The Bride Thief

Chapter Six

The morning after Mrs. Nordfield's soiree, Sammie sat at her escritoire, leafing through the ivory pages of her private journal-the place where all her secret fantasies lived. She paused at an entry dated three months earlier.

He was the most beautiful man I'd ever beheld, yet his beauty had little to do with his handsome features and manly physique. There was a kindness in his eyes, and a generosity in his spirit that attracted me-that and the fact that he overlooked faults that others did not. Indeed, he claimed it was those traits that others viewed as odd that so endeared me to him. He gazed at me as if I were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Love shone from his eyes, warming me, but something else filled his gaze… a dark longing that sent heat rippling down my spine.

He gently touched my face, and his hands trembled, as did mine. Slowly he lowered his head until his mouth hovered just above mine.

"You're everything I've always wanted," he whispered against my lips, his breath beating softly against my skin. Surely he could hear my heart pounding, for it was about to burst from my chest.

His mouth brushed softly across mine, and my pulse soared as if on wings. He then gathered me in his strong arms, tucking my head beneath his chin. "I love you, Samantha. I want us to travel the world and share exciting adventures together."

I breathed in his wonderful scent and nodded my agreement. I'd found the man of my heart.

Sammie heaved a deep sigh, then gently closed her journal. Had she really been that naive only three short months ago? Of course, three months ago, nary a gentleman had been interested in her. Now, however, she realized how silly and utterly unrealistic her fantasies were.

Based on what she'd observed so far, a man such as the one she'd created on the pages of her journal simply did not exist. While properly polite, at least to her face, none of the gentlemen now bestowing attention on her appealed to her. None wished to discuss meaningful topics, and there was no mistaking the glazed look in their eyes when she attempted to do so. And even while they brought her punch and conversed with her, it seemed as if they looked through her-until they brought the conversation around to the Bride Thief. Then their attention focused on her like a specimen under a microscope.

But none of them were interested in her. In what she thought or felt. None appeared to share her zest for adventure, or her thirst for knowledge. If they did, they clearly didn't choose to discuss such topics with her. Her mind had always told her as much, but in the deepest recesses of her heart, she'd always cherished a kernel of hope…

Only on these vellum pages did she dare reveal her secret longings. Foolish, silly dreams that would never come true, but still, she couldn't stop them from invading her mind. And her heart. So rather than fight her yearnings, she recorded them, pouring out all her unfulfilled dreams of love and adventure, re-reading them on those long lonely nights when sleep eluded her.

Her sisters and Mama would be stunned if they knew that her logical, practical thoughts wandered in such a manner, and she was careful not to let them know. She couldn't bear to see their beautiful faces filled with well-intentioned but unwanted pity, knowing that "poor Sammie" would never live out any of her cherished dreams. Or find a man who embodied all her feminine imaginings… a man who loved adventure. Nature. Animals. Science.

Her.

Yes, growing up with three gorgeous sisters, she knew the futility of her longings. Gentlemen admired beauty above all else. And if a woman was not blessed with a lovely face, she at least had to possess feminine talents such as conversation, fashion sense, musical and dancing ability, and a pleasant singing voice.

No, there wasn't a man alive who would overlook all her resounding flaws. But he existed in her mind, and in her journal, and she would continue to write about him there. And dream…

With lingering thoughts of adventure wandering through her brain, an image of the Bride Thief flashed through her mind, bringing with it a warm tingle. Now he was a man who could inspire daydreams of adventure. For the first time in her life, she avidly read the Society pages in The Times, looking for word of him. The fact that a group of men had formed the Bride Thief Posse was most disturbing, and with a veritable fortune now being offered for his capture, the danger the Bride Thief faced increased significantly. Had he rescued any more women? Was he safe? She'd prayed for his safety every night before retiring, asking the Lord to watch over him.

She'd carefully worded her replies to the probing questions everyone from the magistrate to the neighbors had asked her, partly because she did not wish to say anything that could endanger the Thief, but also because her heart simply couldn't share all the wonderful, enthralling details of their short time together.

The Bride Thief. Yes, there was no denying he embodied many of the qualities her fantasy gentleman possessed. She would never forget the brief time she'd spent with him, the thrilling exhilaration of dashing through the dark forest with a man who seemed more mythical than real.

Yet he was flesh and blood, and impossible questions nudged at her. What was he like under the mask? Where did he live? Her imagination conjured up a hidden fortress, and she nearly laughed aloud at her fanciful thoughts. Of course she'd never know, but she did know he was a man to admire… a man of strong convictions and moral fiber. Certainly not the brigand so many people wished to cast him as. People such as Lord Wesley.

