The Bride Thief

Chapter Seventeen

As Sammie and the magistrate approached the Chamber, she tried to mask the disquiet niggling at her nerves. Mr. Straton's unannounced visit to question her further about her abduction by the Bride Thief had left her decidedly unsettled. Although his queries gave no firm indication that he suspected her of wrongdoing, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd somehow discovered her part in Miss Barrow's rescue. She'd been relieved when he'd announced his intention to leave, but as she'd escorted him toward the stables to fetch his mount, they'd spied Lord Wesley and Hubert emerging from the Chamber.

Her heart had jumped at the sight of Eric, but to her consternation, Mr. Straton had immediately changed his course and headed toward the Chamber, murmuring that he'd like a word with the earl. Struggling to keep up with his long-legged strides, Sammie noticed a woman step from the garden path to stand alongside Eric. There was no mistaking the resemblance between them, and she instantly recognized her as Eric's sister from the portrait she'd seen at Wesley Manor. She was dressed in black, and sympathy tugged at Sammie. Just this morning Mama had mentioned that Lord Wesley's sister was recently widowed.

When she and Mr. Straton joined the trio in front of the Chamber, the entire group stood motionless for several seconds, a silent tableau with a quintet of differing expressions.

Samantha tried to hide her own discomfort, but was not certain she succeeded. Hubert, she noticed, was staring at Mr. Straton, as if he'd seen a ghost. Eric's features were completely devoid of expression as he, too, looked at the magistrate. Like Hubert and Eric, his sister's gaze was riveted on the magistrate, her eyes wide, her face pale. Sammie glanced toward Mr. Straton and observed that his attention was focused on Eric's sister. For some reason the air surrounding the entire group seemed charged with tension-or perhaps it was only her anxiety making it seem so.

Eric broke the silence. Inclining his head toward her and the magistrate, he said, "Good afternoon. May I introduce my sister, Lady Darvin. This is Miss Samantha Briggeham, and I believe you already know Mr. Straton, the magistrate."

Sammie performed a curtsy then offered the woman a smile. "A pleasure to meet you."

There was no mistaking the sadness in the half-smile Lady Darvin gave her, and compassion washed over Sammie, not only for the loss of her husband, but because she recalled Eric saying his sister's marriage had not been a happy one.

"A pleasure for me as well, Miss Briggeham," said Lady Darvin, "although I believe we may have met each other years ago at some soiree or another."

Mr. Straton stepped forward and performed a stiff bow. "An honor to see you again, Lady Darvin."

Color suffused Lady Darvin's pale cheeks, and she lowered her gaze to the ground. "And you, Mr. Straton."

"My condolences on the loss of your husband."

"Thank you."

Another awkward silence fell over the group, and Sammie wondered why Eric had not mentioned his brother-in-law's death or his sister's visit, to her.

Finally Eric spoke up. "What brings you to the Briggeham home, Straton?"

"I wished to ask Miss Briggeham several more questions regarding her encounter with the Bride Thief."

Sammie bit the inside of her cheek and prayed her feelings did not show. It would never do for Mr. Straton to suspect that she knew a great deal more than she would ever tell him.

"How did those leads you were following work out?" asked Eric.

"They proved useless. But I have received new information that appears most promising."

Eric's brows rose. "Indeed? Anything you can share?"

"One of the victims who was abducted last year wrote to her family. Her father brought me the letter this morning. In it she reassured her family that she was all right. She did not reveal her whereabouts other than to say she was living in America and had recently married. The most interesting information was that she traveled to America on passage and funds provided to her by the Bride Thief the night she was kidnapped." Mr. Straton stroked his jaw. "I must say I am relieved. This new evidence at least shows that the Bride Thief did not murder the girl."

An impatient sound erupted from Sammie's lips. "Good heavens, Mr. Straton. Surely you do not believe the Bride Thief harms the women he helps. He leaves behind a note explaining as much."

He fixed a penetrating look on her. "Yes, he does. But until this letter, there's been no trace of any of his victims. I've had no proof that any of them are actually still alive-except a handful of notes from a wanted criminal."

