The Bride Thief

Raw hurt seethed through him, scraping his insides. How could she just walk away?

She glanced down at his restraining hand, then raised her gaze to his. 'Was there something else, my lord?'

Something inside him snapped at her dispassionate tone and her formal use of his title. Damn it, he wanted to hear his name pass her lips. As she'd whispered it last night, heavy with want and need for him. When he'd been deep inside her. Before the world and its dictates and his responsibilities conspired to rob him of her.

'Yes, Samantha, there is something else.' Hauling her up against him, he covered her lips in a searing, explosive, angry kiss.

She stood motionless and unresponsive for several seconds, but then she moaned, rose up on her toes, and returned his kiss. Sanity fled as he wrapped his arms around her in an iron grip, reveling in the feel of her soft curves crushed against his body. He explored her mouth with a rough possession and utter lack of finesse that under other circumstances would have appalled him. His tongue stroked hers with a rhythmic desperation that matched the mantra pumping through his head. Mine. Mine. Mine.

He had no sense of how much time passed before their kiss changed from that out of control meeting of lips, breath, and tongue, to a slow, languid, deep mating that pumped thick, hot need through his every vein. He eased one hand up her nape and into her hair, scattering pins that fell silently onto the ground. Her soft, fragrant curls sifted over his fingers as his other hand drifted down to caress the feminine curves of her buttocks. A pleasure-filled moan sounded in her throat. She moved against him, and his erection jerked in response.

'Samantha,' he whispered against her lips. 'I-'

A loud gasp cut off his words. He and Samantha turned toward the sound.

Cordelia Briggeham and Lydia Nordfield stood not ten feet away, both ladies slack-jawed and bug-eyed.

Samantha drew in a sharp breath and jerked from his embrace as if he'd burned her. But the damage was done.

Mrs. Briggeham's lips formed a perfect O from which puffed a series of staccato chirping sounds. Touching the back of one hand dramatically to her brow, she staggered a few feet to the curved stone bench, then flowed downward in a graceful, chirping faint.

Chapter Nineteen

Sammie stared at her artfully fainted mother in horror. Humiliation and shame crashed upon her like rocks falling from the sky, crushing her until she could barely draw a breath. She wanted to scream denials, claim misunderstandings, but there was no refuting the damning evidence. Even if she and Eric had not been caught in a passionate embrace, neither could disguise their disheveled hair and clothing.

'Charles, my hartshorn,' Mama called, waving her hand weakly to and fro.

Eric approached Mama. 'I fear your husband is not within earshot, madam, and I am fresh out of hartshorn,' he said in a distinctly dry tone. 'May I assist you? Or perhaps we should call for a physician?'

Mama blinked and sat up straight. 'A physician? Oh, no, that's quite unnecessary. I'm certain I shall recover in a moment. I was merely overcome for a moment by the good news.'

Mrs. Nordfield stepped forward and issued a derisive snort. ''Good news? Lud, Cordelia, you're a candidate for Bedlam.' She favored both Eric and Sammie with a scathing head-to-toe glare. 'This is scandalous. Horrifying. Outrageous. Completely beyond the pale.'

Mama propelled to her feet with an amazing agility for one who'd just swooned. 'Good news,' she repeated firmly. She turned her attention to Eric and bestowed a smile so angelic upon him, Sammie could almost see a halo encircling Mama's head. 'I had no idea you'd decided to propose so soon, my lord.' She pulled a lace hanky from the pocket of her gown and dabbed her eyes. 'I'm so very happy for you both.'

A full minute of the most deafening silence Sammie had ever heard, ensued. Mortification singed her from head to toe. She prayed for the ground to open and swallow her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that she'd open them and this tableau would be nothing more than a dreadful nightmare. She prayed for lightning to strike her.

A smug smile curved Mrs. Nordfield's lips. 'Clearly you have misinterpreted the situation, Cordelia.'

