She'd sought the information for him, then, not some other man. She'd hoped he'd change his mind, and by God, he had. A combination of relief and heat surged through him. Reaching out, he once again entwined their fingers. "In that case," he said softly, "I'm glad you know what to expect."
"Well, actually I don't. Which method do you suggest we employ?"
He stepped closer to her, until their bodies just touched. "I shall withdraw myself from your body before I spill my seed." An image of them, naked, locked in a sensual embrace, her legs wrapped around him, his erection buried in her velvet warmth, flashed through him like a lightning bolt. Blood pooled in his groin, and he nearly groaned aloud at his strong reaction. Hell, if he did not depart her company immediately, he knew he stood in danger of kissing her again… and not being able to stop.
"You have my word that I shall protect you, Samantha." He squeezed her fingers, then reluctantly released her.
"Until midnight." Wide-eyed, she nodded her assent, and forcing his feet to move, he walked to the door.
He had only to wait until tonight. Twelve more hours. Then she'd be his. His conscience tried to speak, but he ruthlessly beat his inner voice back. He wanted her. She wanted him. They would have each other.
Closing the door softly behind him, he strode swiftly toward the foyer where he encountered Hubert.
"Good afternoon, Lord Wesley," the boy greeted him with a broad grin.
He smiled in return. "Hello, Hubert. Are you off to your Chamber?"
"Yes. I'm finishing a new invention. A cutting machine for the kitchen staff to assist them in food preparation." A hopeful light came into his eyes. "Would you like to see it?"
"I'd be very interested, but I'm afraid I have another appointment right now. May I stop by tomorrow to see it?"
The boy's face flushed with pleasure. "Of course, my lord."
"Excellent. Shall we say around two o'clock?"
"I'll await you in the Chamber." He dipped his chin shyly downward. "Perhaps you'd also like to see…" His voice trailed off as his gaze riveted on Eric's riding boots. The boy frowned, then pushed his glasses higher on his nose. After blinking several times, he jerked his head upward and stared at Eric with an utterly confused expression.
"Is something amiss, lad?"
"I… no." Hubert shook his head so vigorously, his spectacles slid to the tip of his nose. He again looked at Eric's feet, staring at them as if he'd never seen riding boots before.
Eric's gaze followed Hubert's, but he saw nothing unusual, except perhaps that his boots appeared unusually dusty. A grin pulled at his lips. "Looks as if my valet polished these in the dark," he remarked. Opening the door, he walked out into the warm sunshine, followed by Hubert. Emperor stood tethered to a nearby tree, and Eric swung himself into the saddle. As he pulled on his riding gloves, Hubert slowly approached the horse, his gaze alternating between the saddle, the reins, and the stirrups. His face appeared pinched and pale, and bore an unmistakably worried frown.
Concerned, Eric asked, "Are you certain you're all right, Hubert? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
The boy slowly raised his somber gaze to Eric's. He swallowed audibly, then jerked his head in a nod. "I'm fine, my lord. I'm merely… puzzled."
"Oh? Anything I can help you with?"
"I don't believe so."
"And you're certain you're not feeling ill?"
"Positive, my lord."
Eric smiled at him. "Well, then, let me know if you change your mind about needing my help. Of course, you're an extremely bright lad. I'm certain you'll figure out your puzzle. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, he turned Emperor and trotted away.
Hubert stared after him, a whirlwind of disturbing questions storming through his mind. But one question glared brighter than all the others.
Why did Lord Wesley's boots, saddle, stirrups, and reins bear unmistakable traces of the phosphorescent powder he'd made and sprinkled on the Bride Thief's belongings?
He searched for a reasonable, plausible explanation-actually any explanation-but his logic screamed that there was only one conclusion to be drawn from the irrefutable evidence.
Lord Wesley was the Bride Thief.
But even as the thought entered his mind, another part of him tried to refute it. How could that be? Lord Wesley was a gentleman! Not a swashbuckling rescuer of damsels in distress. He was titled and wealthy. What earthly reason could he possibly have to undertake such a dangerous enterprise?
