The Bride Thief

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  "Hello?" he called, walking in farther. "Are you about, Timstone?"

  Silence, at least of the human kind, greeted his query. Clearly Arthur had departed after settling the black horse in its stall, no doubt to the kitchens for a bite to eat. Well, he'd just snatch a look at the animal before walking up to the house to call upon Lady Darvin. With any luck the earl would also be home, and he could ask him about the black stallion.

  Adam walked slowly through the stables, peering into each stall. When he looked into the last stall, he stilled. Lord Wesley owned some exceptionally fine horseflesh. But there was not a black stallion among them.

  Lord Wesley's dour-faced butler opened one half of Wesley Manor's massive double oak doors in response to Adam's knock.

  "May I help you, sir?" the butler asked.

  Adam handed him his card. "I would like to speak to Lord Wesley or his sister, please. Both of them, if possible."

  "I'm afraid it's quite impossible, Mr. Straton, as they left early this morning to travel to London for the day."

  "I see. Do you have any idea when they plan to return?"

  "No, however as the earl is scheduled to be married at ten tomorrow morning, I would assume they shall return prior to that time."

  "Er, yes. Of course. Do you know the reason for their journey?"

  The butler sniffed with clear disapproval at the question. "His lordship is not required to explain his comings and goings to the staff."

  In other words, the servant didn't know. Or wasn't telling. Reaching out, Adam handed the bouquet of roses to the butler. "I brought these for Lady Darvin. To help her spirits."

  The butler's stern countenance relaxed a bit as he took the roses. "That was very thoughtful, sir. I'll see that she gets them."

  "Thank you, Mr…?"

  "Eversley, sir."

  "Tell me, Eversley, have you seen Arthur Timstone about? He wasn't at the stables, and I was hoping to have a word with him."

  "If he's not in the stables, then he's most likely in the kitchen eating. Would you like me to fetch him?"

  "Does he return to the stables after breakfast?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then don't disturb his meal. I'll walk back to the stables and await him there."

  "Very well, sir."

  Adam started to walk away, but then turned back. "One more thing, Eversley. Would you happen to know if the earl owns a black stallion?"

  Eversley appeared startled by the question. "The horses are Timstone's area, sir, but I cannot say I recall ever seeing such an animal or the earl ever mentioning one."

  "Thank you, Eversley."

  The butler nodded, then closed the door. Frowning, Adam strode back across the expanse of perfectly manicured lawns toward the stables, determined to await Arthur Timstone's return. Something very odd was going on and he had no intention of leaving until-

  A gruff voice hailed his name. Pausing, he turned and saw Arthur walking toward him. Excellent. He'd have his answers sooner than he'd anticipated.

  "Mornin', Mr. Straton," Arthur said once the older man reached him. "What brings ye to Wesley Manor?"

  "I'd intended to pay a condolence call upon Lady Darvin, but I was informed she and the earl traveled to London for the day."

  "That's right."

  "Do you know the reason for this trip? Or when they're expected home?"

  "Don't know for certain, but I'd guess the earl went to buy some bauble or another for his bride and asked for Lady Darvin's assistance. Probably be home by dinner time."

  "I see. I'd also hoped to ask the earl if he'd had any success with some inquiries he was making for me regarding an all-black stallion." Adam offered the man a friendly smile. "Has Lord Wesley located such an animal?"

  "Not that he's mentioned."

  "Indeed? Does he perhaps own such an animal?"

  Arthur's face scrunched into a perplexed frown and he scratched his head. "A black stallion? No, sir. Lord Wesley has no such horse."

  "A black gelding, then?"

  "No, sir. Only pure black horse his lordship owns is a mare name of Midnight."

  Adam shook his head. The horse he'd seen had most definitely not been a mare. "Perhaps the earl is boarding the stallion for someone? I'm speaking of the horse I saw you leading into the stables approximately thirty minutes ago."

  Arthur's face cleared and he chuckled. "The earl don't take in no boarders, so ye must mean Emperor. I walked him about a bit before me breakfast. But yer eyesight's failin' ye, Mr. Straton. Emperor's coat ain't black, 'tis dark brown. An easy mistake to make. Sunlight and shadows must have played tricks on ye."

