The Bride Thief

Well, this was one hell of a bloody mess. God knows he wanted Margaret's happiness, yet how could he encourage her to consider a relationship that would involve Straton more closely in his life?

Margaret's sobs quieted, and she leaned back to look at him. Spiky, tear-wet lashes surrounded dark eyes that pleaded with him. 'Please, Eric. It is too late for me-but not for you. You've found someone to care for, who returns your affection. Do not throw it away. Love is so very precious. And rare. Don't allow the unhappiness and bitterness that defined our parents' lives to destroy your chance for a happy future.'

Drawing a deep breath, she continued, 'In spite of the sadness we knew here at Father's hands, you and I managed to carve out a cheerful existence for ourselves. Imagine how wonderful Wesley could be if it were filled with love and laughter and children born of a loving relationship. You would be an incredible father, Eric. Kind. Patient. Caring. Nothing like him. And I would be delighted and proud to call a woman you loved my sister, and to be an aunt to your children.' Rising up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. 'I'm afraid I must retire now as I'm completely exhausted. Please, please think about what I've said.'

She exited the room, and as soon as the door closed behind her, Eric dragged his hands down his face and huffed out a long, slow breath.

You've found someone to care for.

Yes, it seemed he had indeed. A woman who appealed to him on every level. He loved the look of her. The feel of her. The scent and taste of her. Loved her laugh and her intelligence, her wit and caring nature. He loved her loyalty and…

He loved her.

A groan rose in his throat, and he plopped down in a wing chair with a thud. Propping his elbows on his knees, he lowered his face into unsteady hands. God help him, he loved Samantha.

How had he allowed such a thing to happen? He'd always carefully guarded his heart, but in truth, no woman had ever come close to touching it. It was not difficult to protect a citadel that had never been stormed. But Samantha had somehow reached inside him, scaled his walls, and grabbed his heart in her fist.

Damn it, he never should have made love to her. If he hadn't, he might have avoided this debacle. Yet even as the thought entered his mind, he realized it was untrue. He hadn't fallen in love with her because of last night. Last night's lovemaking had happened because he loved her.

Yet how could he have fallen in love and not realized it until now? When had it happened? He tried to pinpoint the exact moment he'd tumbled into this emotional abyss and could not. He'd been fascinated with her from the beginning, unable to forget her in spite of his best efforts to do so.

She cares for you as well. Margaret's words reverberated through him, and he rubbed his throbbing temples with his palms. He knew Samantha cared for him, but hell, she cared for everyone. But she's never made love with anyone but you. Was it possible she loved him?

He turned the matter over and over in his mind, but finally decided no. She'd wanted an adventure, nothing more. And it was good that she didn't love him. He would not want to leave her heartbroken, as he would be. For even if she did love him, and for her sake he prayed she didn't, a future for them together was impossible.

Marriage was not in his plans. He'd seen it cause nothing but misery. Yet, if he believed Margaret, if two people loved each other, then marriage could be wonderful. For one impossible minute he allowed himself to consider the unthinkable. Samantha as his wife. Sharing his life and his bed every night. Bearing his children.

An ache of loss such as he'd never known rushed through him, and for the second time that evening, the irony of a situation hit him like a backhanded slap.

Bloody hell, he wanted all that. Love. Children. He wanted to marry her.

But the life he'd chosen as the Bride Thief made it impossible. Even if he never rescued another woman, he could still hang for the abductions he'd already committed. He could not subject Samantha to the horror her life would become if her husband were arrested and hanged. And their children would never escape the shame of having an executed criminal for a father.

No, he could never marry. The farther away he remained from Samantha the better for her. But God, how would he bear the rest of his life without her?

Lifting his head, he glanced at the mantel clock. Two hours until he was supposed to meet her at the garden gate.

Two hours until he told her their affair was over.

Two hours until his heart broke.

Sammie breathed in the cool night air, allowing the flowery fragrances of the garden to infuse her ruffled nerves as she walked along the path leading to the rear gate. Ten minutes remained until she was to meet Eric, but she'd had to escape the stifling confines of her bedchamber. Shortly after dinner, Mrs. Nordfield had arrived for an evening of cards and gossip. As Sammie rarely participated in such gatherings, no one thought it odd when she retired early.

Indeed, she'd detected a gleam in Mama's eyes that made it clear she could not wait to inform Mrs. Nordfield about today's guest for tea. Sammie could only pray that Mama would heed her pleas and not hint that the earl was courting her. Of course, she could well imagine Mama not directly saying the man was a suitor, but alluding as much with a well-timed lift of her brows. And naturally Mama would not disabuse Mrs. Nordfield of any incorrect notions she might inadvertently assume.

The potential for humiliation was overwhelming. She could hear the gossips now. Oh, how utterly ridiculous that poor, odd, Samantha Briggeham and her mother would entertain the notion that Wesley would pay court to that plain chit! No doubt the gossip would reach Eric's ears, and a deep ache of mortification throbbed through her at his inevitable response: Court Miss Briggeham? What nonsense. Why on earth would I do that? Oh, he would try to couch his denial in kinder terms than that, but the end result would be the same.

Shame burned her, and she hurried along the flower-lined path. She arrived at the gate several minutes later, out of breath. Settling herself on a stone bench flanked by fragrant rose bushes, she closed her eyes. A series of images from last night instantly bombarded her, and she buried her heated face in her hands.

Lord above, what have I done? She'd only wanted to share the wonders of passion, with the only man who had ever inspired them. A man she respected and admired. A man who had been her friend.

But he was also a man, as she'd discovered today, who held some basic beliefs that were diametrically opposed to her own. Just one more reason to end their affair.

A half-sob, half-laugh erupted from between her lips as she blessed her luck that no one suspected the true extent of her relationship with Eric. Good heavens, the man had simply taken afternoon tea with her family, and now Mama clearly hoped for a marriage between her bookworm daughter and an earl. If Eric were to call upon her again for any reason… well, there would be no stopping Mama. As it was, Mama's inevitable disappointment would reverberate through the halls of Briggeham Manor, no doubt for decades.

If only she hadn't fallen in love with him! Yes, she would have her memories, but she'd also condemned herself to the agony of a broken heart. Lowering her hands, she drew a shaky breath. Clearly she could not risk another night with Eric. When he arrived, she had to tell him immediately their affair was over-for both their sakes.

Her heart rose into her throat and she fought back the hot tears flooding her eyes. There would be no last night of passion spent in his arms. No chance to touch him again. Taste his kiss. Show him, with the words she could not say, how much she loved him. No one more time to make the memories to sustain her for a lifetime. They had no future. He was the wrong man for her in every way.

Her passionate adventure was over-and she'd paid for it with her heart and soul.

In the drawing room, Cordelia Briggeham gazed at an extremely out-of-sorts Lydia Nordfield and expertly hid her smug smile behind her teacup. The evening had gone even better than she could have hoped. Not only was Lydia all but seething about Lord Wesley's visit and his interest in Samantha, Cordelia had also soundly trounced her nemesis at piquet. She peeked at Lydia from under her lashes and swiftly took another sip of tea to swallow her mirth. Indeed, Lydia resembled a cat who'd just been given a most unwanted bath.

With her triumph rendering her unable to sit still, Cordelia rose and crossed to the French windows. A cool, flower-scented breeze drifted toward her from the gardens. A flash of color caught her eye, and she turned toward