Damn it to hell! What was he thinking? Obviously he wasn't thinking. But what the hell was she thinking? Kissing another man like that, seconds after she'd professed to love him.
He released her as if she'd turned into a column of fire and took two hasty steps backward. "Forgive me, lass," he rasped. "I don't know what came over me."
She simply stared at him, eyes round with shock, somehow managing to appear still as a statue yet limp as an overcooked noodle at the same time.
He braced himself, waiting for her outrage, for a barrage of angry words. But she merely looked at him with tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, and whispered one word.
"Eric."
Chapter Twenty-one
Sammie had to fight to pull a breath into her lungs. The edges of her vision blurred, and for an instant she actually believed she might faint.
This masked man standing in front of her, the Bride Thief, was Eric. There was not a trace of doubt. The instant he'd pulled her into his arms, her body, her mind had recognized him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to apply logic, but her brain seemed frozen. How was this possible? Why? She needed to ask him, but she could barely form a coherent thought, let alone speak.
Opening her eyes, she looked at him, standing motionless, swathed from head to toe in black, only his eyes and mouth uncovered. Even so, now that she knew the truth, she recognized him instantly. His height, the breadth of his shoulders, his commanding air. How could she not have realized the truth sooner? Because you had no reason to believe he was anything more than what he appeared. You had no reason to suspect he was lying to you.
And indeed, that one fact pushed its way through the morass of thoughts jumbling her brain. He'd lied to her. Repeatedly.
Anger smacked her like a two-fisted blow, and she nearly reeled from the impact. Clenching her hands at her side, she approached him on shaking legs.
"Take off that mask," she demanded, proud that she managed to keep her voice steady.
When he hesitated, her anger turned to full-blown fury, and for the first time in her life she had to fight the urge to hit someone. Unable to completely suppress the impulse, she jabbed his chest with her index finger. "I know it is you behind that mask, Eric. I would recognize your kiss, your taste, anywhere. Take. It. Off." She punctuated her demand with three more sharp jabs to his chest.
They stared at each other for what felt, to Sammie, like an eternity. Finally, he reached up and slowly pulled off the black silk that covered his head and face.
Shock sizzled through her even though she knew she'd see Eric's face. He watched her, his dark hair mussed from the confines of the mask, his countenance unreadable. Silence stretched between them until she felt as if her head would explode.
Fighting to control the tumult roiling through her, she asked, "Can you please explain this to me?"
"What more do you wish to know?"
"More? I know nothing! Except that you've deceived me."
He stepped toward her, and she backed away from him. A frown creased his brow, but he ventured no closer. "Surely you can understand the necessity to protect my identity, Samantha."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Only Arthur Timstone. And your brother."
She felt as if the ground moved beneath her feet. "Hubert? "
"He followed you the night I rescued Miss Barrow and sprinkled a special powder he'd concocted on the Bride Thief's saddle and stirrups. When I-Lord Wesley-came to your home the next day, my boots and saddle still bore traces of his powder. I couldn't deny it when he confronted me with such irrefutable evidence."
She locked her knees to keep from sinking to the ground. "I cannot believe he did not tell me."
"I asked for his word to keep my identity a secret. If I'm discovered…"
His voice trailed off and an image of him with a noose around his neck flashed through her mind.
"You shall hang," she finished for him, her stomach churning at the mere thought. "You know I believe strongly in your cause, but what made you-?" But even as she started to ask the question, the answer came to her. "Your sister," she whispered. "You told me someone you loved was forced to marry-"
"Yes. I failed to save her. But there were so many others I could help." He raked his hands through his mussed hair. "But now, with the magistrate's investigation tightening, it seems I shall have to retire."
"Yet in spite of the danger, you came here tonight."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Yes."
The significance of that trickled into her brain, slowly at first, then gaining momentum until it galloped at her full speed. A half-laugh, half-sob rose in her throat, and she forced her lips together to contain the cry. She'd known he hadn't wanted to marry her, but God in heaven she hadn't suspected the lengths he would go to to keep from doing so. In spite of the threat he faced from the magistrate and the Bride Thief Posse, he'd risked his life to offer her freedom.
And by freeing her, he would liberate himself.
Eric looked down at her, trying to make sense of his wildly conflicting emotions. She loved him. He briefly squeezed his eyes closed as warmth coursed through him, and he savored the incredible feeling. A series of images flickered through his mind, of what their life might have been like… sharing their love, making each other's dreams come true, raising their children.
He nearly exploded with the need to tell her he loved her, loved her so much he ached with it, but he forcibly clamped down the desire. The danger he faced was still all too real, and now that she knew his identity, the threat to her had worsened. If he told her he loved her, as loyal as she was, she would never leave him. He would never be able to get her away from him to safety. Indeed, he knew without a doubt that she would walk through fire for him, a fact which simultaneously pleased, humbled, and terrified him. He had no right to love her or marry her. But to not marry her would ruin her. He dragged his hands slowly down his face. What the bloody hell was he going to do?