Deeply troubled, he started to walk toward the Chamber, but froze when a disturbing thought hit him with the force of a brick. Good God, did Sammie know? Did she realize the man she'd befriended was England's Most Notorious Kidnapper? He pressed his hands to his churning stomach.
No. Impossible. Sammie would have confided in him. And she hadn't known how to get in touch with the Bride Thief when she'd received Miss Barrow's letter. He had to discuss this with her. Perhaps she could offer him a plausible explanation for how the Bride Thief's powder was on Lord Wesley.
Turning, he strode swiftly into the house. He found Sammie in the drawing room staring into the fire. She signaled him to close the door behind him. When he'd done so, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the settee.
"I received a note from the Bride Thief," she whispered once they were seated. "His rescue of Miss Barrow was successful." Her gaze wandered to the fireplace. "I'd let you read the note, but I just burned it."
"A wise decision. I'm glad all went well." He wiped his moist palms on his breeches and cleared his throat. "Um, Sammie, have you ever wondered who the Bride Thief is under the mask?"
Sammie pursed her lips. "I must admit I've speculated more than once about what he looks like, but it is really not important. It's his work, his mission that matters." Reaching out, she gave his hand a quick sympathetic squeeze. "I know your questioning nature must chafe at the mystery, but you must put the matter from your mind. If anyone were to discover the man's identity, his life would be in grave danger."
A sick feeling settled in the pit of Hubert's stomach. He cleared his throat, then said, "I saw Lord Wesley leaving a few moments ago."
A deep flush raced into Sammie's cheeks, and she fidgeted with the lace on her gown. "Indeed?"
"Yes." Watching her closely, he asked, "Do you like him?"
Her blush deepened. "Of course. He's a very fine gentleman."
He shook his head, frustrated at his inability to ask the correct questions. "No, I meant, do you have… feelings for him?"
He wouldn't have thought it possible for her face to flame any brighter, but it did. "I'm sorry to ask you something so personal," he said in a rush. "It's just that I, well, I… I only want your happiness," he finished lamely.
Tenderness filled her gaze and she laid her palm against his cheek. "I'm very happy, Hubert. My work in the Chamber fulfills and challenges me, and I enjoy assisting you. You make me happy."
"And Lord Wesley… does he make you happy as well?"
The sort of dreamy expression he was well accustomed to seeing from his other sisters' entered Sammie's eyes. "Yes," she said softly. "My friendship with Lord Wesley pleases me."
Hubert pressed his lips together. It did not take a genius to deduce that Sammie's friendship with Lord Wesley pleased her a great deal. And from what he'd witnessed, Lord Wesley seemed to care for Sammie as well. Dash it, how could he possibly risk discussing the evidence of the powder with her? What if he were wrong? Or even worse-what if he were right?
Perhaps Lord Wesley meant to tell her himself. Or perhaps he meant to retire from his Bride Thief activities. Or perhaps there was nothing to tell or retire from. If he told Sammie of his suspicions, he might ruin any chance she and Lord Wesley might have at happiness… at a life together.
But what if Lord Wesley really was the Bride Thief?
"Sammie, what would you do if you found out a suitor hadn't been entirely… truthful with you?" he asked in what he prayed was a casual voice.
Sh
e frowned, but then understanding dawned in her eyes. "Why, is there a young lady you're interested in?"
Hubert nearly swallowed his tongue. Heat swamped his face and neck. Before he could find his voice to reply, she grasped his hands between hers, "Do you wish to talk to me about it?"
He mutely shook his head.
"All right. But remember, honesty is crucial, Hubert. I know you would never speak untruthfully to a young lady, and I pray she would return the courtesy. Lies destroy trust, and without trust there is nothing. I would never consider a future with someone who deceived me."
Unease rippled down his spine. No, he couldn't talk to Sammie about the evidence of the powder. At least not without verifying his suspicions first. And there was only one way to do that.
He'd have to confront Lord Wesley.