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  "Well, if ye'll excuse me, I've a lot o' work to get to."

  Adam smiled. "Of course. Have a nice day, Timstone."

  "Same to ye, sir." The stableman departed, continuing across the lawn toward the stables.

  Adam's eyes narrowed on the man's retreating back. Although Timstone had been convincing, there was no doubt he'd lied. But why? Adam had seen the animal clearly, and no trick of sunlight had made that horse's coat turn from brown to black.

  And somehow, this mysterious black stallion that Lord Wesley seemed not to own, had disappeared somewhere between the stable doors and its stall. Was it possible there was a stall he'd missed? No, he'd been quite thorough… unless there was a hidden stall somewhere behind a door. A stall no one was meant to see.

  Adam's heart started to beat in slow, hard thumps as he allowed the full ramifications to fall into place. Why would Timstone lie about the horse unless he had something to hide… like perhaps the Bride Thief's mount? But if that black stallion did indeed belong to the Bride Thief, Adam could not envision Arthur as the man behind the mask. No, the Bride Thief was much younger and stronger…

  A sense of shock stilled him. Good God, could Wesley be the Bride Thief? He tried to discard the possibility as ridiculous, but could not. Indeed, he could almost hear the puzzle pieces clicking into place in his brain. Wesley certainly had the financial means. His estate afforded him privacy. He was an expert horseman. And who would ever suspect him?

  Adam recalled the earl's willingness to help in the investigation. Was it help-or sabotage? He exhaled a long breath and attempted to calm his racing thoughts. Had the man he'd sought all this time been practically under his nose? Was his investigation nearing an end?

  His jaw clenched. Damn it, he'd always liked Wesley. Of course, like him or not, he'd bring the earl to justice if he proved to be the Bride Thief. His hands fisted at his sides at the thought of Margaret suffering the loss of her brother, and the idea that her name would be blackened by the scandal. If her brother hung and her name was besmirched, I could comfort her. I could-

  He sliced the thought off, appalled at himself. He would never abuse his position as magistrate to further his own personal wants. Besides, Margaret would no doubt hate him for arresting her brother. But justice had to be served. And the Bride Thief had to be stopped. What he needed now was proof.

  His gaze settled once again on the stables. Timstone stood in the doorway, watching him, and Adam raised his hand in a friendly wave. Timstone returned the gesture, and Adam forced his feet to move toward the path leading back to the village.

  He needed to get into the earl's stables again, but he couldn't conduct the sort of search he needed to under Timstone's watchful eye. Tonight. I'll return after Timstone retires and see if I can't find that horse.

  That decided, his thoughts drifted to Samantha Briggeham. Did she have any idea the man she was about to marry might very well be England's Most Notorious Man? She had, after all, been carried off by him that night. Had she recognized him?

  He didn't know, but by God, he was going to find out. When he reached the fork in the path, he turned away from the village and headed toward Briggeham Manor.

  Sammie sat at her usual place in the dining room and forced a forkful of breakfast into her mouth. It might have been eggs she chewed, but she wasn't certain. Her ga
ze drifted between Mama, Papa, and Hubert, and all she could think was that after today she did not know when, or even if, she would ever see them again.

  A lump lodged in her throat and hot tears pushed at her eyes, and she quickly lifted her teacup in an attempt to hide her distress. Mama was chattering away about the wedding, her lovely face wreathed in smiles. Mama could be exasperating at times, but Sammie would miss her dreadfully. Her quick laugh, her antics, her chirping.

  Her gaze wandered to Papa and warmth filled her. Papa who loved her even though he often didn't understand her, and possessed more patience than any dozen men combined-although he could hold his own with Mama when the need arose. As a child she'd loved to curl up in his lap with a book and listen to his deep voice as he read to her. When she was older, she and Papa would sit together in the drawing room on the overstuffed settee cushions and applaud enthusiastically after Lucille, Hermione, and Emily sang one of their many impromptu family concerts.

