simply run the potato over the blade." Holding the slicer steady with his free hand, he demonstrated. Within seconds, a stack of uniformly sliced potatoes sat on the plate beneath the slicer.

Pointing to a knob on the side of the device, he said, "I'm working on adding a feature so you can adjust it here to vary the thickness of the slices. Once I perfect that, I'm hoping to develop a larger version based on the same principles, to cut meats."

"Very impressive," Eric said, examining a perfect slice.

A crimson flush of pleasure washed over Hubert's cheeks. Laying a hand on the boy's shoulder, Eric said, "I'd be interested in purchasing one of these for my own cook."

Hubert's eyes widened behind his spectacles. "Oh, I would gladly give you one, Lord Wesley."

"Thank you, lad, but I insist upon paying for it. In fact, I daresay that if this were available for purchase, hordes of people would buy them." He turned toward Margaret. "What do you think?"

She was clearly stunned to be asked her opinion. "I… I think it's an ingenious invention that would be a welcome addition to any household."

Eric smiled at her, then shifted his attention back to Hubert. "I honestly believe this is a machine with great potential, Hubert. Should you decide you'd like to sell them-"

"You mean like a business?"

"Precisely. I have several contacts in London who I could speak to on your behalf. And I myself would be willing to invest funds should you decide to proceed, with your father's permission, of course."

Eric's offer clearly flabbergasted the boy. "That is very kind, my lord, but I do not consider the design completed. Besides, I am a scientist, not a tradesman."

"Then you might wish to consider selling your idea to a third party. At any rate, my offer stands. Think upon it, discuss it with your father, and let me know what you decide. If you'd like, I'll speak to your father as well."

"All right. Thank you." Hubert pushed his glasses higher on his nose, then shuffled his feet. "Actually, there is something else I wished to discuss with you, my lord." He cast an embarrassed glance toward Margaret.

Margaret, clearly sensing the boy's need for privacy, inclined her head. "Thank you for showing me your machine, Hubert. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to stroll through your gardens and enjoy the lovely weather… if you do not mind."

"Not at all, Lady Darvin." A flush stained his cheeks. "I hope I did not bore you. Mama always warns me not to harangue our guests."

"On the contrary, I greatly enjoyed my visit with you." A tentative smile slowly spread across her features, as if she'd forgotten her face could move in such a way. Seconds later, she offered Hubert a full, genuine smile, and a breath he hadn't realized he held, escaped Eric. God, that show of happiness was a balm to his heart. Gratitude toward Hubert filled him, for giving Margaret a reason to smile.

She slipped outside, closing the Chamber door quietly behind her. Eric turned toward Hubert, surprised by the troubled expression creasing the boy's face. "Is something amiss, lad?"

"I need to ask you something, my lord."

Eric studied him for several seconds. The boy looked as if he bore the weight of the world on his thin shoulders. A trickle of unease slid down his spine. Did Hubert's obvious distress in some way concern Samantha? Damn, could the boy have seen them last night at the lake?

"You may ask me anything," Eric assured him, praying for the best, but bracing himself nonetheless.

Hubert pulled open a drawer and withdrew a black leather pouch. Opening the drawstring, he sprinkled a small amount of a powdery substance into his hand. "This is a powder containing special phosphorescent properties that I developed myself," Hubert said in a quiet voice. "To the best of my knowledge, no one else possesses such a powder."

Relief punched Eric along with confusion. Leaning closer, he peered at the substance. "What does it do?"

"It casts a slight glow that lends it a distinctive adhering quality." Setting the pouch down on the wooden table, he wiped his powdery hand over his black breeches. He then attempted to brush the powder from his breeches, but was not completely successful. "It is actually the glow, rather than the powder itself that cannot be fully removed from the cloth."

Eric stared at Hubert's breeches and recognition shot through him. He recalled recently observing that same odd, dusty glow on his boots.

Straightening, he met Eric's eyes. "The other evening, I sprinkled this powder on the saddle, reins, and stirrups of a certain gentleman's horse."

Something in Hubert's steadfast gaze edged a chill of foreboding through Eric. "On which gentleman's horse?"

"The Bride Thief's."

The name hung in the air between them for several seconds. Keeping his face carefully blank, Eric asked, "What makes you think this horse belonged to the Bride Thief?"

"I saw him. In the woods. Dressed all in black, with a full head mask. He rescued Miss Barrow."