Her brows collapsed into a frown. For reasons she could not explain, her thoughts had circled back to the irritating man a dozen times since their meeting last evening. She'd easily dismissed all the fops she'd encountered… Why hadn't she forgotten him?

Perhaps because he'd discussed topics other than fashion and the weather with her. Or the fact that he'd made her laugh. Perhaps because she'd actually enjoyed his company before their awkward parting. Before he'd proven himself to be no different than any of her other false admirers.

But no matter. She would most likely not find herself in Lord Wesley's company again. After all, except for last evening, she hadn't seen him in years. Even though her family enjoyed prominence in Tunbridge Wells, the earl's social world orbited far above hers. She knew from Mama that the earl spent most of his time in London. No doubt pursuing all manner of debauchery, as the nobility was wont to do.

Yet, while so many others gazed upon her with speculation and shrewd glances, there had initially been something in Lord Wesley's eyes-an unexpected warmth, a surprising kindness-that had put her at ease. And had attracted her.

She drew in a sharp breath. Attracted? Heavens, no! She most certainly was not attracted to that man! Of course any woman would find him physically… pleasing, but a handsome face meant nothing. Not when one was arrogant and presumptuous and claimed her desire to help a noble man was "preposterous."

No, indeed, she didn't find him the least bit attractive. The only reason she hadn't dismissed him from her mind was because he had managed to anger her… and recalling their parting angered her still. Yes, that was all there was to it.

Satisfied, she carefully tied her journal closed with a strip of satin ribbon, then slid the well-worn leather book into the hidden compartment she'd fashioned in her escritoire.

Rising, she wandered to her bedchamber window. The late-afternoon sun gleamed, casting a swatch of bright warmth across the colorful braided throw rug.

Pushing aside the dark green velvet drapery, she opened the window, then leaned on the sill to gaze upon the grounds. Flowery scent wafted up from Mama's roses, which bloomed in a wild profusion of reds and pinks. No one in the village had finer roses than Cordelia Briggeham, and Sammie loved to wander the paths meandering through Mama's garden, breathing in the glorious, heady scent.

The tap of footsteps on the terrace caught her attention.

Looking down, she saw Hubert crossing the flagstones with his gangly stride, nearly staggering under the weight of a large box.

"What do you have there, Hubert?" she called.

Hubert stopped and peered upward, his face breaking into a wide grin at the sight of her. A lock of chestnut hair fell across his forehead, lending him a childlike air at odds with his sixteen years.

"Hallo!" he called. "The new telescope has finally arrived! I'm off to the Chamber. Would you care to join me?"

"Most definitely. I'll join you in a few moments." She waved, then watched Hubert head toward the old barn that he'd converted into his laboratory several years ago. Sammie left her bedchamber and walked toward the stairs, excited at the prospect of seeing the new telescope. As she approached the landing, Mama's voice drifted upward.

"How lovely of you to call, my lord. And such beautiful flowers! Chester, please escort his lordship to the parlor. I'll see to this bouquet and inform Samantha she has a guest."

"Yes, Mrs. Briggeham," intoned Chester in his deep, butler voice.

Botheration! No doubt the "my lord" currently on his way to the parlor was that annoying Viscount Carsdale, come to discuss the weather. Sammie leaned against the wall and fought the urge to sprint back to her bedchamber and hide in her wardrobe. She'd have done just that if she'd thought there was any hope of avoiding Mama and her guest, but the swish of Mama's skirts and the tread of her feet upon the stairs indicated she was trapped. Drawing a bracing breath, she met Mama at the top of the stairs. Mama bore a large bouquet of summer flowers and a radiant smile.

"Samantha!" Mama said in an excited undertone. "You have a caller, darling. And you'll never guess who it is!"

"Viscount Carsdale?"

Mama's eyes widened. "Heavens, is he planning to call upon you as well? You must tell me these things, darling."

"What do you mean 'as well'? Who is Chester showing to the parlor?"

Mama leaned forward, her face alight with delight. "Lord Wesley." She breathed his name with a reverence normally reserved for saints and monarchs.

Much to her annoyance, a tingle that felt suspiciously like anticipation skittered down Sammie's spine. What on earth was he doing here? Did he wish to continue their discussion regarding the Bride Thief? If so, his visit would be brief, indeed, for she had no intention of answering any more of his questions or listening to any more unkind words issued toward the heroic man. Or had he perhaps called for some other reason? If so, she couldn't imagine what. And why had he brought her flowers?

