The Bride Thief

Chapter Nineteen

Sammie stared at her artfully fainted mother in horror. Humiliation and shame crashed upon her like rocks falling from the sky, crushing her until she could barely draw a breath. She wanted to scream denials, claim misunderstandings, but there was no refuting the damning evidence. Even if she and Eric had not been caught in a passionate embrace, neither could disguise their disheveled hair and clothing.

"Charles, my hartshorn," Mama called, waving her hand weakly to and fro.

Eric approached Mama. "I fear your husband is not within earshot, madam, and I am fresh out of hartshorn," he said in a distinctly dry tone. "May I assist you? Or perhaps we should call for a physician?"

Mama blinked and sat up straight. "A physician? Oh, no, that's quite unnecessary. I'm certain I shall recover in a moment. I was merely overcome for a moment by the good news."

Mrs. Nordfield stepped forward and issued a derisive snort. "'Good news? Lud, Cordelia, you're a candidate for Bedlam." She favored both Eric and Sammie with a scathing head-to-toe glare. "This is scandalous. Horrifying. Outrageous. Completely beyond the pale."

Mama propelled to her feet with an amazing agility for one who'd just swooned. "Good news," she repeated firmly. She turned her attention to Eric and bestowed a smile so angelic upon him, Sammie could almost see a halo encircling Mama's head. "I had no idea you'd decided to propose so soon, my lord." She pulled a lace hanky from the pocket of her gown and dabbed her eyes. "I'm so very happy for you both."

A full minute of the most deafening silence Sammie had ever heard, ensued. Mortification singed her from head to toe. She prayed for the ground to open and swallow her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that she'd open them and this tableau would be nothing more than a dreadful nightmare. She prayed for lightning to strike her.

A smug smile curved Mrs. Nordfield's lips. "Clearly you have misinterpreted the situation, Cordelia."

"Of course I haven't," Mama said with a breezy wave of her handkerchief. "The earl is an honorable man and never would have kissed Samantha in such a… vigorous manner unless he'd proposed to her." She shook her index finger at Eric in mock reproof. "Of course it was very naughty of you not to seek Mr. Briggeham's permission for Samantha's hand first, my lord, but naturally you have our blessing."

"I do not believe we interrupted a proposal at all," said Mrs. Nordfield, treating the entire group to a collective glare down her long nose. "No, 'tis obvious that in our quest to locate night-blooming flowers, we inadvertently stumbled upon an illicit assignation. Why on earth would the earl propose at this time of night? Gentlemen propose during the day, in a properly chaperoned setting such as the drawing room." A sly look entered her eyes. "But fear not, Cordelia. I would not dream of repeating a word of this scandal."

Mama raised her chin to its most regal height. " 'Tis not a scandal. 'Tis a proposal. And of course you will tell everyone as much." She turned her imperious stare on Eric. "Well, Lord Wesley? What have you to say for yourself?"

Sammie slanted Eric a glance from the corner of her eyes. He stood straight and tall, seemingly calm, but a muscle ticked in his clenched jaw and he appeared pale.

"Miss Briggeham and I will marry," he ground out in a voice that resembled broken glass.

Nausea gripped her and her brain screamed a long, agonized, silent NO! In her deepest, secret dreams she'd longed for his proposal, but dear God, she did not want him like this. Trapped. Unwilling. His earlier words ate at her like acid. I'm in no position to offer you marriage. I've no intention of ever marrying… I would never want to be forced into marriage.

Mama's smile could have illuminated the entire kingdom. "My husband and I shall expect to hear from you on the morrow regarding the plans." She slanted a glance toward Mrs. Nordfield. "Lydia, you may be the first to offer congratulations and best wishes to his lordship and my daughter."

Mrs. Nordfield's puckered countenance indicated she'd prefer lying on a bed of hot coals. Her jaw sawed back and forth several times, then she said, "My felicitations to you both." She then muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like damn it all to hell and back again.

Still beaming, Mama turned to Sammie, grabbing her firmly by the arm. "Come along now, Samantha."

Too numb to argue, she allowed her mother to pull her along the path leading back to the house, Mrs. Nordfield following close behind.

Eric arrived back at his stables needing two things: a miracle and a stiff brandy. Miracles, he knew from experience, were impossible to come by. Luckily he possessed an abundance of brandy.

Arthur emerged through the stable's double wooden doors just as Eric dismounted. "We need to talk," Eric said, handing him Emperor's reins. "Meet me in my study in thirty minutes."

