and swiftly withdrew what she prayed was the correct key. Several seconds later she yanked open the coach door, and a wide-eyed, disheveled young woman stumbled out.
'Who are-?'
'Samantha Briggeham. Your coachman has injured the Bride Thief. I've temporarily disabled your man, but we must hurry.'
Miss Barrow's gaze flew to the two fallen men. 'Dear God. What can we do?'
Sammie walked swiftly to the pair and dropped to her knees next to the Bride Thief. 'You work on untying him and I shall try to bring him around.'
Without another word, Miss Barrow knelt beside the Bride Thief and applied herself to the knots binding his wrists. Sammie ran gentle hands over the silk mask that covered his head, pausing when she encountered an egg- sized lump just above his ear.
Alternately tapping his silk-covered cheek and gently shaking his shoulder, she asked, 'Can you hear me, sir? Please wake up.'
Eric heard a voice as if through a thick, pain-filled fog.
He slowly became aware of the sensation of gentle hands smoothing over his face. Touching his head. Running across his shoulders. He inhaled and smelled honey.
'Can you hear me, sir?'
Eric turned slowly toward her voice, a breath hissing between his teeth as shafts of pain ricocheted through his head. He forced his eyes open, then blinked several times, trying to align the trio of figures swimming before his eyes into one entity. When he finally succeeded, he found himself staring up into Samantha Briggeham's anxious face.
When his gaze locked on hers, she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second and exhaled. 'Thank God you're all right.' She offered him a tremulous smile, then added, 'You've nothing to fear, sir. 'Tis I, your friend, Samantha Briggeham.'
He tried to lift his head, but immediately thought better of it when a battalion of hammer-wielding devils set up an unholy rhythm in his temples. A groan escaped him.
She laid her palms against his chest. 'Don't try to move yet. Rest for a few more moments.'
'I've untied him,' came an unfamiliar feminine voice. 'How is he?'
'Coming around,' Samantha said. 'Why don't you use those ropes to bind the coachman in case he awakens?'
'My pleasure,' came the soft reply.
Coachman? Were they out for a ride? 'What happened?' he whispered. His tongue felt like shoe leather.
'Miss Barrow's coachman struck you.' Her bespectacled eyes reflected grave concern. 'Do you not remember? You were about to perform a rescue.'
Rescue? He raised a hand to his pounding head. His leather glove rasped against silk, and his memory returned in a rush. Mask. Bride Thief. Rescue. Seeing Samantha across the road. Distracted. Coachman wielding a stick. And now sizzling pain shooting through his head.
Recalling to speak in his raspy brogue, he said, 'I remember. Where's the coachman?'
'He's unconscious. Miss Barrow is tying him up.'
A wave of dizzy nausea rolled through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut and drew in slow, deep breaths. She clasped his gloved hand with one of her hers, and continued to stroke soothing fingers over his masked face and shoulders. After a moment, the dizziness subsided and his wits returned-along with a heaviness that settled in his gut like a rock.
What an untenable mess this was. He had to get away from here as quickly as possible-Miss Briggeham and Miss Barrow as well-before the coachman regained consciousness and decided to unmask him and turn him over to the magistrate. Or before someone else happened along the road and decided to do the same.
Or had his identity already been discovered?
Opening his eyes, he looked directly at her. 'Did the coachman remove my mask?'
'No.'
Relief eased through him. 'Did ye?'
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. 'No.'
Some of the tension left his body. She didn't know who he was. Thank God. She squeezed his hand and he returned the pressure.
'Do not fear, sir,' she whispered. 'I shall see to it that no further harm comes to you.' She laid her free hand along his masked jaw and offered him a gentle smile.
His eyes narrowed. She certainly was being solicitous of the Bride Thief. Holding his hand, touching him. Yes, she was being all too much familiar with his person, damn it.
'Do you hurt anywhere else?' she asked with a tender concern that rankled him.
Bloody hell, he hurt everywhere, but he'd be damned if he'd tell
'I'm fine,' he rasped. 'I want to sit up.' After he pushed himself up onto his elbows, she grasped him by his forearms and helped him slowly move into a sitting position. The earth spun around him, and he held his head between his gloved hands, wincing when his fingers encountered an egg-sized lump. After a moment the dizziness passed, and he lowered his hands.
Moistening his lips, he whispered in his brogue, 'Why are ye here?'
'The same reason you are. To help Miss Barrow.'
'Did ye not trust me to do so?'
She pushed her spectacles higher on her nose, then gazed at him through serious eyes. 'I would trust you with my life, sir. But Miss Barrow asked for my assistance. As I had no way of knowing if word of her plight would reach you, I had to be prepared to help her myself.'
'And how did ye plan to do that?'
In a terse voice she outlined a plan that simultaneously filled him with admiration and fury. His gaze wandered to the sleeping coachman, whom Miss Barrow was still trussing up like a goose. Bloody hell, he wished he'd been awake to see Samantha stab the bastard in the arse. 'Blast it, lass. Don't ye realize the danger ye put yourself in?'
'No more danger than you put yourself in, sir. I assure you I did not undertake this adventure without extensive, logical thought, and I carefully weighed the risks involved. But as you understand only too well, I could not ignore Miss Barrow's plea for help.'
'But what if ye'd been hurt?' The thought of her injured, lying in the woods, at the mercy of that stick-wielding bastard or someone else, sent a tremor of fear and fury down his spine.
'I knew there were risks, of course. But as I'm sure you'll agree, the wanted outcome makes them worthwhile.' She rose, then held out her hands. 'Let's get you on your feet. Slowly now.'
He grasped her outstretched hands and moved first to his knees, where he remained for a moment while another wave of dizziness hit him. Then with her assistance, he gained his feet. His knees wobbled a bit, and he braced his hands on her shoulders, closed his eyes, and drew deep breaths until his equilibrium returned.
'Are you all right?' she asked, her voice tight with concern.
He opened his eyes and gazed at her tense face. 'Yes, lass.'
'I'm so relieved. I nearly died when that horrid man struck you.' A shy note entered her voice. 'It was my honor to assist you, sir. I… I would gladly do so again.'
His blood ran cold at her words. Good God, if he didn't take drastic measures, he could well imagine her donning a mask and cape of her own, trotting through the forest with a sack full of hat pins. Tightening his grip on her shoulders, he barely refrained from shaking her. 'Your loyalty humbles me, lass, and you'll forever have my gratitude for rescuing me this night. But in truth, if it weren't for your interference, the rescue would have taken place without a problem.'
A stricken look entered her eyes, and he knew he'd hit the intended mark. 'I never meant-'
'It matters not. Your presence distracted me, affording the coachman the opportunity to strike me. 'Twas a mistake that could well have cost me my life.'
Her eyes widened with unmistakable horror and a sheen that, damn it all, looked suspiciously like tears. Guilt gnawed at him for being so hard on her, and unable to stop himself, he reached out and trailed his gloved fingertips