  Her mind drifted to her sisters and her lips trembled. They'd shared so many wonderful times, so much laughter as they'd banded together to deflect Mama's more outrageous ideas, or when the three beauties good-naturedly tried to turn Sammie into the swan she would never become, heatedly defending her when others scoffed at her.

  Sadness swamped Sammie that she would not share in the birth of Lucille's child, perhaps never know her niece or nephew.

  Hubert asked Mama a question, his voice drawing Sammie's gaze to his serious bespectacled face. An ache such as she'd never known, squeezed her. Dear God, how could she bear leaving Hubert? She'd loved him from the moment he was born and had delighted in each stage of his development like a proud mother. And now look at him-a young man, so intelligent and full of promise. It broke her heart that she wouldn't see him grow into the wonderful man he was destined to become.

  At least she would say a proper good-bye to Hubert. She'd considered not confiding her plans to him, but she simply could not face leaving without doing so. She'd tell him everything once her arrangements were in place. He'd proven he could keep a secret, and she trusted him implicitly.

  Her thoughts switched to those very arrangements and what she needed to do directly after breakfast. A trip to London to secure her passage to… where she was not sure. It would depend on which ships were setting sail on the morrow. But before she headed to London, she planned to stop at Wesley Manor. She needed to inform Eric of her decision.

  Her heart ached with loss at the prospect of calling upon Eric. It would take every last ounce of strength she possessed to say the words that would set him free… and then to leave him.

  And when she arrived home from London, she needed to gather the belongings she wished to bring with her. Much of her wardrobe was already packed for what everyone believed would be her wedding trip, but there were her books, her journals, and personal mementos she could not bear to leave behind.

  Mama's voice pulled her from her reverie. "Don't you agree, Sammie darling?"

  Sammie looked at her mother's beaming face and tried to smile, but failed completely. Instead her lips trembled, and to her mortification, a huge tear plopped into her teacup.

  Mama's eyes filled with concern. "Why, whatever is the matter, darling? Oh dear, it's those pre-marriage nerves." Mama rose, and in a rustle of muslin walked quickly to Sammie's chair. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Mama said gently, "Don't fret, Sammie. All brides feel unsettled the day before their wedding. But after tomorrow…" Mama heaved a blissful sigh. "Your entire life will be different."

  Sammie squeezed her eyes shut to contain her tears, and leaned into her mother's comforting embrace. Indeed, after tomorrow her entire life would be different.

  Dressed in her most comfortable blue walking gown and shoes, Sammie closed the front door behind her, then hurried down the sunlit flagstone porch steps. The sooner her visit with Eric was over, the better.

  She'd only taken a half-dozen paces when her footsteps faltered at the unwelcome sight of the magistrate approaching. She remained in place, trying to appear outwardly calm, while her heart thudded painfully and surely loudly enough for him to hear. Why was he here? Did he have further news on his investigation, or more questions? Dear God, had he discovered the truth?

  When he'd nearly reached her, she forced a smile. "Good morning, Mr. Straton."

  "The same to you, Miss Briggeham. Are you on your way out?"

  Deciding it was best if he not know her plans, she said, "Yes, as a matter of fact I am on my way to the village. If you'll excuse me." She moved around him, but he simply fell into step beside her.

  "I have several questions to ask you. Perhaps you'd permit me to walk with you?"

  As she had no intention of walking to the village, nor did she want to remain in his company that long, she halted and offered him a regretful smile. "I fear my mother would not approve of me walking such an extended distance with a man, unchaperoned."

  "Of course." He looked around, then indicated a stone bench a short distance away, near the pathway leading into the garden. "Why don't we sit for a moment. I promise not to take too much of your time."

  Suppressing the urge to refuse, she nodded her consent.

  Once they were seated, Mr. Straton offered her a smile. "I trust all the arrangements are in place for tomorrow's wedding?"

  Sammies stomach clenched, but she managed to return his smile. "Yes."

  "Excellent. I'm relieved to know Lord Wesley's trip to London isn't because of some last minute problem."