She raised her chin a notch. "I believe I am evidence, Mr. Straton. As you can plainly see, the Bride Thief did not harm me. In fact, he took every precaution with my safety."

"Except for snatching you in the first place."

Irritation snaked through her. She opened her mouth to argue further, but Eric broke in, saying, "Surely you can use the woman's letter to locate her so she can be questioned."

Sammie's gaze snapped to Eric, dismay filling her.

The magistrate's countenance hardened. "I have already taken steps toward that end. The Bride Thief has escaped thus far, but he'll be caught soon. I'll comb the countryside until I find him."

A barely audible, yet familiar sound, caught Sammie's attention, and she glanced toward Hubert. His face appeared unnaturally pale, and he stood ramrod straight and motionless-except for the rhythmic flexing of his fingers, which produced a muffled cracking noise. It was a habit he only indulged in when greatly distressed. Clearly the magistrate's words had agitated him, a feeling she fully shared.

"The countryside?" asked Eric. "I would have thought a criminal like he would hide himself in London. There's literally thousands of buildings and alleyways in which to secret oneself. The scoundrel no doubt skulks about in the rookery or down by the docks."

Sammie clamped her lips together to keep quiet, and prayed her disappointment and distress at Eric's words did not show. Why did he have to think of the Bride Thief as a criminal and make suggestions that might lead to the man's capture? While she longed to voice her opinion, she dared not utter another word as she feared she might say too much and make the situation worse.

"I previously believed the Bride Thief would be found in London myself," Mr. Straton said, "but I'm beginning to suspect that he's a country fellow. Someone with the financial means and connections to buy these women passage to another country and provide them with enough funds to establish a new life. By all descriptions, his mount-a magnificent all-black stallion-is worth a king's ransom, and despite the huge price on his head, no one has come forward claiming to board such an animal. That leads me to believe that he has his own stable."

Eric stroked his chin and nodded slowly. "An interesting theory." A wry smile touched his lips. "I do not envy you the job of poking into every stable in the English countryside."

"I'm hoping that will not be necessary. Based on the locations where the majority of the kidnappings have occurred, I believe it's entirely possible that the brigand operates from somewhere in this general vicinity, most likely within a fifty-mile radius. With the aid of the evergrowing Bride Thief Posse, it shouldn't prove difficult to search the area."

Sammie's stomach knotted. It sounded as if the hunt were indeed tightening. If only she could somehow warn the Bride Thief… but she couldn't break her promise to him. And of course he did not need her to tell him the dangers he faced. He already knew.

"I'm considering soliciting several volunteers to assist me personally in my scrutiny of the area," Mr. Straton said, giving Eric a speculative look. "Are you interested, Lord Wesley?"

"Glad to help in any way I can," Eric said without hesitation. "I have contacts at a number of stables in the area, and many between here and Brighton. I'd be happy to make inquiries for you."

Sammie's heart plummeted. Eric was taking an active role in capturing the Bride Thief! Offering logical suggestions, the benefit of his contacts, and a willingness to volunteer. Thank goodness she'd never confided in him about her meetings with the Bride Thief.

Anguish and alarm gripped her, along with the realization that she'd made an awful mistake. How could she have fallen in love with a man whose beliefs were so opposite from her own? A man so willing to destroy the Bride Thief? And why, in spite of their divergent opinion on the matter of the Bride Thief, did she still love him? Because in every other way he's wonderful. He has never met the Bride Thief. He does not know him as you do. Perhaps if he did, he'd see him as a hero, too.

But one look at his set profile withered that hope.

Dear God, she'd never felt so torn in her life. The investigation surrounding her hero was tightening like a noose, with the man she loved assisting in the execution. An image of the Bride Thief approaching the gallows flashed in her mind, and foreboding trembled through her.

Hubert cleared his throat, yanking her attention back. "If you will excuse me, I promised my father a game of chess and I'm already late."