Sammie looked at his tortured expression and her insides curdled. He was clearly torn and confused; didn't know what to say or do. He didn't want to marry her, but he wouldn't, couldn't honorably send her away. He didn't want her, yet he did not wish to hurt her. And now that she'd blurted out her feelings…
Humiliation settled on her with a weight so heavy she nearly collapsed beneath the burden. Their conversation rushed back at her like a river raging out of control. How she'd bared her heart and soul. Confessed her love for him. And her response when he'd asked if she wanted to marry the earl. Desperately.
Her entire body turned cold with mortification. He reached out a hand toward her, but she took a shaky step back from him. Wrapping her arms around herself, she whispered, "Don't touch me."
He slowly lowered his hand, looking shaken, but she could do nothing, say nothing to comfort him. Not when it took every last ounce of her strength and concentration to keep from falling apart in front of him. And she could not do that. She would not do that.
A soft nicker drew her attention and she looked toward a nearby thicket.
"Don't worry," he said. "It is only my horse, Champion."
Her mind whirled, and further realization fell upon her like a downpouring of rain. "Champion… your horse… you offered to help Mr. Straton locate your own horse. All those things you said, suggestions you made to help capture the Bride Thief, they were merely more lies. Every word from your mouth is nothing but a lie."
"I do what I must to keep myself free, Samantha."
Those softly spoken words knifed directly through her heart. "Yes," she agreed tonelessly. "That much is obvious."
"I came here tonight to give you your freedom."
Sammie inwardly cringed. Yes, which in turn would give you your freedom.
He stared off into the darkness for several seconds, his brows bunched in thought, then began pacing in front of her. Just when she didn't think she could stand the silence any longer, he said, "An idea has just occurred to me… Perhaps there is another way,"
he said. He paced several more times, frowning, clearly working something through his mind. Then he nodded decisively and paused in front of her.
"I believe I have arrived at a solution. We can marry, and go abroad immediately after the ceremony. Live on the Continent or in America-somewhere the magistrate can't find us. Somewhere no one has ever heard of the Bride Thief."
Despair clutched her. Dear God, now that he knew she loved him, he was nobly offering to give up everything-his home, his birthright, his place in Society, his entire way of life-all in the name of honor. For a woman he didn't love.
"I know it is a great deal to ask of you," he said in a quiet voice. "You'd have to leave your family, your home-"
"As would you."
"Yes. But us marrying and leaving the country would solve the problem."
The problem. Yes, that's what she was to him. An acute sense of loss washed through her, coupled with an almost insane desire to laugh. She'd never thought she'd find a man to love, and what happened when she did? He was two men-and while she admired his courage and believed fervently in his cause, she clearly didn't really know him. Or did she? His entire life was based on lies, and he'd deceived her from the start. How could she possibly love such a man? Yet in her heart, she knew she did. She rubbed her throbbing temples with her fingertips, in a vain attempt to dispel some of her confusion.
"It would work, Samantha," he said, his voice jerking her back.
She slowly shook her head, inching away from him. "I need time to think. I have no idea who you are. And obviously you had no intention of ever telling me. Or did you? Would you ever have told me the truth?"
His gaze bore into hers, and silence stretched between them for nearly half a minute before he shook his head and said, "I do not know, but for your own protection… probably not."
"I… see." Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. Then, raising her chin she whispered, "I said things to you, the Bride Thief you, that I would not have had I known to whom I was really speaking. I truly do not know who you are, but I do know that you are not the man I thought you were. Either of you." A bitter, humorless laugh nearly choked her. "My God, I don't even know who I'm talking to."
Gathering the last fragile remnants of her control, she drew a shuddering breath. "I must go." She started to walk from underneath the tree.
He grasped her arm. "Samantha, wait. I cannot let you leave like this. We must talk."
She tried to jerk from his hold, but could not. "I have nothing to say to you. Not now. I want, I need to be alone. Away from you. So I can think. Decide what to do." The tight rein she'd held on her emotions slipped another notch. "I gave everything to you. My respectability, my innocence." My heart. My soul. "Let me leave without surrendering my dignity as well. Please."
He slowly released her arm. "I will be at the church the day after tomorrow."
Choking back a sob, she inched away from him. "I'm afraid I cannot promise the same." Without another word, she lifted her skirts and walked away, her strides quickening with each step until she ran as if the devil pursued her.
Eric stood rooted to the spot and watched the darkness swallow her running form. His mind screamed to go after her, but he honored her request, her broken words branded in his brain. I gave everything to you.
No, Samantha, I took everything from you. Self-hatred battered him, and he sank to his knees, the moist earth seeping through his breeches. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rested his forehead on his clenched fists. How the hell was it possible to feel so numb, yet hurt so excruciatingly bad at the same time?
Somehow, without looking for it or even realizing he'd wanted it, a treasure had miraculously been handed to him. A woman who touched him deeply, profoundly, in parts of his heart and soul he hadn't known existed.
But like a handful of sand, he'd let Samantha slip through his fingers, although, in truth, nothing he could have done would have stopped their inevitable parting-except never going near her in the first place. Bloody hell, what a selfish bastard he was! He'd had no right to want her, to touch her, to love her, knowing he couldn't offer her the sort of future she deserved. If he'd left her alone, another man, one without a price on his head, might have courted her. Fallen in love with her and married her.
