The Bride Thief

her hartshorn-fetcher was snoring.

Well, nevermind. There was no time to indulge in the vapors anyway-not when so many plans needed to be made. For regardless of her protests, Samantha had hooked one of the largest fishes in England.

Now all that was necessary was reeling him in to the shore.

Chapter Eighteen

Margaret lifted her gaze from her book and observed her brother pace the length of the paneled library. Brandy snifter in hand, he crossed from the fireplace to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, his steps muffled by the thick Persian rug. Back and forth, again and again, pausing each time at the mantel to stare with a brooding expression into the flames, only to continue on.

After a quarter hour of watching him, she lowered her book to the chintz settee where she sat. She'd observed him carefully this afternoon, and she suspected she knew exactly what was troubling him. When next he halted by the fire, she asked, 'Are you all right, Eric?'

He turned toward her, blinking with unmistakable surprise. Clearly he'd forgotten her presence. A sheepish grin pulled up one corner of his mouth. 'Forgive me. I'm being a dreadful bore.'

Rising, she walked to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth emanating from the low-burning fire. Large and drafty though it was, the library somehow possessed a cozy air and had always been her favorite room. Much more so than the drawing room where her father's portrait hung above the mantel. A shudder had run through her when she'd seen his cold-eyed countenance staring down from the canvas earlier today. She ruthlessly shoved the image aside. Like her husband, her father was dead. Neither one could hurt her anymore.

Looking up at Eric, she laid her hand on his sleeve, marveling at how good it felt to be able to touch someone. 'Something is troubling you,' she said softly. 'Do you wish to talk about it?'

Tender weariness filled his gaze. 'I'm fine, Margaret.'

He wasn't, but clearly he did not want to burden her-a kindhearted but unnecessary gesture on his part that sparked a flare of annoyance in her. He returned his gaze to the fire, obviously considering the discussion closed. Foolish man.

Adopting a casual tone, she remarked, 'I enjoyed meeting your friends today. Young Hubert is quite ingenious, and Miss Briggeham was…'

His gaze whipped back to hers so quickly she swore she heard his muscles snap. 'Was what?'

Any doubts she may have harbored about the source of his preoccupation instantly vanished. 'I thought her quite interesting.'

'Indeed? In what way?'

'I admired her spirit in stating her opinions to Mr. Straton regarding the Bride Thief. I also could plainly see that she is devoted to her brother-a feeling I can well understand.'

He acknowledged her remark with a smile. 'She and Hubert are very close.'

'She is not the sort of woman who normally captures your interest.'

His entire body stilled for an instant. Then, with a casual air that would no doubt fool anyone except her, he asked, 'What do you mean?'

'There's no point denying it to me, Eric. I know you too well. I saw the way you looked at her.'

'And what way was that?'

She gently squeezed his arm. 'The way every woman dreams of being looked at.'

He said nothing, just stood, watching her with an unreadable expression. She wondered if she'd pushed too much, and perhaps she had, but she could not stand to see him so troubled. 'She cares for you as well, you know,' she said softly. 'I could see it, even in those few moments we spent together.'

A tortured sound rumbled in his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

'Why are you not happy? You should thank God that as a man you're not trapped by the confines that dictated my fate. You have the freedom to pursue your heart's desire. To marry whom you choose.'

He opened his eyes and pierced her with a look that made her wonder if she'd made a terrible error in her assessment. 'You know how I feel about that. I have no intention of marrying. Ever.'

His harsh reply took her aback. 'I'd assumed your feelings on the subject would have changed over the years, and certainly by now, as you clearly have feelings for Miss Briggeham.' When he remained silent, she felt compelled to add, 'She is the sort of woman a man marries, Eric.'

A muscle clenched in his jaw. 'I realize that.'

'Surely you want a son to inherit the title.'

'I care nothing about perpetuating my title.' He swept his hand in a wide arc encompassing the room. 'While I cannot deny that I prefer living like this as opposed to residing in the slums of London, my title has not brought me happiness.' He pinned her with a penetrating stare. 'Any more than your title brought you.'

His words cut through her like a steel blade. 'But surely a wife, a family, would bring you happiness.'

A short, humorless laugh erupted from him. 'I am frankly amazed that you, of all people, would recommend marriage.' He tossed back his brandy, then set the empty snifter on the mantel with a sharp click of crystal against the marble. 'Our parents' union was nothing short of hell, as was yours to that bastard Darvin. Why would you wish such misery on me?'

'I want only your happiness. And I learned that marriage can be beautiful if two people care for each other as you and Miss Briggeham seem to. I knew a woman in Cornwall named Sally. She lived in the village and worked in the kitchens at Darvin Hall. She was the same age as me and married to a local shopkeeper. Oh, Eric, they were so much in love…' Her voice trailed off, and she looked into the fire. 'And so incredibly happy, in a way that filled me with joy for them, but also with envy. Because I so desperately wanted what they shared.'

Raising her gaze back to his, she whispered, 'I was in love like that once. If I'd been allowed to choose the man I wanted, I might have enjoyed the contentment Sally knew.'

Confusion flickered in his dark eyes. 'I did not know you'd cared for someone.'

'It happened after you left home for the Army.'

'Why did this man not offer for you?'

Hot tears pushed behind her eyes, and she looked up at the ceiling to keep them from falling. 'Many reasons. He never gave me any indication he cared for me as anything more than a friend. And even if he had, Father never would have allowed it.' She lowered her chin and met his questioning gaze. 'He was not titled. Or wealthy. But he owned my heart.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'He still does.'

Eric stared at her, stunned by her revelation. Then a slow burn of anger seeped through him. Damn it, she'd not only been sold into marriage, she'd been ripped away from the man she'd loved. A single tear eased down her pale cheek and guilt flayed him once again for failing her. If only I'd known. If only I hadn't been away at war. But by her own admission she still loved this man. By God, I won't fail her again. She shall have the man she wants.

Taking her by the shoulders, he asked gently, 'Who is he?'

'It matters not.'

'Tell me. Please.'

She pressed her lips together, then whispered, 'Mr. Straton.'

Eric felt as if the floor gave way beneath him. 'Adam Straton? The magistrate?'

She jerked her head in a nod. A single sob escaped her, and he gathered her into his arms. Hot tears wet his shirt, her shoulders quaking as he helplessly patted her back and allowed her to purge her anguish.

The magistrate. If he weren't so stunned he would have laughed himself into a seizure at the irony. Of all the men in England to choose from, Margaret had to love the man determined to see him hang!

Tipping his head back, he squeezed his eyes shut. He could well imagine the hopelessness she'd felt at her situation. Had Adam loved Margaret as well? He didn't know, but of course it would not have mattered. Their father never would have allowed a commoner to court Margaret. And Eric could not imagine the strictly law-abiding Adam Straton ever thrusting aside Society's rules and declaring himself to an earl's daughter.