Everyone bid him good-bye, and he departed, walking at twice his normal speed toward the house. Sammie looked after him, filled with concern. He was clearly upset, and knowing he regarded the Bride Thief as a noble man fighting a just cause, he was obviously anxious to escape the conversation. She could hardly blame him. She longed to do so herself. But first she had several things to say to Eric.

She turned toward him… and discovered him staring at her with a concentration that stalled her breath in her lungs-that same white-hot intensity he'd focused on her as he'd explored her body. Instantly the memory of him, naked, fully aroused, kneeling between her splayed thighs flashed in her mind. Heat engulfed her as if she'd lit a match to her gown. She cast a surreptitious glance toward Lady Darvin and Mr. Straton and was relieved to note that they were busy admiring one of Mama's nearby rosebushes. Leaning as close to Eric as she dared, she whispered, "I need to speak with you. Privately."

Straightening, she suppressed a frustrated sigh. As much as she wished to converse with Eric immediately, hospitality dictated that she offer refreshments. She would simply have to draw Eric aside before he departed. "Would you all like to come up to the house for some tea?"

"Thank you, Miss Briggeham," Lady Darvin said, "but I fear the exhaustion from my long journey has caught up with me. I believe I'll start for home, but I'd be happy to join you another day." Concern immediately flared in her brother's eyes, and she laid her gloved hand on his sleeve. "I'm fine. Just fatigued. I know the way back to Wesley Manor. Please enjoy your visit." She turned back to Sammie. "It was a pleasure to be reacquainted with you, Miss Briggeham, and to meet your brother."

"Thank you, Lady Darvin. I shall look forward to seeing you again soon."

Eric alternated a quick look between Sammie and his sister. "I do not want you going home alone, Margaret."

"I would be honored to escort Lady Darvin home in my curricle," Mr. Straton interjected.

"That is not necessary," Lady Darvin protested in a tight-sounding voice.

Eric smiled down at her. "Perhaps not necessary, but it would relieve my mind to know you were escorted safely to the door. I'll lead your mount home when I depart."

Lady Darvin looked as if she were going to refuse, but then she jerked her head in acquiescence. After saying good-bye, Mr. Straton extended his elbow toward her. Lady Darvin rested her fingertips on his sleeve, and they headed down the path leading toward the stables.

The instant they disappeared from view, Eric grabbed Sammie's hand and tugged her toward the Chamber. Good. She did not want to risk their conversation being overheard. She followed him inside the laboratory. He closed the door behind them, then leaned against the wood, watching her through hooded eyes. She returned his stare, ignoring the heat pulsing through her. How did he manage to affect her so with a mere look? 'Twas most illogical. And most vexing.

He pushed off from the door and approached her slowly, not stopping until only several feet separated them. "You wished to speak to me?"

Forcing herself to concentrate despite his disturbing nearness, she nodded. "Concerning what you said to Mr. Straton just now about the Bride Thief."

"I see. And is the Bride Thief what you and Mr. Straton discussed during his visit?"

"Yes. He made much the same manner of queries as the night I was mistakenly abducted. Naturally I was unable to throw further light on the subject. But about what you said to him regarding helping him to capture the Bride Thief, and offering to make inquiries…"

"Yes?"

Reaching out, she laid her hand over his heart. "Please do not." Some emotion she could not identify flashed in his eyes, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. "I would not ask you were it not important to me. I know most people believe the Bride Thief is a criminal-"

"He is a criminal, Samantha. Kidnapping is against the law."

"But he is not kidnapping! He does not force women to go with him. He does not hurt them or demand a ransom. He returned me safely home when he'd realized his error in taking me, at great risk to himself I might add." She searched his face, dismayed by his cool expression. "Trust me when I say he is not the brigand people make him out to be. He is honorable and seeks only to help those women he takes. To offer them a choice. I know I have no right to ask you not to aid in his capture, but I'm asking you anyway. Please don't."