Mama thrust the bouquet under Sammie's nose and said, "He brought you these. Aren't they magnificent? Oooh, flowers from an earl… I cannot wait to tell Lydia." Her eyes quickly assessed Samantha's plain gray gown. "Dear, oh, dear, you really should change into one of your new gowns, but I suppose this will have to do. We do not want to keep his lordship waiting."

Commandeering Sammie's arm with a strength that belied her petite proportions, Mama all but propelled her down the stairs, then down the corridor toward the parlor, whispering terse instructions the entire way.

"Don't forget to smile, darling," Mama said, "and make sure you agree with everything the earl says."

"But-"

"And be sure to inquire after his health," Mama continued, "but do not broach any of those unladylike topics such as mathematics and science you are so fond of."

"But-"

"And whatever you do, do not mention Isadore, Cuthbert, or Warfinkle. It is not necessary that the earl be apprised of your… unusual pets." She cast Sammie a narrowed-eyed, sidelong glance. "They are outdoors, are they not?"

"Yes, but-"

"Excellent." They paused in front of the parlor door, and Mama patted her cheek. "I'm very happy for you, darling."

Before Sammie could even attempt to utter a word, Mama opened the parlor door and sailed across the threshold. "Here she is, Lord Wesley," she announced, nearly yanking Sammie off her feet. "I'll rejoin you in a few moments-just as soon as I've seen to these lovely flowers and arranged for some refreshments." She beamed an angelic smile, then withdrew, leaving the door properly ajar.

Although anxious to join Hubert and his new telescope as soon as possible, reluctant curiosity about the reason for the earl's call pulled at Sammie. Determined to be polite, she turned toward her guest.

He stood in the center of the diamond-patterned Axminster rug, tall, imposing, perfectly turned out in glossy black boots, fawn-colored riding breeches, and a midnight-blue jacket that hugged his masculine frame to perfection. For just an instant, she inexplicably, and uncharacteristically, wished she were wearing one of her new gowns.

The only aspects of his appearance that weren't perfect were his cravat, which looked as if he'd yanked upon it, and his dark hair, which looked as if he'd raked his hands through it. She admitted, albeit grudgingly, that these flaws in his appearance were somehow… endearing.

She nearly rolled her eyes at her choice of word. He wasn't in the least endearing. He was annoying. Questioning her regarding the Bride Thief in what could only be described as an underhanded manner, then scoffing at her desire to aid the heroic man, claiming to be concerned for her welfare. What enormous impudence! Well, the sooner she greeted him and discovered the reason for his call, the sooner she could show him on his way.

"Good afternoon, Lord Wesley," she said, attempting her best, for Mama's sake, to sound friendly.

"And the same to you, Miss Briggeham."

"Er, thank you for the flowers."

"You're welcome." His gaze swept over the room, taking in the abundance of bouquets that adorned every available surface. "Although, if I'd known that you already possessed so many floral tributes, I would have brought you something else."

Her gaze followed his, and she couldn't suppress a sigh. "Mama says a woman can never have too many flowers, yet I shudder to think of all the poor plants that have been beheaded for these bouquets." The instant the words left her mouth, she realized how impolite they must sound to a man who'd just presented her with flowers. Hoping to make up for her faux pas, she asked in her politest voice, "Would you care to sit down, my lord?"

"No, thank you." He walked toward her, his gaze resting on hers in a way that oddly unsettled her. When only several feet separated them, he said, "I prefer to stand to express my regrets that we parted company on a strained note last evening. I did not mean to upset you."

The warmth radiating from his velvety brown eyes indicated his sincerity, but she'd learned over the past few weeks that seemingly sincere words flowed from gentlemen's lips like honey from a hive.

"You did not upset me, Lord Wesley."

When he raised his brows in a manner that clearly indicated he didn't believe her, she clarified, "You annoyed me."

Something that looked like amusement flashed in his eyes. "Ah. Then please allow me to express my regrets forannoying you. In spite of how it may have appeared, I was not trying to glean information from you. And I merely wished to point out the extreme folly of your desire to aid a wanted criminal."

Her hands clenched. "You express your regrets for annoying me, my lord, yet you continue to do so by again offering your unsolicited opinion."

"I assure you I am-"

"I say, Sammie," Hubert's voice broke in from just beyond the doorway. "What's keeping you?" Turning, Sammie watched Hubert stride into the parlor, then stop dead at the sight of her guest. "Oh, I beg your pardon," he said, his face flushing red. "I didn't realize you were entertaining."

