The Bride Thief

She'd carefully worded her replies to the probing questions everyone from the magistrate to the neighbors had asked her, partly because she did not wish to say anything that could endanger the Thief, but also because her heart simply couldn't share all the wonderful, enthralling details of their short time together.

The Bride Thief. Yes, there was no denying he embodied many of the qualities her fantasy gentleman possessed. She would never forget the brief time she'd spent with him, the thrilling exhilaration of dashing through the dark forest with a man who seemed more mythical than real.

Yet he was flesh and blood, and impossible questions nudged at her. What was he like under the mask? Where did he live? Her imagination conjured up a hidden fortress, and she nearly laughed aloud at her fanciful thoughts. Of course she'd never know, but she did know he was a man to admire… a man of strong convictions and moral fiber. Certainly not the brigand so many people wished to cast him as. People such as Lord Wesley.

Her brows collapsed into a frown. For reasons she could not explain, her thoughts had circled back to the irritating man a dozen times since their meeting last evening. She'd easily dismissed all the fops she'd encountered… Why hadn't she forgotten him?

Perhaps because he'd discussed topics other than fashion and the weather with her. Or the fact that he'd made her laugh. Perhaps because she'd actually enjoyed his company before their awkward parting. Before he'd proven himself to be no different than any of her other false admirers.

But no matter. She would most likely not find herself in Lord Wesley's company again. After all, except for last evening, she hadn't seen him in years. Even though her family enjoyed prominence in Tunbridge Wells, the earl's social world orbited far above hers. She knew from Mama that the earl spent most of his time in London. No doubt pursuing all manner of debauchery, as the nobility was wont to do.

Yet, while so many others gazed upon her with speculation and shrewd glances, there had initially been something in Lord Wesley's eyes-an unexpected warmth, a surprising kindness-that had put her at ease. And had attracted her.

She drew in a sharp breath. Attracted? Heavens, no! She most certainly was not attracted to that man! Of course any woman would find him physically… pleasing, but a handsome face meant nothing. Not when one was arrogant and presumptuous and claimed her desire to help a noble man was 'preposterous.'

No, indeed, she didn't find him the least bit attractive. The only reason she hadn't dismissed him from her mind was because he had managed to anger her… and recalling their parting angered her still. Yes, that was all there was to it.

Satisfied, she carefully tied her journal closed with a strip of satin ribbon, then slid the well-worn leather book into the hidden compartment she'd fashioned in her escritoire.

Rising, she wandered to her bedchamber window. The late-afternoon sun gleamed, casting a swatch of bright warmth across the colorful braided throw rug.

Pushing aside the dark green velvet drapery, she opened the window, then leaned on the sill to gaze upon the grounds. Flowery scent wafted up from Mama's roses, which bloomed in a wild profusion of reds and pinks. No one in the village had finer roses than Cordelia Briggeham, and Sammie loved to wander the paths meandering through Mama's garden, breathing in the glorious, heady scent.

The tap of footsteps on the terrace caught her attention.

Looking down, she saw Hubert crossing the flagstones with his gangly stride, nearly staggering under the weight of a large box.

'What do you have there, Hubert?' she called.

Hubert stopped and peered upward, his face breaking into a wide grin at the sight of her. A lock of chestnut hair fell across his forehead, lending him a childlike air at odds with his sixteen years.

'Hallo!' he called. 'The new telescope has finally arrived! I'm off to the Chamber. Would you care to join me?'

'Most definitely. I'll join you in a few moments.' She waved, then watched Hubert head toward the old barn that he'd converted into his laboratory several years ago. Sammie left her bedchamber and walked toward the stairs, excited at the prospect of seeing the new telescope. As she approached the landing, Mama's voice drifted upward.

'How lovely of you to call, my lord. And such beautiful flowers! Chester, please escort his lordship to the parlor. I'll see to this bouquet and inform Samantha she has a guest.'

'Yes, Mrs. Briggeham,' intoned Chester in his deep, butler voice.

Botheration! No doubt the 'my lord' currently on his way to the parlor was that annoying Viscount Carsdale, come to discuss the weather. Sammie leaned against the wall and fought the urge to sprint back to her bedchamber and hide in her wardrobe. She'd have done just that if she'd thought there was any hope of avoiding Mama and her guest, but the swish of Mama's skirts and the tread of her feet upon the stairs indicated she was trapped. Drawing a bracing breath, she met Mama at the top of the stairs. Mama bore a large bouquet of summer flowers and a radiant smile.

'Samantha!' Mama said in an excited undertone. 'You have a caller, darling. And you'll never guess who it is!'

'Viscount Carsdale?'

Mama's eyes widened. 'Heavens, is he planning to call upon you as well? You must tell me these things, darling.'

'What do you mean 'as well'? Who is Chester showing to the parlor?'

Mama leaned forward, her face alight with delight. 'Lord Wesley.' She breathed his name with a reverence normally reserved for saints and monarchs.

Much to her annoyance, a tingle that felt suspiciously like anticipation skittered down Sammie's spine. What on earth was he doing here? Did he wish to continue their discussion regarding the Bride Thief? If so, his visit would be brief, indeed, for she had no intention of answering any more of his questions or listening to any more unkind words issued toward the heroic man. Or had he perhaps called for some other reason? If so, she couldn't imagine what. And why had he brought her flowers?

Mama thrust the bouquet under Sammie's nose and said, 'He brought you these. Aren't they magnificent? Oooh, flowers from an earl… I cannot wait to tell Lydia.' Her eyes quickly assessed Samantha's plain gray gown. 'Dear, oh, dear, you really should change into one of your new gowns, but I suppose this will have to do. We do not want to keep his lordship waiting.'

Commandeering Sammie's arm with a strength that belied her petite proportions, Mama all but propelled her down the stairs, then down the corridor toward the parlor, whispering terse instructions the entire way.

'Don't forget to smile, darling,' Mama said, 'and make sure you agree with everything the earl says.'

'But-'

'And be sure to inquire after his health,' Mama continued, 'but do not broach any of those unladylike topics such as mathematics and science you are so fond of.'

'But-'

'And whatever you do, do not mention Isadore, Cuthbert, or Warfinkle. It is not necessary that the earl be apprised of your… unusual pets.' She cast Sammie a narrowed-eyed, sidelong glance. 'They are outdoors, are they not?'

'Yes, but-'

'Excellent.' They paused in front of the parlor door, and Mama patted her cheek. 'I'm very happy for you, darling.'

Before Sammie could even attempt to utter a word, Mama opened the parlor door and sailed across the threshold. 'Here she is, Lord Wesley,' she announced, nearly yanking Sammie off her feet. 'I'll rejoin you in a few moments-just as soon as I've seen to these lovely flowers and arranged for some refreshments.' She beamed an angelic smile, then withdrew, leaving the door properly ajar.

Although anxious to join Hubert and his new telescope as soon as possible, reluctant curiosity about the reason for the earl's call pulled at Sammie. Determined to be polite, she turned toward her guest.

He stood in the center of the diamond-patterned Axminster rug, tall, imposing, perfectly turned out in glossy black boots, fawn-colored riding breeches, and a midnight-blue jacket that hugged his masculine frame to perfection. For just an instant, she inexplicably, and uncharacteristically, wished she were wearing one of her new