Eric looked at her, her eyes so earnest behind her spectacles, and fear iced his blood. Damn it to hell, didn't she realize the danger she placed herself in by making such a request? What if she asked someone else the same thing and Adam Straton heard of it? What if Straton discovered her involvement in the Bride Thief's last rescue? That she'd purchased a passage to America? The consequences were too horrible to even contemplate. Her family would be utterly destroyed. She would be destroyed. And that would destroy him

Grasping her shoulders, he looked into her eyes and resisted the urge to shake her. "Samantha. Listen to me. You must leave this matter of the Bride Thief alone. The man is dangerous."

Blue fire flared in her eyes. "He is not."

"He is. His very life is dangerous, in ways you do not understand. There is an enormous price on his head, and anyone around him, anyone who might try to help him could find themselves in danger as well. I want your promise that you shall do nothing to aid him."

"I am not trying to aid him. I am merely asking that you not assist in capturing him."

"Do you not see that is helping him, however indirectly?" He tightened his hold on her shoulders. "Promise me you will leave this matter alone."

She studied him for several seconds, her gaze searching and serious. "Will you promise me not to assist the magistrate any further?"

"I cannot make such a promise."

The hurt and disappointment shimmering from her eyes nearly undid him. "Then I'm afraid I cannot make any promises to you."

The trembling finality in her voice struck him like a blow. She attempted to step away from him, but he held on to her shoulders. He couldn't let her go. Not like this.

"Don't you see," he said, fighting the desperation gnawing at him, "that I'm concerned for your safety? I cannot stand the thought of you in danger."

Before she could reply, a distant call came from outside. "Samantha… where are you?"

Her eyes widened. "Good heavens, that's Mama. Come quickly." Pulling from his grasp, she walked swiftly to the door. He followed her outside, closing the Chamber door softly behind him. Samantha led him toward the gardens. They'd barely set foot on the path when Cordelia Briggeham came upon them.

"There you are, dear! And Lord Wesley, too." She dropped into a curtsy in front of Eric. "The instant Hubert mentioned you'd stopped by with your sister, I knew I had to find you. You both simply must stay for tea, especially since you begged off during your last visit." She craned her neck around. "Where is Lady Darvin?"

"I'm afraid you just missed her," Eric said, injecting just the right amount of regret into his voice. "She was fatigued from her long journey and returned home to rest." Knowing he was trapped into staying, he commanded his mouth to smile and extended his elbow. "I, however, would be delighted to take tea with you."

Mrs. Briggeham's sharp gaze bounced swiftly between him and Samantha, then she smiled. "Well, that would be lovely, wouldn't it?"

If the heaviness dragging on his heart was any indication, he suspected that "lovely" was most likely not going to be the case.

Adam's curricle moved slowly along the tree-lined path. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, casting shadows that cooled the afternoon warmth. The only sound breaking the silence was the twittering of birds and the faint squeak of the leather seat. From the corner of his eye, he stole a glance at his passenger, trying his damnedest to think of something, anything, to say to her, but his tongue remained as tied as a knotted string.

By God, she was lovely. He had not laid eyes on her in five years. Five years, two months, and sixteen days. He wouldn't have believed it possible that she could be more beautiful than the image he held in his heart, but she was. Yet he could easily see that the carefree young girl he'd fallen so deeply in love with was gone. Losing her husband had clearly left her bereft.

He inhaled, then pressed his lips tightly together. Damn, she still smelled of roses. In his foolish youth, when he'd tortured himself with useless dreams that an untitled man like him could court an earl's daughter, he'd planted a dozen rosebushes in the corner of his mother's garden. Every year he'd wait impatiently for them to bloom, then he'd sit on the stone garden bench with his eyes closed, breathing in their delicate scent, picturing Lady Margaret's smiling face. After he'd learned she was to marry Lord Darvin, he'd never visited that part of the garden again.

"It is good to be home," she said, her soft voice breaking through his thoughts.

Relieved that she'd started a conversation, he seized the opportunity to ask, "How long are you planning to visit?"

"I'm here to stay."

His heart slammed against his ribs at those four simple words. Elation pumped through him, only to be instantly replaced by dread. He turned toward her and their eyes met. Feelings he'd thought he'd successfully buried rushed through him like a brushfire. Want. Need. And a love so fierce and hopeless it nearly choked him. He hadn't managed to forget her, even after she'd moved to her husband's estate in Cornwall. How could he possibly hope to function normally when she was here? Close enough to see. To touch. Yet never to claim as his own.