"No reason to apologize," she assured Hubert with a smile she hoped didn't betray her relief at his interruption. "The earl is a very busy man. I'm sure he won't wish to occupy himself with me much longer." From the corner of her eye she noticed a whisper of a smile pass the earl's lips.

Striving to keep her voice level, Sammie performed the necessary introductions, watching the earl closely, all her protective instincts for Hubert on alert. Last week, when Viscount Carsdale had called upon her, she'd introduced Hubert to the gentleman. Hubert's face had fallen when the viscount's gaze had flicked over him with dismissive disdain, flooding Sammie with the urge to slap the arrogant man. She was well-accustomed to social slights and had learned to disregard them, but Hubert was still sensitive to such cuts. If the earl acted in a similar fashion…

Surprise suffused her when Lord Wesley extended his hand in a friendly, unaffected manner. "A pleasure to meet you, lad," he said.

"The pleasure's mine, my lord," Hubert said, his face flushing deeper. He returned his attention to Sammie. "Sorry to interrupt, but when you didn't meet me in the Chamber as you'd promised, I grew concerned that the Cricket had waylaid you." A grin flashed across his face. "Thought you might need rescuing."

I did indeed, but not from Mama. Before she could respond, Lord Wesley asked, "Chamber?"

"My Chamber of Experiments," Hubert said. "I converted the old barn into a laboratory."

Interest filled Lord Wesley's gaze. "Indeed? And what do you do there?"

"All manner of experiments." Hubert cast a quick, self-conscious glance toward Sammie, then continued. "I also use it for my inventions and my astronomy studies."

"I've an interest in astronomy myself," the earl said. "I'm hoping the weather will be clear this evening so I might view the stars."

Hubert's face lit up. "As am I. It's a fascinating science, is it not? Sammie… I mean, Samantha, loves it as well."

Lord Wesley's gaze shifted to her. "Do you, indeed, Miss Briggeham?"

"Yes," she said briskly. "In fact, I was about to join Hubert in his Chamber when you called." Surely the earl would realize her broad hint and take his leave.

"My new telescope just arrived from London," Hubert reported to the earl. "Perhaps you'd like to see it?"

Sammie barely squelched a horrified squeak. "I'm sure Lord Wesley has pressing matters awaiting him, Hubert."

There was no mistaking the amusement glittering in the earl's eyes. "I do?"

"Don't you?"

"Actually, I'd be very interested to see Hubert's telescope."

"Surely you don't wish to-"

"Oh, it's a very fine one, my lord," Hubert broke in. " 'Twould be an honor to show it to you."

"I accept your kind invitation. Thank you." Lord Wesley offered Sammie a smile that appeared distinctly smug, a fact that tensed her shoulders. Extending his arm toward her, he said, "Shall we, Miss Briggeham?"

Mentally cursing her beloved brother for including the bothersome man in their outing, she forced a smile. She debated ignoring his arm, but decided not to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that his presence disturbed her in any way. Besides, Hubert was clearly excited at the prospect of showing off his telescope. Surely she could endure the earl's presence for a short time longer… provided he did not voice disparaging words about the Bride Thief again. If he did, she'd simply change the subject, then send him on his way with all deliberate speed. And after today, she'd most likely never see him again.

Yes, that was a very simple, logical, practical plan. Resting her hand lightly on Lord Wesley's sleeve, they followed Hubert from the room.

Eric strolled along a winding garden path flanked by a profusion of roses, and tried to hide the smile that tugged incessantly on his lips. Miss Briggeham's fingers rested on his sleeve with what appeared to be all the enthusiasm of one touching a large, hairy, potentially poisonous insect. He had to admit that her reaction to him piqued his interest and curiosity. Women were always only too pleased to receive, as well as seek, his company. Perhaps such would still be the case were he not an earl, but certainly being titled and wealthy guaranteed him an excess of female attention.

Except, obviously, for Miss Samantha Briggeham, who looked as if she'd just as soon toss him into the privet hedges than spend another minute with him. When her brother had invited him to view his telescope, Miss Briggeham had looked as if she'd swallowed her tongue-a fact that simultaneously annoyed and amused him.

Determined to break the silence between them, he remarked, "Your brother mentioned a 'Cricket' earlier. Who, or what, is that?"

A subtle blush stole over her cheeks. "It's merely a silly name we call our mother. She tends to chirp when overtaken by the vapors."

"I see," he murmured, recalling with amusement that Mrs. Briggeham had indeed chirped last evening when she'd claimed to feel faint-just before hauling Misters Babcock and Whitmore away.