By the time Arthur arrived, Eric was working his way through his second brandy. After the stableman settled himself in his favorite chair along with a glass of whiskey, Eric tersely related the afternoon's conversation with Adam Straton. When he finished, Arthur shook his head.

"Looks to me like yer rescuin' days are done. We knew ye'd hafta quit someday, and 'tis too risky now for ye to go on. Even though Champion's stall is hidden behind the false door in the stables, someone real sharp like Straton-someone who was lookin'-might find him."

Arthur rose and crossed the few steps to where Eric leaned his hips against the edge of his desk. Clamping a work-worn hand on his shoulder, he said, "Lady Margaret ain't married no more. Ye've saved many women and should be proud of yerself, as I'm proud of ye. Ye've paid yer debt. 'Tis time to let go of yer guilt and stop. Now." He tightened his grasp. "I've no desire to see ye hang."

A humorless laugh puffed from Eric's lips. "I've no desire to see me hang, either."

" 'Tis decided then." Arthur lifted his glass in salute. "Here's to yer retirement. May it be prosperous. And lengthy."

Eric did not raise his snifter. "I've more news, although between your connection to the Briggeham household and the way gossip travels, you may have already heard. Samantha Briggeham is getting married."

Arthur's brow creased in a puzzled frown. "Wot's this? Miz Sammie gettin' married? Bah, must be another mistake. I'd have heard tell of it."

"Trust me, there's no mistake."

Anger bristled from Arthur. "And just wot idiotic dolt is her pa foisting on her this time?"

This time Eric did raise his glass. "That idiotic dolt would be me."

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Eric would have laughed at Arthur's stunned and utterly bewildered expression. "You! But… but… how? Why?"

"Earlier this evening her mother and Lydia Nordfield discovered us in a compromising position."

Surely if Arthur's eyes bugged out any farther they would simply pop from their sockets. "Ye compromised Miz Sammie?"

Eric tossed back his brandy. "Thoroughly."

Arthur stepped backwards until the backs of his knees hit his chair. Then his legs folded and he flopped down with a plop, staring at Eric with amazement that quickly turned to anger.

"Devil take me, we talked about this very thing," Arthur ground out. "Wot the hell were ye thinkin'? Why didn't ye just seek out one of yer actresses or widows?"

"I'm in love with her."

If he'd thought his softly spoken admission would garner him any sympathy from Arthur, he was sadly mistaken. "Then ye should have done the honorable thing and married her first."

Eric slammed his empty snifter on his desk. "And condemn her to a life of danger with a husband who could be dragged off in chains to the gallows at any moment? A life where she could be suspected of conspiracy simply by her association with me?"

"Then ye should have kept yer damn hands off her. But since ye didn't, now ye'll make it right and marry her."

Eric met Arthur's outraged glare, then dragged his hands wearily down his face. "I want to. More than anything. If my situation were different, I would gladly wed her and spend the next several decades making heirs." A humorless laugh scraped his throat. "Although a difference in my situation wouldn't even matter as the lady does not want to marry me."

"Bosh. Why wouldn't she want to? Any woman would trade her teeth to marry ye."

"I think we can agree that Samantha falls well outside the category of 'any woman.' Just before her mother discovered us, she'd made it clear she did not wish to see me anymore. In any capacity. She wants to devote herself to her scientific studies and travel abroad."

"Don't matter no more wot the gel wants. She's gotta marry ye or be ruined."

"Damn it, what she wants does matter. More than anything. She shouldn't be forced into a marriage she doesn't want, any more than any woman should…"

His voice trailed off and he froze.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Ye've got that look about ye that shivers a chill down me spine. Wot are ye thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking that there will be one more rescue before I retire," Eric said slowly, his mind whirling.

Arthur scratched his head, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. "Another rescue? Damnation, 'tis too dangerous with Straton and that damnable posse sniffin' about. Why risk it?"

Eric met his gaze. "Because Samantha Briggeham is worth the risk."

Understanding dawned, and Arthur's brows disappeared into his hairline. "Ye're mad! Just marry her."

Pushing off from his desk, he paced in front of Arthur. "Think about it. The easy thing, the selfish thing, would be to simply marry her. Force her into a union she doesn't want. Love her and enjoy her until my past catches up with me, then go to the gallows and leave her, and perhaps some children, behind to face Society's scorn. I cannot take that chance."

He paused by the windows and looked out at the darkness. Laying his forehead against the cool glass, he closed his eyes, trying not to think about the dark, bleak days facing him once she was gone. "I love her enough to let her go. The Bride Thief will rescue her." Hurt stabbed him like steely blades, and his voice lowered to a husky whisper. "Free her from a marriage she does not want. Give her the adventure she does want."