Tearing his gaze from hers, he returned his attention to the road. Having her return to Tunbridge Wells would only mean torture for him. The years had changed nothing. He was still a commoner, she a lady. A viscountess.

Realizing the silence between them had grown heavy, he asked, "Did you enjoy living in Cornwall?"

"I hated it," she said in such an implacable tone, he turned back to her in surprise, not quite certain how to respond. She stared straight ahead, her face pale, her gloved hands fisted in her lap. "I used to spend time on the cliffs, looking out at the sea. Wondering…"

"Wondering what?"

She turned and looked directly into his eyes with a bleak expression that sent a chill through him. "How it would feel to jump from the cliff. To fall into that churning, frigid water."

Shocked, he pulled the horses to a halt. He searched her face, looking for any indication she might be speaking in jest, but there was no mistaking the horrible truth to her words.

He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," he said, inwardly cringing at the inadequacy of his words. "I had no idea. All these years… I thought you were happy."

"The only thing that brought me happiness was thoughts of home. Of one day being able to return here."

Questions buzzed through his mind. What had happened in Cornwall to make her so unhappy? Clearly the separation from her home and her brother had greatly affected her. He cursed his own stupidity for not considering such a possibility, but he'd just assumed she would flourish in her new surroundings. He'd pictured her presiding over elegant soirees, being feted and admired by all of Society. And even if he had considered that she might not be happy, what could he possibly have done? Nothing.

Although her marriage had broken his heart, she had to marry in accordance with her father's wishes. 'Twas only right that she do so. He'd wished her well, secure in the knowledge that she would be pampered by a wealthy nobleman who would worship the ground she walked upon.

Yet she'd been unhappy. Had Lord Darvin not showered her with affection? It seemed impossible to credit. What man would not love her to distraction? No, it must be something else-

The answer hit him like a punch in the gut. No doubt the fact that she had not borne a child was the source of her unhappiness. He recalled her saying on more than one occasion how she longed for a large family some day, and how he'd hidden his misery behind a smile, knowing he could never marry her and therefore be the one to provide her with the children she wanted.

Pity gripped him, and without thinking, he reached out and covered her clenched hands with one of his own. Her eyes widened slightly, but she made no move to pull away from his touch. With his heart pounding as if he'd run a mile, he said, "I hope being home brings you the happiness you deserve, Lady Darvin."

She studied him for several seconds with an expression he could not decipher, then murmured, "Thank you." She then returned her gaze back to the path in front of them. "I'd like to go home now."

"Of course." He reluctantly withdrew his hand from atop hers, knowing he'd never have another opportunity to touch her so intimately again. Filled with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, he grasped the reins, then set the horses in motion toward Wesley Manor.

Sammie thought the hour Eric spent drinking tea with her and her parents in the drawing room had passed innocently enough. The moment he departed, however, she realized her naivete.

"Oh, did you see that, Charles?" Mama asked breathlessly.

Papa looked at her over the top of his bifocals. "See what?"

"Why, Lord Wesley, courting our daughter."

Sammie nearly choked on a mouthful of tea. While she attempted to catch her breath, Papa frowned and said, "Well of course I saw Wesley. Impossible to miss the fellow, especially since he sat directly across from me. But all I saw him doing was drinking tea and enjoying these biscuits. Very good biscuits, by the way."

Mama waved an impatient hand at him. "Lord Wesley would not take tea with us for no reason. He was courting, I tell you. Oh, I cannot wait to tell Lydia-"

"Mama," Sammie gasped out. She coughed several times, finally managing to catch her breath. "Lord Wesley is not courting me."

"Of course he is." She clapped her hands in front of her, and her face took on a rapturous expression. "Oh my word, Charles, our darling Samantha shall be a countess!"