For the space of a heartbeat, everything in Eric froze. His breath. His blood. His heart. Then, he raised his brows, and said in a controlled voice, "Surely you are mistaken-"

"There is no mistake," Hubert broke in, shaking his head. "I saw him with my sister and Miss Barrow. And before he mounted his horse to ride away with Miss Barrow, I sprinkled my powder on his saddle, reins, and stirrups. And the next day… yesterday… you called on Sammie. Traces of my powder were on your boots. Your mount's saddle, reins, and stirrups as well."

"My boots and riding equipment merely collected dust on the way here."

"It was not dust, Lord Wesley. It was my powder. I would recognize it anywhere. But just to confirm my observations, I wiped a bit from your saddle. It was a perfect match."

Jesus. Eric barely managed to swallow his bark of incredulous laughter. Every damn official in England, along with the Bride Thief Posse, and hundreds of other people eager to collect the price on his head wanted to capture the Bride Thief-and a fourteen-year-old had succeeded where they all had failed. If he weren't so stunned and alarmed, he'd offer Hubert his heartiest congratulations on a job well done. Unfortunately, Hubert's brilliance could very well cost him his life.

He quickly considered several falsehoods he could try to foist upon the boy, but just as quickly realized the futility of such a plan. Hubert was not only keenly intelligent, he was tenacious as well. Clearly he stood a better chance of trusting him rather than attempting to deceive him, but he had several points to make first.

"You're asking if I'm the Bride Thief."

Hubert nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Are you looking to collect the reward for his capture?"

The boy's eyes filled with shocked distress. "Egad, no, my lord. I have the greatest respect for your… his… your mission. You are the personification of bravery and heroism. I mean, he is. Er, you are." His face flushed crimson. "Um, you both are."

Eric narrowed his eyes. "You realize that if the Bride Thief is caught, he will hang."

The crimson drained from Hubert's cheeks. "I swear, upon my soul, that I will never tell anyone. Ever. I would never do anything to harm you, my lord. You've been a good friend to me. And to Sammie as well."

At the mention of her name, Eric's hands fisted. "Have you spoken of this to her?"

Hubert shook his head so hard he nearly dislodged his spectacles. "No, my lord. And you have my word of honor that I will not." He cleared his throat. "And I suggest that you not consider confiding in her either."

"You do realize that if the magistrate discovers Samantha aided the Bride Thief in his rescue of Miss Barrow, she could be brought up on charges."

Hubert's complexion whitened to chalk. "The magistrate will hear nothing from me. But I meant you should not tell Sammie because I think the news would anger her. You see, she told me…" His voice trailed off and he frowned.

Eric's heart jumped into double time. "What did she tell you?"

"She said honesty is crucial and that lies destroy trust." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She said that without trust, there is nothing."

Eric clenched his teeth against the pain of Hubert's words. There was, of course, no hope that he and Samantha could ever share a future, due to his work as the Bride Thief. Nor would he ever risk her safety by telling her his identity. Yet, even if, for one wild, impossible moment he'd considered doing so, he'd clearly lose her anyway for deceiving her. Without trust there is nothing.

Hubert squared his shoulders and met his gaze unflinchingly. "I do not want my sister hurt, Lord Wesley."

"Nor do I, Hubert. I give you my word of honor that I will allow nothing to harm her."

Lifting his chin a notch, Hubert added, "She cares for you. Do not be careless with her feelings."

Admiration for the boy filled Eric even as his words slapped him with guilt. She cares for you. God help him, but he cared for her as well. Too much.

"I'll not hurt her," he assured Hubert. "I fully understand and respect your wish to protect your sister. I feel the same way about my sister. She is the reason I do… what I do."

Hubert's eyes widened. "I must say, I'd wondered why."

"Our father forced her to many. I couldn't save her, so I save others."

Understanding dawned in Hubert's gaze and they shared a long, measuring look. Then Eric slowly extended his hand. "I believe we understand each other."

Hubert firmly shook his proffered hand. "We do. And may I say that it is an honor to know you."

Some of the tension drained from Eric's shoulders. "Odd. I was just about to say the same thing to you." He released the boy's hand, then inclined his head toward the door. "I'd like to introduce our sisters. Is Miss Briggeham at home?"

"She was reading in the drawing room when I came to the Chamber."

"Excellent." Eric led the way outside, blinking to adjust his eyes to the bright sunshine. He spied Margaret sitting on a stone bench in the garden, and raised his hand in greeting. She returned his wave, then stood. She had covered half the distance between them when she halted. Her eyes widened and appeared riveted on something behind him. Turning, he looked in the direction of her fixed stare and froze. He sensed Hubert coming to stand beside him and heard the boy's quick intake of breath.

Walking toward them, her expression grim, was Samantha.

Alongside her walked Adam Straton, the magistrate.