Turning away from the window, he faced Arthur, looking into his old friend's troubled eyes. "And I am, or rather the Bride Thief is, the only man who can free her. I refuse to force her. And I cannot stand the thought of her in danger. If Straton were to ever discover that she aided me during my last rescue, she'd be charged with conspiracy."

"As her husband, ye could protect her."

"As her husband, I could destroy her."

Arthur heaved out a long breath. "Bloody bit of an irony, that is."

Eric's throat tightened. Unable to speak, he merely nodded his agreement. He knew what he had to do. For her. He'd arrange for her to explore all of Italy, the entire damn Continent if she wished. Set up a laboratory anywhere she chose. She'd have the adventures she'd always longed for, and he'd see to it that she never lacked for anything.

All he needed to do was supply the passage and funds, a simple enough task. But by God, he didn't have any idea where he'd find the strength to let her go.

Sammie descended the stairs at ten the next morning, tired beyond compare but filled with resolve. After spending a sleepless night punctuated by several useless bouts of tears, she'd decided upon a course of action. Even though she did not feel the least bit hungry, she headed toward the dining room, knowing she would require all her strength for the battle that would erupt when she spoke to her parents.

Hubert greeted her when she entered the dining room. "Good morning, Sammie. I say, are you all right? You look peaked."

She forced a smile. "I'm fine. Have you seen Mama and Papa?"

"Yes. They're in the drawing room with Lord Wesley."

Her stomach tumbled over. "Lord Wesley is here? So early?"

"Arrived over an hour ago. I saw him from my bedchamber window. He looked quite grim I must say."

Over an hour ago! Good heavens, this was a disaster. She fled from the room, racing down the corridor. She skidded to a halt when the drawing room door opened. Out stepped Papa bearing a contented expression, followed closely by Mama who resembled a cat just presented with a bowl of cream and a rasher offish.

Eric then emerged. His gaze collided with Sammie's and her heart shattered. He was so beautiful. So trapped. And so clearly unhappy.

"Samantha, darling," Mama cooed, lacing her arm through Sammie's. "How delightful you're awake. We have dozens of plans to make and very little time. How I shall manage to arrange a wedding in less than a week I cannot say, but-"

"I need to discuss that very matter with both you and Papa," Sammie said, "but first, I would like a word with Lord Wesley."

Mama made a tsk-ing noise. "Well, I suppose we can spare a few moments-"

"A private word, Mama."

Mama blinked several times, then she inclined her head in her most gracious manner. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't be too improper for you to spend several moments alone with your fiancé." Turning toward her husband, she said, "Come along, Charles. We shall enjoy a cup of tea while the earl and his future countess conduct their first conversation as a betrothed couple." She glided down the corridor as if floating on air, Papa following meekly in her wake.

Sammie walked quickly into the drawing room, crossing to the center of the room. With her hands clasped tightly at her waist, she stared out the window, waiting until she heard Eric enter and close the door behind him. She drew several bracing breaths then turned to face him, startled to find him standing only several feet away from her.

His gaze locked onto hers and sorrow washed through her at his obvious fatigue. Sunlight poured through the window, bathing him in a golden glow that highlighted the weary lines bracketing his eyes and mouth.

He stepped closer to her, out of the column of sunshine. He reached out and ran a gentle finger across her cheek, a tender gesture that nearly brought tears to her eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"In truth, no. I'm sorry I was not about when you arrived, but I did not expect you until later this afternoon."

"I saw no reason to delay meeting with your father. I set the necessary proceedings to procure a special license in motion early this morning."

"Those proceedings are precisely what I need to discuss with you," she said, proud that her voice sounded so steady. "I wish for you to cancel them."

A tired smile touched one corner of his mouth. "I'm afraid that is impossible, as we shall need the special license to marry on such short notice."

Dear God, did he have any idea how exhausted and resigned he appeared? "I'm sorry," she whispered. "So incredibly sorry-"

He brushed two fingers against her lips, cutting off her words. "You have nothing to apologize for, Samantha."

"But you are so upset, and rightfully so."

"Not at you." He clasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Never at you."

"Well, you should be. This entire debacle is my fault."

"On the contrary, it is completely my fault. I never should have stolen your innocence."

"You took nothing that I did not freely, willingly give you. And that is why I cannot accept your offer."

A frown formed between his brows. "I beg your pardon?"

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. "I am releasing you from your obligation to marry me."

