The Bride Thief

join their ranks, their membership has swelled to two hundred and is growing daily. The newest member is the latest victim's father, Mr. Walter Barrow. The reward now stands at nine thousand pounds.

Eric stared at the words that cramped his stomach: speculation that the Bride Thief has an accomplice. Tossing the newspaper onto his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose. An accomplice. Bloody hell. Had the coachman discerned, in spite of the darkness, that the hooded figure was a woman? Had he provided the magistrate with a description of Samantha?

Rising, he paced the length of his study. Damn it all, if this Grenway identified Samantha…

His gut knotted tighter and his hands fisted. Fear more potent than any he'd ever felt for his own safety pumped through him. He had to protect Samantha. But in order to do so, he needed to know what Grenway had told the magistrate. It seemed another conversation with Adam Straton was in order.

And based on the outcome of their talk, he'd then decide if he needed to provide Adam with some additional 'helpful' information.

In the meanwhile, he-or rather the Bride Thief-had to warn Samantha to watch her words should the magistrate call upon her. He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing her earnest, concerned face as she'd helped him in the woods. He'd been at her mercy, and she easily could have turned him in. The reward on his head would have made her a wealthy woman. At the very least, she could have satisfied her curiosity and lifted his mask.

Instead she'd risked her reputation, her freedom, her very life to help him. To help Miss Barrow. He was furious with her. Frightened for her.

And so damn proud of her.

Frowning, he pushed that disturbing thought away. He needed to concentrate on the fact that she'd poked her nose where she had no business meddling. Yet one phrase kept running through his mind. What an incredible woman.

Blowing out a weary sigh, he raked his hands through his hair, avoiding the still-tender spot above his ear. Yes, she was incredible. But if the magistrate discovered she'd assisted the Bride Thief, she'd face criminal charges. Not so long as there's a breath in my body.

Stalking to his desk, he pulled a piece of vellum from the top drawer and prepared to write the most important letter of his life.

Sammie stood in the drawing room and stared at her name neatly scrawled on the thick ivory vellum. Somehow she knew the letter was from the Bride Thief. The unfamiliar, bold print. The way it had mysteriously appeared on the front step, as if left there by a ghostly hand.

With her heart beating in slow, heavy thumps, she broke the wax seal.

My dear Miss Briggeham,

I write to warn ye. The coachman has informed the magistrate that the Bride Thief may have an accomplice. I do not know if the man was able to offer any description of ye, but ye must prepare yourself for the possibility that the magistrate may call upon ye, either in reference to the other evening, or to question ye further regarding our first meeting.

For your safety, I remind ye of your promise not to attempt to aid me again. I also remind ye to destroy anything that could possibly link ye to the other evening. Needless to say, ye must bum this note as soon as ye finish reading it. Ye will be happy to know that our friend is safely on her way to a new life of freedom. Please take care of yourself.

There was no signature, but of course there was no doubt as to who had sent the note. Her eyes drifted shut, and she pressed the letter against her heart.

Miss Barrow was safe. And free. Embarking on a brand-new life rilled with adventure. Happiness, tinged with a pang of envy, filled her as she mentally wished the young woman a long, happy life.

The Bride Thief was also clearly safe, thank God, but for how long? A shudder ran through her as an image of him lying helpless on the ground flashed through her mind. He could have been killed. Or captured. She offered a silent prayer of thanks that the rescue had turned out successfully, but what if his next one did not? According to The Times, the Bride Thief Posse was growing daily, along with the price on the Bride Thief's head. How much longer could his luck possibly hold out? Her stomach turned over at the thought of that vital man swinging from a hangman's noose.

That vital man. An involuntary sigh escaped her lips as she recalled the feel of his solid shoulders and muscular arms. Warmth eased through her, and she pressed his letter closer to her heart. For the second time, he'd provided her with a grand adventure, the memories of which she'd always treasure. A heated blush rose up her cheeks when she thought of him gently touching her face with his gloved hand. He was tender and caring. Utterly heroic. Kind and gentle. Just like…

She blew out a long breath. Just like Lord Wesley. But just like the Bride Thief, Lord Wesley was lost to her- albeit for different reasons. The Bride Thief didn't want her help with his missions, and Lord Wesley simply didn't want her. At least not in the same way she wanted him.

The memory of their passionate kisses rushed through her, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. The sensation of his body pressed against hers, his hands caressing her breasts. All right, clearly he does want me, but unlike me, he is unwilling to undertake the risks involved. If only Lord Wesley were as daring as the Bride Thief!

Of course, Lord Wesley had offered her friendship, which was more than any other man had ever offered her. And while she would accept and cherish his friendship, a portion of her heart still wished for more from him. His kiss. His embrace.

But for right now, she needed to stop thinking about both Lord Wesley and the Bride Thief, and burn this incriminating letter. The vellum crinkled against her bodice and sadness swept through her. She hated to destroy her only memento of the man, but for safety's sake she must. By her own promise, she'd never see him again, a vow that lay heavy on her heart, but that she wouldn't break. She had to keep him, and herself, safe.

Opening her eyes, she turned toward the fireplace, then froze.

Lord Wesley stood in the open doorway, regarding her with an intense expression.

Heat singed her, as if she'd set herself on fire. Thrusting the Bride Thief's letter behind her, she inched backwards toward the desk. 'Lord Wesley, what are you doing here?'

He closed the door, then walked slowly toward her, like a sleek cat stalking its prey, his dark gaze riveted on her. 'I wished to speak to you. Your butler advised me you were in the drawing room and I offered to announce myself.'

The back of her legs bumped into the desk and she swiftly turned, thrusting the letter into the top drawer, then slamming it shut. The bang reverberated through the quiet room, then silence reigned.

Eric walked across the room, not stopping until he stood directly in front of her. He fisted his hands to contain the hot jealousy pumping through him. He'd stood in the doorway for at least two minutes watching her before she'd noticed his presence. Watching her clutch the Bride Thief's letter to her heart, her eyes closed, heaving dreamy sighs, her color high. She'd looked innocent and beguiling. And utterly aroused. For another man.

Damn it all to hell and back. He'd called upon her to make certain she'd suffered no ill-effects from her adventure, and to hopefully discover if Adam Straton had visited to question her. But every thought had drained from his head when he saw her holding that damn letter. Every thought except the one that chanted Mine. Mine. Mine.

And it was about damn time he did something about it.

Leaning forward, he braced his palms on the desk on either side of her, bracketing her in. Her eyes widened and she leaned back slightly, but otherwise did not attempt to escape. Good. Now he had her right where he wanted her. Trapped.

'What did you thrust so hastily into the drawer, Miss Briggeham?' he asked in a silky voice.

'Oh, just a letter.'

'It seemed like an important letter.'

She swallowed once. 'It was from a… friend.'

'Indeed? Was it from a… gentleman friend?'

She lifted her chin and cocked a brow. 'Why do you wish to know?'