A bolt of white-hot jealousy streaked through him at the mere thought of another man touching her. She was his, damn it. But the choice had to be hers. Would she come to the church and marry him? A bitter laugh rose in his throat. Are you mad? Why would she marry a man she viewed as a liar? One who would no doubt hang and embroil her in scandal? If I were her, I'd simply want to settle in a new life, as far away from me as possible. Well, if that was what she wanted, he'd do everything in his power to make it happen.
The decision was out his hands. All he could do now was wait. She was better off without him, but his selfish heart prayed she would show up for their wedding.
Sammie did not stop running until she entered her bedchamber. Closing the door behind her, she stumbled to her bed and crawled under the covers, aching all over like a wounded animal. She curled into a tight ball and finally allowed the tears to flow. She'd never known it was possible to hurt so much, as if her heart had been ripped from her chest, then tossed on the floor.
Burying her face in her pillow to muffle her sobs, she cried until her gritty eyes were nearly swollen shut, her mind replaying every minute she'd spent with Eric, punctuated with silent screams of liar!
But as dawn broke and tentative shafts of sunlight filtered through her window, she breathed out a long, weary sigh. After hours of soul searching, she could not fault Eric for his lies. He'd done what was necessary to protect himself. Her feelings toward the Bride Thief, her deep admiration for his courage and commitment to his cause, remained unchanged. And in a moment of harsh self-honesty, she admitted that it was thrilling to know that the man she loved was in truth the masked hero.
The man she loved. Humiliation hit her again. The man she loved had risked his life to give her freedom. Or was it more to free himself? Did it really matter? Nothing could change the fact that he harbored a deeply ingrained repugnance toward marriage. He'd never wanted to marry, and while she tried to take comfort in the fact that he'd never wanted to marry anyone-not necessarily her in particular-it was cold comfort indeed.
If Eric had wanted her, she would have sacrificed anything to marry him. Instead he'd offered her freedom, thereby freeing himself. Freedom was the one thing he wanted, and she was the only person who could give it to him.
And that was exactly what she planned to do.
Immediately after breakfast, she would begin making arrangements. She would purchase her own passage abroad, would prepare to leave her home forever.
There would be no need for him to wait at the church tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-two
From the London Times:
With the Bride Thief Posse growing daily and expanding their extensive search, and with the price on his head now at fifteen thousand pounds, the Bride Thief is as good as dead.
Adam Straton walked briskly along a little-traveled path running along the west perimeter of the village, which led into the dense forest that marked the rear boundary of Lord Wesley's vast property. He tried to enjoy the cool, morning air, but his nerves were far too rattled by the prospect of his errand. Pausing before entering the forest, he attempted to quiet his conscience.
He really shouldn't cut through Lord Wesley's property, but… He glanced down at the bouquet of roses clutched in his hand and grimaced. If he didn't take this shortcut, the flowers he'd purchased for Lady Darvin would be wilted, not to mention strangled. Immediately his nerves jangled, and his better judgment and common sense fired a few more volleys in the battle they'd waged ever since he'd purchased the flowers in the village a half hour ago. Drawing a determined breath, he strode into the forest.
He had no business calling upon Lady Darvin, claimed his better judgment. But his common sense scoffed. Of course he should call upon h
er. They were Mends. Acquaintances of long standing. There was absolutely no reason not to visit her. Especially in light of their conversation, when she'd revealed the depth of her unhappiness. He was merely a concerned friend making sure she was all right.
His better judgment snickered. Merely a concerned friend? Then why was his heart slapping against his ribs and his stomach tied in knots at the prospect of seeing her? Why had he spent his weekly laundry budget on roses instead of his clothing? And why did the idea of her unhappiness fill him with an overwhelming need to make her smile?
Because, you beef-witted booby, common sense chimed in, you're hopelessly in love with her.
Adam halted on the path and raked his free hand through his hair. He absolutely should not call upon her, but he had to know if she was all right. He nodded decisively. Yes, it was his duty to visit her. In fact-
A slight movement in his peripheral vision halted his thoughts and he turned. Peering through the trees, he observed a man leading a black horse toward Lord Wesley's stables. Moving closer to allow himself a clearer view, Adam recognized the man as Arthur Timstone, the earl's stableman.
He did not, however, recognize the horse. It might have been a gelding, but judging by its height and restless manner, he decided the animal was most likely a stallion. In fact, as he watched Arthur calm the horse then lead him into the stable, he was certain.
A frown pulled at Adam's brow. To the best of his knowledge, Lord Wesley did not own such an animal. Of course, the earl might have recently purchased the beast.
His pulse jumped as he considered another possibility. Had Lord Wesley perhaps located this animal in his effort to assist in the Bride Thief investigation? The horse certainly matched the description of the Bride Thief's mount. Excitement raced through him, and he immediately headed toward the stables, intent upon speaking to Arthur.
When he arrived slightly out of breath at the large wooden structure, he stepped inside the doorway. It took his vision a moment to adjust to the shadowy interior. When it had, he noted that the Wesley stables were vast and immaculate.
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