The Bride Thief

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  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.

  Chapter Seven

  From the London Times:

  Several more outraged fathers have joined the Bride Thief Posse, all of them contributing to the reward money, which now stands at seven thousand pounds. Adam Straton, the magistrate where the last kidnapping occurred, stated that he has redoubled his efforts to solve the case, and he is confident he will apprehend the Bride Thief soon. "I will not rest until I see him hang for his crimes," Straton promised.

  Eric stared out the window of his private study. Normally the warmth of the golden sunshine shimmering through the trees, and the sight of his stables in the distance brought him pleasure and comfort. Today, however, they failed to soothe, as
he strove for the hundredth time to forget the one thing he couldn't seem to erase from his mind.

  Samantha Briggeham.

  Three days had passed since he'd called upon her. Three days since her honesty, intelligence, and lack of guile had charmed him, as it had on the two other occasions he'd met her. Three days of wanting to see her again, to the point where he'd actually had to force himself not to call upon her.

  Damn it all, there was no need to concern himself with her welfare any longer. She bore no ill effects from his botched kidnapping. Yet he simply could not dismiss her from his thoughts.

  Why? What was it about her that attracted him so? Certainly he could lie to himself and claim his interest lay only in the fact that he'd accidentally kidnapped her. But lying to himself was a futile exercise.

  No, there was something about Samantha Briggeham that touched him… in a way he couldn't explain. What was it? She certainly was not beautiful, yet the combination of her too large eyes and those too large lips fascinated him in a way that a classic beauty never had. He'd enjoyed the company of many gorgeous women-women whose physical beauty could leave a man breathless, but he'd found them all eminently forgettable. Indeed, he couldn't recall one of their faces. The face that filled his mind during the day and rendered him wide awake at night was not that of a diamond of the first water, but of an unassuming country miss who inexplicably attracted him as no woman ever had.

  Crossing to the decanters, he poured a finger of brandy, then stared at the amber liquid as if it held the answer to this extremely vexing puzzle.

  Very well, he found her unusual looks intriguing. Pleasing. But that did not fully explain this… thing he could not name… this preoccupation with her. Leaning his hips against his mahogany desk, he sipped his drink, enjoying the trail of warmth easing down his belly. A series of images of Miss Briggeham flashed through his mind. Hiding behind Mrs. Nordfield's potted palms. Laughing as they'd examined Mrs. Nordfield's dreadful paintings. Her initial fright when he'd kidnapped her, her wistful expression when she'd confided her longing for adventure to the Bride Thief… her desire to swim in the Adriatic…

  Bloody hell, perhaps that was the problem. He knew things about Miss Samantha Briggeham that he shouldn't, wouldn't know if he hadn't met her as the Bride Thief. And not just her yearnings for adventure. He knew how she felt in his arms, her soft body pressed against him, the heady sensation of galloping through the darkness with her, her honey-scented skin teasing his senses.

  Then there was her anger… no, her annoyance… when he'd dared utter a word against the Bride Thief, a man she clearly admired. Her obvious love for her brother, and indulgence toward her mother. Her ambition to develop a medicinal cream to help her friend. She was intelligent, kind, loyal, amusing, horribly outspoken, and…

  He liked her.

  He was about to enjoy another swallow of brandy when the realization dawned, halting his hand halfway to his lips.

  Bloody hell, he liked her.

  Liked her smile, her laugh, even her indignation. She in no way exuded the supercilious attitudes of so many women of his acquaintance. She harbored dreams of scientific success and adventure that went far beyond which gown to wear, or which bonnet to purchase.

  And her eyes… those extraordinary aqua eyes were filled with hopes, unfulfilled desires, and they hinted at feelings and vulnerabilities that he wanted to learn about. Yes, that's all this preoccupation was: simply a desire to learn more about an interesting woman. Converse with her. Discover all those fascinating thoughts he sensed lurked behind her thick spectacles.

  He savored another sip of brandy while employing the decision-making processes he'd honed in the Army. He'd identified the problem-half the battle right there: He couldn't dismiss Miss Briggeham because he liked her and wished to learn more about her.

  But how to solve this problem?

  Clearly he had two options. He could force her from his mind, but since he'd been unable to accomplish that since he'd met her, he quickly discarded that option. Therefore, the only other possibility was to see her again, to speak with her and discover more about her. Once he did, his curiosity would be satisfied. Then he'd be able to put this preoccupation with her in its proper perspective. Perfect.

  He raised his glass to salute his brilliant logic and toast his infallible plan.