He slowly released her shoulders, his dark eyes wiped clean of all expression. "I see. Even facing ruin you don't wish to marry me."

Her heart went numb at that flatly spoken statement. Her throat burned with the words aching to burst forth, that she loved him and wanted more than anything to be his wife, but she forced them back. "You made your position on marriage quite clear before our liaison began, my lord."

"As did you."

"And my views have not changed. Neither of us wishes to marry, most especially under these circumstances."

"Be that as it may, I'm afraid our actions leave us with no choice."

"That is why I am releasing you from your obligation. I refuse to force you."

"Your parents and I have already agreed to terms."

"Then you can all simply un-agree."

"Un-agree?" An incredulous sound rumbled in his throat. "Have you considered your reputation would be irrevocably ruined?"

"I shall plan an extended trip to the Continent… The sort of trip I've always wanted. By the time I return, the gossip will have died."

"The gossip will never die. The scandal will shadow you your entire life and attach itself to every member of your family. Clearly you have not thought of that. Nor of the blight it would cast upon my honor should I not marry you."

"It would not impugn your honor if/were the one to cry off."

He advanced a step, and she forced herself not to back up. "And how many people," he asked in a soft voice completely at odds with the dark emotions flickering in his eyes, "do you think would believe that you turned down the opportunity to become my countess?" Before she could reply, he continued, "I'll tell you how many. None. It would not matter what you claimed, everyone would believe that I'd ruined you, then refused to marry you."

She swallowed. "I… I hadn't thought of it that way, but of course you are correct. No one would credit that a woman like me would refuse a man like you."

Eric looked down at her, at her stricken eyes behind her glasses, and his anger withered. Damn it, a man like me would give every last bloody thing he owned for a woman like you. Including his heart. He knew what she was trying to do for him, and he loved her for it, but her solution was impossible.

Taking her hands, he squeezed them gently. "Samantha, we've no choice but to marry. Gossip is already spreading about our scandalous behavior and upcoming nuptials."

"Surely not."

"My butler congratulated me this morning on my upcoming marriage," he said in a dust-dry tone.

Her shoulders slumped, and she looked down at the floor. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry. I never meant for something like this to happen to you. To me. To us."

He tipped her chin up until she looked at him. The defeat and sadness swimming in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees. He brushed a wayward chestnut curl off her pale cheek, then cradled her face between his hands. "Samantha. Everything will be all right, you have my word. Will you trust me?"

She gazed at him with solemn eyes glittering with unshed tears. "Yes, I will trust you."

"And you will agree to be my wife?"

The reluctance flashing through her eyes slapped his ego, and an inexplicable urge to laugh at his own conceit hit him. Bloody hell, granted he'd never planned to marry, but he certainly hadn't ever considered that he'd encounter such difficulty getting a woman to agree to become his countess.

She finally jerked her head in a nod. "I will marry you."

A breath he hadn't realized he held pushed from his lungs. He gathered her into his arms, then brushed a kiss against her head. "I promise you," he whispered against her soft, honey-scented hair, "that all your dreams will come true."

Eric had nearly reached the Briggeham's stables to collect Emperor and head for home, when Hubert's breathless voice halted him.

"Lord Wesley, may I speak to you, please?" Turning, Eric waited for the lad racing across the lawns toward him. "What is it, Hubert?" he asked when the panting boy reached his side.

"Mama just told me that you and Samantha are going to be married. Is that true?"

"Your sister has agreed to be my wife, yes," he said carefully, not wanting to lie to him.

A frown creased Hubert's thin face. "Does she know?"

Erie didn't pretend to misunderstand. "No."

"You must tell her, my lord. Before you're married. 'Tis only fair that she know the truth."

After studying his flushed countenance for several seconds, Eric asked, "And what if, once she knew, she refused to be my wife?"

Hubert seriously pondered the question. "I don't think that will happen. I believe that she will initially be upset, but after considering the matter, she would understand why you hadn't told her previously and appreciate that you trusted her enough to share your secret before you married."

A shudder ran through Eric as a life-size image of Sammie accepting his role as the Bride Thief, rose in his mind. Good God, she'd want to help him, share in his every adventure. No doubt she'd want a mask and cape of her own.

Hubert pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "I would be happy to put in a good word for you should the need arise, my lord." Scuffing his booted toe against the grass, he added, "You'd make an admirable husband for Sammie, and, well, I'd be honored to have you as a brother. But you must tell her."

A rush of affection for the loyal lad swept through Eric, tightening his throat. Reaching out, he clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Do not worry, Hubert. I promise I shall take care of everything."