They walked for nearly a full minute in silence, and for reasons he could not explain, Eric took perverse delight in deliberately keeping their pace at a near crawl to counteract Miss Briggeham's not-as-subtle-as-she-believed attempts to hurry him along. Noting Hubert was far enough ahead of them not to be able to hear their conversation, the devil inside him prompted him to say, "You didn't want me to join you. May I ask why?"

She turned quickly, peering at him through her thick spectacles before turning her attention once more to the path in front of them. When she didn't answer for several long seconds, he prompted, "Tell me. Do not fear you will hurt my tender feelings. I'm quite impervious to verbal barbs, I assure you."

"Very well, my lord. Since you insist, I shall be perfectly blunt. I don't believe I like you."

"I see. And therefore you do not relish the thought of my company."

"Precisely."

"I must say, Miss Briggeham, I don't believe anyone has ever said such a thing to me before."

She sent him an arch, sidelong glance. "I find that very difficult to believe, Lord Wesley."

He should have been appalled at her temerity-and at the unmistakable insult that was only slightly tempered by the glint of deviltry in her eyes. Instead, he was unexpectedly amused.

"Hard to believe or not, I'm afraid it's true," he said. "In fact, so many people so often make it a point to tell me how much they like me and enjoy my company, I often find myself suspicious of their motives. I find it rather refreshing that you think I'm…"

"Annoying?" she supplied in a helpful tone.

"Exactly. However, since your brother's invitation forces you to endure my company for a bit longer, I propose we call a truce of sorts."

"What do you mean?"

"Clearly any mention of the Bride Thief raises your hackles, and believe it or not, it distresses me to be thought of as an annoyance."

She turned toward him and cocked a brow. "You did ask for the truth, my lord. And I cannot imagine that my opinion of you would affect you one way or another."

You're right. It shouldn't. But damn it, for some inexplicable reason, it does.

Before he could reply, she continued, "So am I to understand that this truce you are proposing would require you not to express your opinions about the Bride Thief, and me to refrain from calling you annoying?"

"You've summed it up quite nicely, Miss Briggeham."

Unmistakable mischief glinted in her eyes. "May I continue to think of you as annoying?"

"Of course. However, you should be aware that by doing so, you present me with an irresistible challenge."

"Indeed? What is that?"

"Why, the need to prove you wrong, of course."

Laughter erupted from her lips, and her eyes twinkled up at him. "Do you think there's any chance of that?"

He clutched his hand over his heart. "You wound me, Miss Briggeham, I'll have you know I'm rarely wrong. In fact, now that I think upon it, I don't believe I have ever been wrong."

She made a tsk-ing sound and shook her head. "Dear me. Annoying and arrogant. So many words beginning with 'a' to describe one man. And that is just the start of the alphabet."

"There are other 'a' words one might use, such as-"

"Aggravating?"

He sizzled a mock frown at her. "I was going to say 'amiable.'"

A noise that could only be described as a snort escaped her. "If it is any consolation, I'm certain most people think you are, my lord."

"Yet, I distinctly recall you telling me last evening that you are not most people."

"I fear that is true."

A grin tugged at his lips. "Well, then, I shall simply have to change your mind and make you see the error of your ways."

She laughed, a delightful sound that spread warmth through him. "You're welcome to try."

"See how well our truce is working? Already you've issued me an invitation." He paused, drawing them to a stop, and gazed down at her. The sunlight coaxed deep reds and burnished golds from her hair, and her eyes sparkled from her laughter.

His gaze moved downward, settling on her extraordinary mouth and that alluring freckle dotting the corner of her upper lip. The warmth her laughter had inspired, instantly turned to heat.

"Here's to our truce," he murmured. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips and lightly kissed her fingers. The scent of honey filled his senses, and he barely resisted the overwhelming desire to touch his tongue to her skin to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. Their eyes met, and he watched all vestiges of humor slowly ebb from hers, as he continued to hold her hand a hairsbreadth away from his lips.

Surprise flashed across her features, then turned to confusion that painted her cheeks a delightful rose. Her skin looked petal soft, and his fingers suddenly itched with the need to feel that beckoning smoothness. With his free hand, he reached out, slowly, like a man in a trance, toward that enticing blush-hued skin. Her eyes widened and her breath caught, an utterly feminine sound that charmed him.

"Are you coming, Sammie?" Hubert's voice boomed from just beyond the rose hedges.

Miss Briggeham gasped and stepped back, snatching her hand from his grasp as if he'd burned her. "Yes," she called, in a slightly breathless voice. Clasping her hands tightly in front of her, she indicated the path with a jerk of her head. "This way, Lord Wesley."