  Clearly her expression indicated her surprised dismay at this news, because he asked, "You didn't know the earl was in London for the day?"

  For the day? How was she going to speak to him? "No, I did not know."

  "According to his butler, the earl and his sister departed early this morning. I'd hoped you might know why they'd gone."

  Sammie lifted her chin and met his searching gaze. "I'm sure I don't know. Perhaps Lady Darvin ordered a dress for the wedding. Or perhaps Lord Wesley wished to purchase a wedding gift for me."

  "Ah, that is no doubt the case," the magistrate agreed.

  "Tell me, Miss Briggeham, have you ever had the occasion to visit Lord Wesley's stables?"

  A feeling of sick foreboding slithered through Sammie, and it required a great effort not to show her alarm. "No, however I'm certain they are very well run. I am acquainted with his stableman, Mr. Timstone, and he is very knowledgeable."

  "Have you ever seen Lord Wesley ride a black stallion?"

  Her heart skipped a beat. Dear God. She pursed her lips and pretended to ponder the question, then shook her head. "I've only ever seen him ride a brown gelding. A beautiful, spirited mount named Emperor." She curved her lips upward in what she prayed passed for an impish grin. "I'm hoping to cajole him into allowing me to ride the beast."

  Mr. Straton merely nodded at her reply, his dark watchful gaze boring into her like a drill. An interminable ten seconds of dead silence passed. Unable to stand his scrutiny any longer, Sammie started to rise.

  "If that is ail, Mr. Straton-"

  "Actually, I have some news regarding the Bride Thief."

  Sammie slowly sank back down, her stomach knotting. "Indeed?"

  "Yes. New evidence has come to light, and I am confident I shall be making an arrest very soon. Hopefully within the next twenty-four hours."

  Sammie actually felt the blood drain from her face.

  Mr. Straton's eyes clouded with concern. "I say, Miss Briggeham, are you all right? You're looking quite pale."

  "I… I'm fine. Your news simply surprised me." She moistened her dry lips. "So you've discovered the Bride Thief's identity?"

  "We're following up on several promising leads. When the man strikes again, he will be apprehended, if not before." With that, he stood. Looking down at her, he made her a bow. "Well, I won't keep you any longer, Miss Briggeham. Enjoy the rest of your day. I shall see you at the church tomorrow."

  Paralyzed with shock and numb with fear, Sammie r
emained on the bench, watching him saunter away in the direction of the village as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  When he disappeared from view, she forced her watery legs to stand, then move with studied calm back toward the house. She had to appear relaxed and normal in case he watched her from the dense foliage and trees, waiting to see her reaction. A chill edged down her spine, and she indeed had the sensation that his intense gaze was upon her.

  Mr. Straton clearly suspected Eric, and she greatly feared that her involuntary reaction to the magistrate's announcement regarding an imminent arrest might have furthered the man's suspicions.

  She had to warn Eric. But how could she when he was in London? And how to do so without arousing suspicion? Mr. Straton no doubt planned to watch her, and Eric as well. She dared not send a note as it might get intercepted, nor did she dare go to Wesley Manor. Any effort of her part to contact him might be construed as suspect.

  She pressed her hands to her rolling stomach. What on earth was she going to do?

  Hidden behind a thick hedge, Adam watched Miss Briggeham walk slowly toward her front door. He raised his brows. Apparently she'd forgotten about her trip to the village.

  She'd tried to act nonchalant at his questions, and indeed he had to give her credit for her fine performance, but he'd noted several flickers of fear in her eyes. And when he'd announced that he expected to make an arrest, her face had turned to chalk.

  Yes, Miss Briggeham's reactions not only reinforced his suspicions regarding Lord Wesley, they led him to believe she knew, or at least suspected, her betrothed was the Bride Thief. Now all he had to do was prove it.

  And a plan was forming in his mind of how to do just that.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  At ten that evening, Eric strode down the dark corridor toward his study, wanting nothing more than solitude and a stiff brandy. While he'd enjoyed Margaret's company on their outing to London, he was relieved to be home where he could be alone with his thoughts.