'Of course I haven't,' Mama said with a breezy wave of her handkerchief. 'The earl is an honorable man and never would have kissed Samantha in such a… vigorous manner unless he'd proposed to her.' She shook her index finger at Eric in mock reproof. 'Of course it was very naughty of you not to seek Mr. Briggeham's permission for Samantha's hand first, my lord, but naturally you have our blessing.'

'I do not believe we interrupted a proposal at all,' said Mrs. Nordfield, treating the entire group to a collective glare down her long nose. 'No, 'tis obvious that in our quest to locate night-blooming flowers, we inadvertently stumbled upon an illicit assignation. Why on earth would the earl propose at this time of night? Gentlemen propose during the day, in a properly chaperoned setting such as the drawing room.' A sly look entered her eyes. 'But fear not, Cordelia. I would not dream of repeating a word of this scandal.'

Mama raised her chin to its most regal height. ' 'Tis not a scandal. 'Tis a proposal. And of course you will tell everyone as much.' She turned her imperious stare on Eric. 'Well, Lord Wesley? What have you to say for yourself?'

Sammie slanted Eric a glance from the corner of her eyes. He stood straight and tall, seemingly calm, but a muscle ticked in his clenched jaw and he appeared pale.

'Miss Briggeham and I will marry,' he ground out in a voice that resembled broken glass.

Nausea gripped her and her brain screamed a long, agonized, silent NO! In her deepest, secret dreams she'd longed for his proposal, but dear God, she did not want him like this. Trapped. Unwilling. His earlier words ate at her like acid. I'm in no position to offer you marriage. I've no intention of ever marrying… I would never want to be forced into marriage.

Mama's smile could have illuminated the entire kingdom. 'My husband and I shall expect to hear from you on the morrow regarding the plans.' She slanted a glance toward Mrs. Nordfield. 'Lydia, you may be the first to offer congratulations and best wishes to his lordship and my daughter.'

Mrs. Nordfield's puckered countenance indicated she'd prefer lying on a bed of hot coals. Her jaw sawed back and forth several times, then she said, 'My felicitations to you both.' She then muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like damn it all to hell and back again.

Still beaming, Mama turned to Sammie, grabbing her firmly by the arm. 'Come along now, Samantha.'

Too numb to argue, she allowed her mother to pull her along the path leading back to the house, Mrs. Nordfield following close behind.

Eric arrived back at his stables needing two things: a miracle and a stiff brandy. Miracles, he knew from experience, were impossible to come by. Luckily he possessed an abundance of brandy.

Arthur emerged through the stable's double wooden doors just as Eric dismounted. 'We need to talk,' Eric said, handing him Emperor's reins. 'Meet me in my study in thirty minutes.'

By the time Arthur arrived, Eric was working his way through his second brandy. After the stableman settled himself in his favorite chair along with a glass of whiskey, Eric tersely related the afternoon's conversation with Adam Straton. When he finished, Arthur shook his head.

'Looks to me like yer rescuin' days are done. We knew ye'd hafta quit someday, and 'tis too risky now for ye to go on. Even though Champion's stall is hidden behind the false door in the stables, someone real sharp like Straton-someone who was lookin'-might find him.'

Arthur rose and crossed the few steps to where Eric leaned his hips against the edge of his desk. Clamping a work-worn hand on his shoulder, he said, 'Lady Margaret ain't married no more. Ye've saved many women and should be proud of yerself, as I'm proud of ye. Ye've paid yer debt. 'Tis time to let go of yer guilt and stop. Now.' He tightened his grasp. 'I've no desire to see ye hang.'

A humorless laugh puffed from Eric's lips. 'I've no desire to see me hang, either.'

' 'Tis decided then.' Arthur lifted his glass in salute. 'Here's to yer retirement. May it be prosperous. And lengthy.'

Eric did not raise his snifter. 'I've more news, although between your connection to the Briggeham household