Chapter Fifteen
Sammie arrived at the lake at half after ten that evening. She hadn't planned to arrive so early, but she hadn't been able to remain indoors another moment. The cool night air beckoned her, as did the nocturnal sounds and moist scents of the forest.
He would arrive in less than two hours. The man who would be her lover. And she would embark on the most thrilling adventure of her life. With a man who had unquestionably become very… important. A man she undeniably… cared for deeply.
Her eyes drifted closed, and her heart beat a wild rhythm as it had all day. What would it be like? Wonderful. Like everything you've already shared with him, only more. Heat shimmered through her as she recalled his touch, his kiss, the way he looked at her. A long sigh drifted from her lips. He'd already made her feel things she'd never known existed, and by doing so had awakened her hunger for more. She could only hope that her inexperience would not tarnish their liaison for him.
She wandered to her favorite area, a small private cove secluded by an outcropping of rocks and an abundance of tall hedges. Lowering herself onto a large, flat-topped rock, she trailed her hand in the water. The coolness felt like a welcome balm against her heated skin.
She slipped off her shoes, then rolled down her stockings. When she couldn't stand pacing in her bedchamber another moment, she'd grabbed an extra chemise, then made her way to the lake, knowing nothing soothed her like a dip in the water. There was plenty of time to dry and redress before Lord Wesley arrived.
She shimmied out of her gown, then folded it carefully on the rock. She removed her spectacles, placing them inside her shoe. Dressed only in her chemise, she waded into the cool water until it lapped at her waist. She breathed in the scent of moist earth, and blew out a contented sigh. Trailing her hands through the glasslike surface, she closed her eyes and turned in slow circles, allowing the quiet stillness to relax her muscles, soothe and calm her.
A twig cracked. Her eyes snapped open, and she squinted toward the sound. A blurry blob stood on the shore. Her heart jumped, but before she could say a word, his deep, smooth voice reached her ears.
"It appears we're both early."
Eric stood frozen in place at the sight of her, standing in the privacy of the secluded cove, waist-deep in the water, dressed only in her chemise, moonlight reflecting off her shoulders. He'd come early, unable to remain in his empty house, thinking about her, wanting her. He'd hoped she might arrive a few minutes early, but he hadn't dared to hope for… this. It was as if the gods had placed his fantasy before him, like a banquet feast.
Without moving his gaze from hers, he removed his jacket, allowing it to fall to the ground. Next he untied and removed his cravat. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he walked into the lake, not stopping until he stood directly in front of her. She stared up at him with a dazed, startled expression.
He took her hands, entwining their fingers, then lowered his head until their foreheads touched. "I trust I am no longer blurry."
She shook her head and their noses bumped. "No. But you've ruined your clothing. Your boots."
"I have others." He leaned back, drinking in the sight of her. A simple ribbon held her hair back from her face. Her eyes appeared enormous, filled with a nearly heartbreaking combination of longing and trepidation. Her mouth appeared to tremble, and the need to touch her, kiss her, slammed into him with such intensity he nearly groaned.
He placed her wet hands against his shirt, pressing her palms to his chest. "Someone told me that you swam in this lake," he whispered.
There was no mistaking the embarrassment that passed over her features. "The gossips often remark upon what they consider my eccentric behavior. I'm certain you were properly scandalized."
"No. I was fascinated." His gaze wandered down to her breasts which pushed against the thin material of her chemise. "You cannot know how many times I've imagined you like this. Wet. Waiting. For me."
"You have?"
"Yes." Almost constantly. Reaching out, he trailed a single fingertip slowly across her cheek, over her jaw, down her neck, watching the play of emotions flare in her eyes. Any questions he might have entertained regarding her still wanting to follow through with their plans evaporated by the desire he read in her eyes.
His hand continued its lazy journey, brushing over her collarbone, then slipping downward to caress the swell of her breasts. When a tiny gasp escaped her, he cupped his hands in the water, then drizzled a trail of cool water over her shoulder. A thin wet path meandered down her chest. Entranced, he repeated his action several times, allowing ribbons of water to drip off his fingers onto her moonlight-dusted skin.
