The Bride Thief

Still, the search for the Bride Thief's identity had now escalated to the point that each time Eric donned his costume he risked his life. But knowing he would free another poor woman from the untenable fate that had robbed Margaret of her happiness made the risk worth the possible price. And helped ease his guilt over failing to aid Margaret.

He would not allow the heartache and despair that ruled his sister's life to destroy Miss Samantha Briggeham.

He would free her.

Samantha sat in the family coach, staring out the window at the fading light. Bright orange and purple streaks fanned across the sky, marking the beginning of twilight, her favorite time of day.

Adjusting her spectacles, she breathed deeply and tried to calm her jittery stomach. When she arrived home, she faced speaking with Mama and Papa-not a welcome prospect as she suspected they would not be pleased by the errand on which she'd just been.

Looking out the window, she observed a tiny flash of color in the waning light. Heavens, could that have been a firefly? If so, Hubert would be ecstatic. He'd been trying to breed the rare insects for months-both in the woods and in his laboratory-from larva he'd had shipped from the colonies. Could his experiments be bearing fruit?

She quickly signaled Cyril to stop the coach, and pulled a small bag from her reticule. Her inner voice told her she was only delaying the inevitable argument with her parents, but she had to capture the insects for Hubert if they'd hatched. His fourteen-year-old mind was fascinated by the soft intermittent light the bugs exuded.

Exiting the coach, she inhaled the cool evening air. The heavy scent of damp earth and decaying leaves tickled her nostrils, and she sneezed, sending her spectacles sliding downward until they halted on the upturned end of her nose. She pushed the glasses back into place with a practiced gesture and scanned the area, searching for the fireflies while Cyril settled back on his perch atop the coach to wait. He was well used to these unplanned stops in the woods.

Sammie walked down the path toward where she'd seen the glow. Warmth spread through her as she imagined Hubert's thin, serious face wreathed in smiles should she return with such a treasure. She loved the boy with all her heart-his brilliant, sharp mind and his tall, gangly frame with large, awkward feet he hadn't yet grown into.

Yes, she and Hubert were cut from the same cloth. They wore similar spectacles and possessed the same blue eyes and thick, unruly chestnut hair. They both enjoyed swimming, fishing, and searching the forest for flora and fauna specimens-activities that had more than once driven Mama to the vapors. In fact, Samantha and Hubert's secret name for Mama was Cricket because she emitted a series of high-pitched chirps just before she 'fainted'- always artistically-onto one of the many settees scattered strategically about the Briggeham home.

Mama will most definitely chirp when she discovers where I've just been. And what I've done.

Tiny flashes of yellow light caught her eye and her heart jumped with excitement. It was indeed fireflies! Several hovered near the ground at the base of an oak a short distance away.

'No running off now, Miz Sammie,' Cyril called as she moved toward the oak. ' 'Tis gittin' dark and me eyes ain't what they used to be.'

'Don't worry, Cyril. There's still plenty of light and I'll not go farther than this.' Dropping to her knees, she gentry captured the rare insect in her hand and placed it in her pouch.

She'd just slipped another in the bag when a sound coming from the dense forest caught her attention. A horse's faint whinny? Lifting her head, she listened for several seconds but heard nothing more than the rustling of leaves from the breeze.

'Did you hear something, Cyril?'

Cyril shook his head. 'Nay, but then, me ears ain't what they used to be.'

With a shrug, Sammie returned her attention to her task. Clearly she'd been mistaken.

After all, who would be riding on her family's property? And with darkness swiftly approaching?

Sitting astride Champion, he silently observed her through the trees. Pale streaks of moonlight glimmered down, and his heart clenched as he noted her posture.

Bloody hell, the distraught chit was praying. On her knees, bent at the waist so far her nose was nearly skimming the ground. Anger and frustration heated his blood. Damn it, he would save her from such misery.

Champion shifted beneath him and let out a soft whinny. Placing a comforting hand on the beast's sleek neck to quiet him, he watched Miss Briggeham. She clearly heard the sound, for she looked up. A shaft of waning light glinted off her spectacles as she glanced around. Then with what appeared to be a shrug, she lowered her head and resumed her prayers.

He'd followed her through the woods, waiting while she was inside Major Wilshire's home, wondering why she'd visited him. Clearly their time together hadn't gone well, for now she was kneeling on the ground, praying in the woods as darkness approached. Pity tugged at his heart.

He glanced at her coachman and noted the man was dozing in his perch. Excellent. The time had come.

With quiet concentration, he slipped on his tight-fitting black mask, adjusting it until he knew his entire head was covered, except for his eyes and mouth. He tugged the material to settle two small openings over his nostrils. His long black cloak draped on the saddle behind him, and snug black leather gloves encased his hands. His black shirt, breeches, and boots rendered him all but invisible in the growing darkness.

His gaze settled on the distressed girl kneeling at the base of the oak tree.

Never fear, Miss Samantha Briggeham. Freedom awaits you.

Chapter Two

p›It happened as quickly as a lightning flash.

Kneeling, gently cupping a firefly in her hand, Sammie lifted her head at the rustling in the nearby bushes. Without further warning, a black horse emerged from the trees, vaulting over a low hedge. Her heart nearly stalled with surprise, then fear flooded her as she realized the horse was headed straight for her.

Springing to her feet, she stepped hastily backward. She caught the shadowy glimpse of a rider who clearly didn't see her as he veered in her direction. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but before she could issue so much as a peep, a strong arm scooped her off the ground.

Her breath left her body in a loud whoosh and pain shot up her backside as she was deposited sideways on the saddle with a bone-jarring thud. Her glasses flew from her nose, and her bag of insects fell from her fingers. What appeared to be a bouquet of flowers sailed past her. Cyril's distressed voice cried out, 'Miz Sammie!'

The strong arm tightened around her like a vise, pinning her sideways to a large muscular frame as the horse raced into the woods. 'Do not worry,' a deep velvety whisper flavored with a faint Scottish brogue sounded in her ear. 'Ye are perfectly safe.'

Speechless with shock, Sammie tried to move her arms, but her captor held them trapped to her sides with his own. Turning her head, she found herself staring at a black mask. Fear snaked down her spine and clogged her throat. What manner of madman was this? A highwayman? But if so, why had he taken her instead of simply demanding money?

Realization slapped her. Dear God, was she being kidnapped! She shook her head to clear it. Logic labeled the idea utterly preposterous, but the fact that she was speeding through the night in the iron-clad grasp of a masked man certainly indicated an abduction. Why on earth would someone kidnap her? While her family was financially comfortable, they were not wealthy enough to pay an exorbitant ransom. Had he made a mistake and abducted the wrong woman? She didn't know, but she had to get away from him.

Drawing as deep a breath as she could manage, Sammie opened her mouth to let loose with a scream. The sound had no sooner left her throat when the arm anchored around her middle tightened, cutting her cry into a mere wheeze.