The Bride Thief

features with an endearing hint of deviltry and mischief. 'Hmmm,' she said, tapping her chin with her fingertips. 'I think it more likely that this is a painting of the bottom of a lake.'

'Indeed? What would a horse be doing at the bottom of the lake?'

'But that blob isn't a horse at all, my lord. It is a large, openmouthed fish.'

'Oh! I see you're admiring my portrait of dear Aunt Libby,' Lydia Nordfield said, joining them at the picture. Her sharp eyes took note of Miss Briggeham's hand resting on his arm.

'A wonderful rendition,' he murmured, schooling his features into a suitably serious expression. 'Indeed, when Miss Briggeham and I have completed our tour of the gallery, I look forward to discussing your talents with you, Mrs. Nordfield.'

Mrs. Nordfield snapped open her fan, waving it with a vigor that set her carefully arranged rows of sausage curls in motion. 'Why, thank you, my lord. Of course, I'm delighted to accompany you-'

'I wouldn't dream of monopolizing your time,' Eric said. 'I shall seek you out once I've formed my impressions of your collection.'

'I look forward to it, my lord,' Mrs. Nordfield replied in a tone that made it clear that nothing short of death would keep her from discussing her art with him. She excused herself with clear reluctance.

'Heavens, whatever will you say to her?' Miss Briggeham asked in an undertone. 'You compared dear Aunt Libby to a horse!'

'At least I didn't compare her to an openmouthed fish,' he teased, and was rewarded with a becoming peach blush. 'In truth, I most likely won't need to say anything, as Mrs. Nordfield will no doubt carry the conversation.'

She nodded slowly, her expression turning serious. 'You're quite right. I see that you share my mother's talent for-'

'Manipulation?' he broke in with a smile.

'No!' Her cheeks bloomed brighter. 'I meant social gatherings. Polite conversation. Idle chitchat.'

'I'm afraid it's inevitable given how many functions I've attended.'

They strolled toward the next painting. 'I suppose you're very popular.'

He raised his brows. 'I receive a great many invitations, if that's what you mean. But then, it appears you do as well.'

A humorless laugh escaped her. 'Yes, I'm afraid so. At least lately.'

'You sound… disappointed?'

'I fear that in spite of my sisters' kindhearted attempts to teach me, I'm a horrible dancer. And as I'm sure you've discerned, I'm not an accomplished conversationalist on idle matters.'

'On the contrary, Miss Briggeham, you've yet to bore me.'

There was no mistaking the surprise that widened her eyes. They paused in front of the next painting and he forced himself to look at it. After careful consideration of the unrecognizable swirls, he ventured, 'I'm at a loss. What do you think?'

'Perhaps this is dear Aunt Libby's vegetable garden?'

He turned toward her. 'Or perhaps her husband?'

She laughed, her face again lighting up with that smile he could only describe as enchanting. After several seconds, however, her merriment faded. She opened her mouth, then closed it, a frown creasing her brow. Finally, she said, 'I'm no good at pretending, my lord. If you wish to know about my encounter with… him, I prefer you simply ask and be done with it, rather than wasting your time escorting me about the room for half an hour to gently lead up to your queries.'

'Him?'

'The Bride Thief.' She slipped her hand from his arm, and he immediately missed its warmth. 'I'm well aware that my mistaken abduction is the only reason everyone is seeking my company.'

'Surely you do not believe that your popularity is based solely on your encounter with that Thief person.'

'On the contrary, I'm positive it is. And a more vexing situation I've never encountered.'

She started walking again, and he fell in step beside her, resisting the urge to recapture her hand and curve it through his arm. His heart pinched at her words, and his gaze quickly swept over the guests strolling the gallery. What was wrong with these people? Could they not see that Miss Briggeham was amusing and intelligent? But of course, her intellect would work against her. She was not flirtatious or frivolous, and he could well imagine that she would therefore not garner an abundance of male attention.

'I would have thought most young women would enjoy being the center of attention,' he remarked, as they paused at another hideous painting.

'I fear I am not most young women.' She huffed out a sigh. 'Before my encounter with the Bride Thief, I enjoyed attending the occasional soiree. I'd settle myself amongst the matrons and chaperones, watch my sisters and mother dance, and visit with one of my dearest friends, Miss Waynesboro-Paxton.'

'I don't believe I know her.'

'She lives at the west boundary of the village. Unfortunately she was unable to attend this evening due to her health. Her eyesight is failing and she also suffers severe bouts of joint pain, the poor dear.'

They walked toward the next painting, and she continued in an exasperated tone, 'Now, however, there's a party to attend nearly every evening. In spite of the fact that I constantly trod on their toes, gentlemen insist on asking me to dance.' She indicated her muslin gown with impatient hands. 'I look ridiculous in these frilly clothes. I know nothing of fashion, yet ladies now solicit my opinion on the subject. Gentlemen approach me to discuss the weather. Lord Carsdale engaged me in conversation about the latest rainfall for nearly a quarter hour. And all of it is merely polite chatter to lead up to their questions regarding my abduction.'

He barely managed to suppress the need to inform her that while Carsdale had discoursed on the weather, he'd also been leering down her bodice. His own gaze dipped and his lips tightened at the sight of her generous curves. Damn, no wonder Carsdale hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. 'Did Lord Carsdale inquire about the Bride Thief?'

'Everyone has inquired.'

'And what do you say?'

'The truth. That he was kind to me, especially after he realized his error. And that he only wants to help the women he steals.'

'And how do people respond to that?'

'The men ask about his horse and whether or not he carried any weapons. And those two nincom-I mean, Misters Babcock and Whitmore-wished to know the details of how the gentleman tied his cravat.'

Suppressing a smile, he asked, 'And the ladies?'

'They heave sighs and ask such silly questions as 'was he handsome?' or 'was he strong?' or 'what color were his eyes?''

'I see. And what do you tell them?'

'That his mask completely hid his features. And that he was very strong. He scooped me off the ground as if I weighed no more than a sack of flour.'

You barely do, my dear. 'How do you answer about his eyes?'

'I tell them it was too dark to tell. But his eyes were intense. And glowing with intelligence. And commitment to his cause.'

'It sounds as if the brigand made quite an impression on you.'

She halted, then turned to face him squarely, blue fire igniting her eyes. 'He is not a brigand, Lord Wesley. He is a man committed to helping women in need, in spite of the risk to himself. He has nothing to gain and everything to lose by his unselfish actions. Dare I be so bold as to say that if more people were like him, the world would be a much better place, indeed.'

Indignation, like her smile, did wonderful things to Miss Briggeham. Becoming color flushed her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell with her deep, rapid breaths. Her magnified eyes burned like blue braziers, filling him with the urge to slip her spectacles from her nose to observe that fire without any obstacles.

'In fact,' she continued in a heated whisper, 'I would dearly love to help the man in his noble cause.'

Pleasure that she believed his cause noble filled him, but the feeling was quickly replaced by foreboding. Help the man? Bloody hell, what was she thinking? Whatever it was, he needed to discourage her. Immediately.