"Everywhere the water touches you," he said softly, "your skin gleams like silver."
She clutched at his shirt. "Newton's law," she murmured in a breathless voice. "To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction."
"Ah. So when I touch you like this…?" He filled his wet palms with her full breasts. "What is your reaction?"
"I… shiver."
"And when I do this…?" He caressed her nipples through her wet chemise, tugging gently as he molded her soft flesh to his palms.
"Oh, my." Her head tipped back and a long moan escaped her. "I tremble. Everywhere."
"And this?" He slowly slipped the thin cotton straps down her arms, exposing high, rounded breasts topped with aroused nipples.
"I… I forget how to breathe."
Desire, sharp as a knife, stabbed him. With a low groan, he dipped his head, circling first one aroused peak, then the other with his tongue. She squirmed against him, still clutching his shirt as if it were a lifeline. Slipping one arm around her hips and cupping her head with the other, he leaned her back, drawing a plump nipple into his mouth. His lips and tongue caressed her, tasting her satiny, honey-scented skin, reveling in her quick intake of breath, followed by an earthy moan that aroused him beyond bearing. His hand slipped down to her rounded buttocks, and he pulled her tight against him, her feminine softness pressing against his hardness.
An inferno of need suffused him, and he lost all sense of time and place. Mine, mine, mine echoed through his mind as his teeth tugged her chemise lower. His wet fingers traced over her revealed skin as he trailed a hot path of kisses up to her neck, then fused his mouth to hers.
Blood rushed through him so hard that he felt it pounding in his ears. No woman, ever, had tasted like this. So sweet. So hot and silky. So delicious that he felt as if he could kiss her for days and still not have satisfied his hunger for her. He explored all the warm secrets of her satiny mouth, memorizing each tantalizing texture, as his hands wandered with increasing urgency up and down her back.
He needed to slow down, to savor each of her moans, but as she'd done before, she robbed him of his finesse. He hadn't planned to make love to her for the first time standing in the lake, but he couldn't seem to stop. Hell, he couldn't even slow down. His heart slammed against his ribs like a hammer. He felt as if his skin had shrunk two sizes, all but strangling him. He wanted, needed, her hands on him.
Breaking their kiss, he drew a ragged breath into his lungs. "Touch me, Samantha. Don't be afraid."
Uncertain
ty glimmered in her eyes. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to displease you."
He would have laughed if he'd been able. "There's not much chance of that." With one hand, he quickly unfastened his shirt, then glided her palm across his chest. A low growl rumbled in his throat. Releasing her hand, he said, "Do it again."
She brushed her hand across his chest, and his muscles contracted under her light touch. "Do you like that?" she asked, splaying her fingers against his skin, her eyes alight with wonder.
"God, yes."
Growing bolder, she lifted her other hand to his chest, and slowly eased her fingers downward, over his ribcage. "What is your reaction when I do that?" she asked.
It took every bit of his concentration to remain still and allow her to explore. "My heart pounds."
She ran her hands upwards, brushing over his nipples. "And that?"
He moved slightly, rubbing his erection against her. "It arouses me."
Her eyes widened. Taking one of her hands, he slid it down his chest, over his abdomen, then slipped it under the water. He pressed his rigid arousal against her palm. "You arouse me. Undeniably. Unequivocally. In a way that is nearly unbearable. So many 'u' words to describe what you do to me."
Her fingers closed around him, and his teeth clenched against the pleasure. He stood in an agony of sweet torment while she ran her fingers up and down his rigid length, learning him through his breeches. Her gaze remained steadily on his, and he watched her absorb the feel of him, along with the white-hot desire he knew burned in his eyes.
Without breaking their gaze, he unfastened his breeches, freeing his aching arousal. Her fingers closed over him, and his breath stalled. The cool water in no way tempered his ardor, and her hand enveloped him like a warm glove.
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