  Eric reined Emperor to a halt behind a copse of oaks near the fringe of the woods. Squinting against the glare of the early-afternoon sun, he watched Miss Briggeham approach from the direction of the village. Instead of the brisk strides she'd employed when last they met, she walked slowly across the verdant clearing, lifting her face to the sun, clearly savoring the warm weather. Her bonnet hung down her back from its ribbons, and her chestnut hair glinted in the sun, as if capturing its golden glow. A smile lit her face, and she twirled once in a circle, swinging the basket she carried with a joyful abandon, then bent over to smell a grouping of wildflowers.

  He suddenly envied the carefree, relaxed picture she made. When was the last time he'd simply enjoyed the sunshine? Taken pleasure in a lovely day, savored the scents and sounds of nature without the gravity of his responsibilities and obligations weighing on his mind?

  Not since that last summer before he'd entered the Army, he realized after a moment's thought. He and Margaret had enjoyed long rides around the estate, often bringing bundles of food with them. On several occasions, they'd ventured no farther than the stables, spending the afternoon grooming horses with Arthur.

  It had been too bloody long since he'd passed a free and easy afternoon, and the urge to join Miss Briggeham, to lift her in his arms and swirl in lighthearted circles with her, share in her delight, tugged at his insides.

  Pushing away the desire to indulge in behavior totally unsuitable for an earl, he continued to watch her, a smile pulling at his lips when she leaped over a pile of rocks with an exuberance that reminded him of a puppy.

  He remained hidden until only a short distance separated them. Then, touching his heels to Emperor's flanks, he stepped onto the path.

  "Why, Miss Briggeham, how nice to see you again."

  She halted as if she'd walked into a glass wall. Color rushed into her already pinkened cheeks, and a host of expressions streaked across her face. But while she was clearly surprised to see him, she did not appear displeased. "Lord Wesley," she said in a breathless voice. "How do you do?"

  "Very well, thank you. Are you returning home from the village?" he asked, as if he hadn't been informed by Arthur that Miss Briggeham walked this path to the village nearly every day.

  "Yes. I visited my friend, Miss Waynesboro-Paxton."

  "And how is her joint pain today?"

  "Worse, I'm afraid. I brought her another jar of my honey cream. I massaged some into her hands, and it offered some temporary relief to the aches in her fingers." Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked up at him. "Are you going to the village?"

  "No, I was just exercising Emperor, enjoying this beautiful day." He smiled down at her. "As I believe Emperor has tired himself running, may I walk with you?"

  Emperor laid his ears back, huffed out a whinny, then pawed the ground once. She chuckled and said, "Of course. But it appears Emperor does not appreciate you casting aspersions on his stamina. In fact, I never knew a horse could look indignant until just now." Patting the gelding's neck, she said, "If you'd like, we can detour toward the lake so Emperor can enjoy a drink."

  "A marvelous suggestion." Eric dismounted, then turned toward her intending to offer to carry her basket, but the words died in his throat as he looked at her. The sunlight reflected an enticing array of vibrant reds and hidden golds from her shiny hair. Her chignon was more than a little disheveled, obviously from all her twirling about. Yet it looked as if the strands might have been mussed by a man's hands… a man who'd given in to the impatient need to run his fingers through those silky-looking curls.

  The bright light glinted off her spectacles, drawing his gaze to her eyes… eye
s that looked at him with a mildly expectant expression, as if she were waiting for him to say something, a feat he seemed unable to perform.

  Her skin glowed with sun-kissed color that bloomed on her cheeks like roses. His gaze lowered to her full lips, where a half-smile lingered, and he had to force himself to look away. He noted she wore a pale blue muslin gown, completely modest and unadorned, but from the slow roll his heart performed, she might have been wearing a lace negligee.

  Instantly, an image of her wearing a lace negligee popped into his mind, her enticing curves barely covered with sheer material. Heat shot to his groin, and he barely suppressed the frustrated growl that rose in his throat.

  Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? He shook his head to clear the disturbing image.

  "Is something amiss, Lord Wesley?"

  "Er, no."

  She stepped closer to him and squinted up at his face.

  The subtle scent of honey filled his head, and he clenched his teeth.

  "Are you certain? You appear somewhat… flushed."

  Flushed? Surely she was mistaken, although he did feel as if someone had lit a fire in his breeches. "It's merely rather warm. Here. In the sun." Damnation, was that gravelly sound his voice? Offering her his arm, he inclined his head toward the path leading into the woods. "Shall we?"

  "Of course. It will be much cooler in the shade."

  Yes, cooler. That was simply all he required. For some inexplicable reason, the sun seemed to be having an odd effect on him. Holding Emperor's reins in one hand, and with Miss Briggeham's hand resting lightly on his sleeve, they walked into the forest.