Eric fell into step beside her, his height allowing him to match her brisk strides without much effort. He made no attempt to offer her his arm, instinctively knowing she wouldn't accept it, and not at all certain he should touch her again anyway. The woman had the oddest effect on his senses.

Damn it all, the desire to touch her had nearly overridden his common sense. What the devil was wrong with him? He wasn't here to court Samantha Briggeham. He merely wanted to ensure she wasn't hatching some crazy scheme to aid the Bride Thief. And while she was clearly protective of the man, a fact that oddly pleased him, she was also obviously an intelligent, logical young woman. There was no need for him to be concerned about her welfare. In fact, as soon as he finished looking at the telescope, he would take his leave.

Sammie carefully observed Lord Wesley as Hubert conducted a tour of his Chamber of Experiments for their guest, waiting to see any signs of boredom or ridicule directed toward her brother.

Instead, his lordship appeared fascinated by Hubert's Chamber and its vast array of glass beakers, jars, and experiments in progress. He asked Hubert dozens of questions, intelligent questions, she had to admit. Clearly the man possessed not only an interest but a knowledge of chemistry. And he never once looked askance at Hubert or spoke to him in a tone that suggested he thought either her brother or his laboratory odd. In fact, no matter how she looked at it, his lordship was acting in a way that could only be described as…

Amiable.

Her brow collapsed in a frown. Blast it all, she did not want to find the man amiable. She much preferred to think of him as annoying and arrogant. But seeing him bend over to apply his eye to Hubert's microscope, then look up at the boy with a grin creasing his handsome face, she couldn't deny that another "a" word to describe Lord Wesley was… attractive.

"Sammie, why don't you show Lord Wesley your section, where you prepare your honey and beeswax lotions?"

Hubert's question jerked her from her disturbing musing, and she pressed her hands over her stomach to quiet the jitters fluttering through her insides. As much as her scientific nature urged her to join the gentlemen across the room, her feminine instincts warned her to stay where she was, as far away from Lord Wesley as she could be while they stood in the same room.

Forcing a smile, she pointed toward the far corner of the room and said, " 'Tis nothing exciting to see, my lord. Just those burners, pots and molds, and my few remaining jars of honey."

"She is being modest, Lord Wesley," Hubert said. "Sammie is a first-rate scientist and teacher as well. Indeed, she sparked my interest in my own studies, and she is my greatest source of encouragement and inspiration. Her experiments with creams and lotions are fascinating, and she may soon see a breakthrough."

Heat rose in Sammie's cheeks, and she fought the urge to clap her hand over Hubert's mouth. While she appreciated his enthusiasm and kind words, she had no desire to see the inevitable expression on Lord Wesley's face-the one showing his dismay, horror, disgust, boredom, disdain, or any combination thereof regarding her work. She turned to him, determined to adroitly change the subject, and was surprised to see him regarding her with unmistakable curiosity.

"What sort of experiments are you conducting, Miss Briggeham?"

Not a bit of mockery or sarcasm in his voice. Just keen interest. She hesitated a few seconds, then led him to her work area. "Last night I mentioned one of my friends, a Miss Waynesboro-Paxton-"

"The lady who could not attend the soiree due to illness," Lord Wesley broke in.

"Yes," Sammie said, surprised he remembered. "She suffers from severe joint pain, mostly in her fingers and knuckles. I noticed that two things help alleviate her pain: wrapping her hands in warm, moist towels, and massaging my honey cream into her hands. I am attempting to discover a way to make my honey cream self-heating."

Lord Wesley stroked his chin and nodded slowly. "Thus incorporating the wanning properties directly into the cream. And you're close to success?"

"I've recently made some progress, but I fear I've still much work to do. Still, I am determined to succeed."

She raised her chin a notch, silently daring him to mock her, to dismiss her as nothing more than a bluestocking, but only admiration shone in his eyes.

"Ingenious idea," he said, his gaze shifting to roam over her supplies. "I offer you my sincere best wishes for success. Tell me, do you harvest your own honey?"

"Yes. I keep a half-dozen skeps behind the Chamber."

"She's hoarding those last few jars like a miser," Hubert said in a teasing voice. "But once she harvests her skeps next month, I'll be able to nip off with a jar without her noticing it's missing. I fear I have a weakness for honey."

Lord Wesley returned his gaze to her, studying her with an unfathomable expression that tightened her stomach. "Yes, I fear I do as well," he murmured. He then once again focused his attention on Hubert, and Sammie nearly groaned with relief.