Alarm raced through Sammie. Good heavens, why hadn't she anticipated such a reaction from Mama? No doubt because the magistrate's visit, coupled with her disturbing conversation with Eric in the Chamber, had interrupted her logical thought processes. Besides, she'd dismissed the possibility of anyone believing Eric would court her as completely illogical-yet here it was, staring her in the face. Something was horribly wrong with her logic of late, and the timing could not have been worse.

Well, she had to stop this at once. Before Mama started planning a wedding that would never occur. Rising from the settee, she strode across the room to her mother and grasped both her hands.

"Mama. Lord Wesley came today at Hubert's invitation. To see Hubert. To look at Hubert's latest invention. Do you understand?"

Mama sent her an exasperated look. "Well, of course I understand, Samantha. But clearly his visit with Hubert was simply a ruse to see you" A sly gleam flashed in her eyes. "I watched him very closely and caught him looking at you one time with an expression that could only be described as 'interested.'"

"I'm certain he merely had dust in his eye," Sammie said, trying to hold the desperate note creeping into her voice at bay.

"Nonsense." Mama reached out and patted Sammie's cheek. "Trust me, darling. A mother knows these things."

Sammie drew a deep, calming breath. "Mama, I assure you the earl has no interest whatsoever in making me his countess." That, at least, was the truth. "I beg you not to misinterpret what is nothing more than simple politeness on his part. If you do, he will no doubt withdraw his friendship from Hubert. I know your intentions are good, but surely you can see how embarrassing it would be for both Lord Wesley and myself if it were suggested he were a suitor."

"I see nothing of the sort. Indeed, what I see is that one of the most eligible bachelors in England has taken a fancy to my daughter. Do you not agree, Charles?" She shot her husband an annoyed glare when he did not answer. "Charles?"

Sammie's father, slumped comfortably in his favorite chair, awakened with a snort. "Eh? What's that?"

"Do you not agree that Samantha would make an admirable countess?"

"Mama, I would make an appalling countess."

"Heavens, I only dozed for a moment. Did I miss a proposal?" Papa asked, blinking behind his bifocals.

"No!" Sammie all but shouted. Dear God, this situation had gotten totally out of hand, and only served to strengthen her resolve to end things with Eric tonight-before Mama arranged to announce the banns. "There is nothing between Lord Wesley and I." Or there won't be after tonight. "Do not even consider spreading tales that the man is interested in me. I'll not have this interference."

Mama stared at her with a stunned expression. "I'm not interfering-"

"You are. And it will accomplish nothing except causing me embarrassment. Is that what you want?"

"Certainly not," Mama all but huffed. "But-"

"No 'buts', Mama. And no more matchmaking." Sammie blew out a deep breath. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have several letters to write." She left the drawing room, closing the door behind her with a smart snap.

Cordelia stared at the closed door and whooshed out a frustrated breath. She turned toward her husband and treated him to a narrow-eyed stare when he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "well done, Sammie."

Oh, what a vexing situation! Here was an earl, practically sitting on their doorstep like a gift from above, and she was the only one who recognized this golden opportunity. Well, of course recognizing such opportunities was a mother's responsibility, but how both Sammie and Charles could be so obtuse was a mystery of gargantuan proportions.

Well, she had seen that hungry look in Lord Wesley's eye when he'd thought himself unobserved. He was smitten with Samantha, she'd stake her life on it. Oooh, just the thought of lauding a proposal from an earl over Lydia's head shivered anticipation down her spine. Lord Wesley was a fine gentleman who she knew would make Samantha very happy. What woman in her right mind wouldn't find the dashing nobleman attractive? And even if he weren't terribly attractive, he was terribly wealthy. And well-connected.

Oh, it was a mother's dream come true! The possibilities were all but dizzying. Indeed, now that she thought of it, she felt rather lightheaded. She glanced over at Charles, then pursed her lips. Drat. No point having a spell when her hartshorn-fetcher was snoring.

Well, nevermind. There was no time to indulge in the vapors anyway-not when so many plans needed to be made. For regardless of her protests, Samantha had hooked one of the largest fishes in England.

Now all that was necessary was reeling him in to the shore.