Good heavens above, the man had the strangest effect on her senses. It was as if his nearness brought them all alive and into sharp focus. The feel of his strong arm beneath her palm as he'd escorted her down the garden paths; the woodsy, clean scent of him that made her want to lean closer to him and simply breathe him in. Disturbing feelings she'd managed quite well to ignore.

Until he'd stopped walking and looked at her with that intense expression that had curled her toes inside her slippers, and heated her from the inside out.

Until he'd brushed his.lips over her hand.

Warmth rushed into her cheeks, and she quickly walked to the telescope and pretended to inspect the instrument, to hide her confusion. And there was no denying the man confused her. She'd started out angry with him, but after he'd apologized, he'd somehow managed to disarm her and amuse her, just as he'd done at Mrs. Nordfield's soiree. She'd enjoyed their verbal sparring, but once they'd ceased talking, and he'd looked at her in that way… suddenly she hadn't felt like laughing. Suddenly she'd wanted nothing more than for him to touch her face, as he'd been about to do.

She caught herself in the act of heaving a long sigh, and mentally slapped herself. Heavens, what was she thinking? She couldn't possibly entertain romantic notions toward Lord Wesley. To do so would be the same as extending an engraved invitation to Heartbreak. She needed to keep her romantic fantasies focused on make-believe gentlemen who could not ever hold her heart in their hands. Or even on a man like the Bride Thief-one that existed only in her memory, and even there more as a heroic figure than a flesh-and-blood man.

The rumble of masculine voices drew her attention to the other side of the room where Hubert and Lord Wesley were engaged in conversation. Hubert's face was alight with the pleasurable glow that always suffused him when he discussed one of his experiments or inventions. It was a look normally focused on her, and an odd pang clutched her that it was currently focused on a man she wasn't certain she liked… A man she wasn't certain was worthy of the admiration shining from Hubert's eyes. Or perhaps the problem was the niggling fear that she could like him, if she allowed herself, and that Hubert's admiration wasn't misplaced.

Her gaze shifted to Lord Wesley, who was nodding, his serious expression riveted on the liquid-filled beaker Hubert held aloft. She tried to pull her gaze away, but she found herself admiring the man's profile-the sweep of his forehead, his high cheekbones, straight nose, firm lips, and the strong line of his jaw. As if he felt the weight of her regard, he turned and looked directly into her eyes. Heat washed through her and she barely refrained from smacking herself on the forehead. Dear Lord, he'd caught her staring! Coughing to cover her embarrassment, she quickly applied her eye to the new telescope, praying her cheeks were not as red as they felt.

Peering through the lens, she adjusted the focus, more out of a need to regain her composure than to actually see anything. The image of the garden sharpened, and she marveled at the wonder of the instrument. Mama's roses appeared close enough to touch, and-

A flash of blue crossed her line of vision. Adjusting her position, she squinted into the lens. Mama, her blue day gown flying behind her, was dashing toward the Chamber with a speed Sammie would have thought her incapable of. Heavens above, she'd forgotten all about her mother arranging refreshments for Lord Wesley. She was probably in a panic, wondering where the earl had gone, praying he was anywhere but the Chamber.

No sooner had Sammie straightened than the Chamber door burst open. Mama stood on the threshold, and Sammie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the disheveled picture her always perfectly turned out mother presented. Her chest heaved from the exertion of her sprint through the gardens, her fichu drooped limply from her bodice on one side, and her elaborate topknot, clearly missing several pins, sat askew on her head.

"There you are, Lord Wesley," Mama managed between panting breaths. "I thought you'd escaped… er, left before we had a chance to visit. I couldn't imagine where you'd gone. I've looked for you all through the gardens, even down at the stables." She skewered Sammie with a horrified look that screamed whatever were you thinking to bring him here, instantly followed by her sternest we'll discuss this later glare.

Lord Wesley waved his hand in an arc, encompassing the Chamber. "Hubert generously offered to show me his new telescope. A fine piece it is. And his laboratory is nothing short of amazing. You must be very proud of him."

Mama's gaze shifted to Hubert, who seemed to grow two full inches at the earl's praise. A smile softened Mama's eyes as she gazed upon her undeniably brilliant son whom she fiercely loved, but did not understand one iota. "Very proud," she agreed briskly, somehow managing to smile and send Hubert a warning frown at the same time. "Although the dear boy tends to forget that he mustn't bore our guests with all his complicated scientific chatter."

"You need not worry, dear lady," the earl said smoothly. "Your son"-his gaze shifted briefly to Sammie-"and daughter are both delightful company. I've enjoyed myself immensely."

Uncertainty flashed across Mama's face, as if she couldn't quite decide how much of the earl's words were truthful and how much were merely politeness. Clearly deciding her best strategy was to get him back to the house, she offered him her best hostess smile and announced, "Tea and biscuits are set out in the parlor."

He pulled a watch fob from his waistcoat and consulted the time. "As much as I'd love to join you, I fear that I must leave."

Mama's face showed her acute disappointment. Certain that her mother was about to issue an invitation for the earl to join them for tea another day, Sammie opened her mouth to intervene. She did not want Mama to entertain for even a second the notion that the earl would favor them with a return visit, nor did she want her mother disappointed when he refused. She firmly pushed aside the disturbing thought that she herself would be disappointed.

Before she could utter a word, however, Lord Wesley turned to her. "A footman took charge of my mount when I arrived. Perhaps you would escort me to your stables, Miss Briggeham?"

"Ah, yes. Of course."

"I thank you for the tour of your Chamber," the earl said to Hubert, then turned to make Mama a formal bow. "And you, Mrs. Briggeham, for your kind hospitality."

"Oh, you're most welcome, my lord," Mama said. "In fact-"

"This way, Lord Wesley," Sammie broke in, forestalling Mama. She swiftly exited the Chamber, resisting the urge to tug on Lord Wesley's arm.

He fell into step beside her, and she strode briskly across the green lawn toward the stables. After several seconds, she heard him chuckle.

"Are we engaged in a race, Miss Briggeham?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're striding toward the stables as if pursued by the devil himself."

Without slowing her pace, she shot him a sidelong glance. "Perhaps I am."

His chuckle deepened into a full laugh. "I'm quite the opposite, I assure you."

"Are you trying to convince me that 'angelic' describes you?"

"Well, it is another 'a' word…"

His voice trailed off into a chuckle, and for some inexplicable reason, Sammie felt the need to quicken her pace even more. The sooner he left, the better. This man unsettled her, in a dismaying way she was certain, or at least almost certain, that she did not like.

They reached the stables less than a minute later. While Cyril brought around Lord Wesley's mount, Sammie fought to catch her breath from their brisk near-trot across the lawns. When Cyril appeared leading a chocolate-brown gelding, she couldn't suppress the appreciative sound that escaped her.

"He's magnificent, Lord Wesley," she said, reaching out to touch the beast's glossy neck. The animal immediately turned and nuzzled her cupped hand, blowing out a warm whinny that tickled her palm. "What is his name?"

"Emperor." He swung gracefully into the saddle. Stepping back, she shaded her eyes and looked up at him. The warm breeze ruffled his dark hair. His hand held the reins and his muscular legs hugged the horse's body with an ease that marked him as an experienced horseman. He looked incredibly masculine sitting astride his beautiful horse, and she wished she possessed the artistic talent to capture him in a drawing. She could almost see him, galloping full bent across a meadow, sailing over a fence, at one with his mount.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Briggeham," he said, dragging her from her reverie.

"You're welcome, my lord." A frisson of regret washed through her that their time together was over. He'd proved himself polite, humorous, and charming, and the fact that he'd shown such kindness to Hubert tugged at her in a way that she couldn't put words to. If only circumstances were different… if she were the sort of woman to attract his attention for more than a fleeting moment-

But of course, she wasn't. He was an earl, and she was merely a… passing curiosity. Lifting her chin, she said, "Thank you for the flowers."

He stared down at her with an unreadable expression for several seconds. It seemed as if he wished to say something, and her heart beat in slow thumps, waiting for him to speak. He merely inclined his head, however, and murmured, "You're welcome."

Inexplicable disappointment rushed through her. Forcing a smile, she said, "I bid you a safe journey, Lord Wesley. Good-bye."

" 'Til we meet again, Miss Briggeham," he said in a low, compelling voice. He set Emperor into motion and cantered down the path. Sammie watched him until he disappeared around the bend, trying quite unsuccessfully to calm her erratic pulse.

'Til we meet again. Surely he meant nothing by his parting words. They were merely a form of saying goodbye. She'd be a fool to read too much into them, to think that he meant to call upon her again. And why would she want him to? While she now couldn't, in all honesty, continue to think badly of him, he certainly bore no resemblance to the swashbuckling sort of gentleman she'd always imagined would set her heart aflutter. No, "adventurous" was not an "a" word she'd use to describe the Earl of Wesley.

Therefore, logically, she'd be the worst sort of fool to wish for him to return.

Yet suddenly she felt like the worst sort of fool.