The Bride Thief

His Samantha. His lips compressed and a dull ache thudded in his chest. After tonight he would-never see his Samantha again. At the moment, the fact that she would be safe and free offered little consolation to the pain squeezing his heart.

She paused near the huge willow, her gaze riveted on the water, and his mind filled with the memory of standing beneath that tree the first day he'd come across her at the lake. He'd ached to kiss her, just once, believing a single taste of her would satisfy his appetite. He couldn't recall a time in his entire life when he'd been more wrong.

He watched her for a moment, his insides clenching when she briefly buried her face in her hands. Damn it, it killed him to see her so unhappy. The time had come to free her.

He dismounted then approached her on silent feet. Clearly occupied with her thoughts, he stood almost directly behind her before she detected his presence. Her shoulders stiffened and she appeared to draw a bracing breath.

'You are early, my lord,' she said, then turned around. A gasp escaped her, and she stumbled back a step, her hand flying to her throat.

He grabbed her upper arm to steady her. 'Do not be afraid, lass,' he whispered in his raspy brogue.

'I-I'm not afraid, sir. You merely startled me.'

'Forgive me. Ye were lost in thought.'

Even the darkness could not obscure the sadness that passed over her features. 'Yes.' She suddenly glanced quickly around. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him under the willow, concealing them behind a curtain of voluminous leaves. 'Why are you here, sir? It is dangerous for you to be about. The magistrate has new information-'

He pressed a gloved fingertip against her lips. 'I am aware of this information, lass. Fear not.' Moving a step closer to her, he whispered, 'Just now… were ye thinking about your upcoming marriage?'

She stared up at him, her eyes shining like two pools of distress. 'You know about my wedding?'

Before he could answer, an owl hooted nearby and she started, looking wildly about. 'I am supposed to meet my fiance here, and he is as intent upon capturing you as the magistrate. You must leave at once.'

'I wrote ye the note.' Her expression turned to surprise, then confusion. Her hand still clutched his, and he flexed his fingers, savoring the contact. 'Your wedding… 'tis the reason I am here, lass. To save ye from it.'

'Save me…?' Confusion filled her gaze, followed by stunned amazement as comprehension dawned. 'You're here to help me escape.'

'I offer ye the gift I've offered the other women, Miss Briggeham. Freedom from an unwanted marriage.' His voice grew raspier. 'Ye shall have all those adventures ye told me about.'

Her eyes widened to saucers. 'I… I don't know what to say. I must think on this. Logically.' Releasing his hand, she pressed her fingers to her temples and proceeded to pace in front of him with short, jerky steps. 'I never considered I'd have such an opportunity to free him. I hate the thought of leaving my family… but dear God, for me to disappear would certainly be the best thing for him. The best gift I could give him.'

A frown formed behind Eric's mask. ' 'Tis ye I'm seeking to free, lass.'

She paused in front of him. 'I understand. But it's actually Lord Wesley you'd be freeing.'

'What are ye talking about?'

Looking at the ground, she said, 'He is only marrying me because Society dictates he must.'

'He compromised ye,' Eric rasped in a harsh tone.

Her head jerked up. 'He did nothing I did not want… Nothing I did not ask him to do,' she whispered fiercely. 'Yet he is shouldering all the consequences by being forced into a marriage he does not want.'

'That ye do not want either,' he said, then waited for her to confirm it.

Instead, moisture that looked suspiciously like tears glistened behind her spectacles. Then, pressing her lips together, she averted her gaze. 'What makes you think that, sir? Indeed, I have to wonder why you're here. It never occurred to me that you would attempt to rescue me again as you only help unwilling brides.'

An odd feeling he could not name prickled through him. Touching his gloved fingertips under her chin, he gently brought her gaze back to his. 'That first night, ye told me ye had no desire to ever marry. Have ye changed your mind since then?'

A single tear trailed down her cheek. 'I'm afraid so.'

Confusion broke over him like a tidal wave. 'Are ye saying ye want to marry the earl?'

'More than anything.'

Bloody hell, he might have been more shocked in his lifetime, but he'd be hard-pressed to recall the time. 'But why?'

'Because I love him.'

Time seemed to halt, bringing his breath and his heart along with it. Her words reverberated through his brain like the echo in a cave. I love him. I love him.

By God, he hadn't thought he could be more shocked than when she'd said she wanted to marry him, but this… this knocked him sideways like a blow to the head. Damn it, he actually felt a strong need to sit down. But first he had to clarify a few things.

He grasped her by the shoulders. 'Ye love the earl,' he stated, thankful he remembered to speak in his raspy brogue.

'Completely.'

'Ye want to marry him.'

'Desperately.'

Elation flashed through him like a bolt of lightning.

'But,' she said, 'he doesn't wish to marry me. He's only doing so because he must. To save my reputation. He is kind and decent and honorable…' A sad half-smile curved her lips. 'Those are only a few of the reasons I love him so much.'

She drew a deep breath, then bobbed her head with a single, decisive nod. 'I would have tried my best to make him happy, to be a good wife, but you have given me the unexpected opportunity to free him.' A tremor ran through her, and her voice dropped to an aching whisper. 'Even though it breaks my heart to do so, I love him enough to let him go.'

He could do nothing but stare at her, emotions stabbing him from all sides, ambushing him like a brigade of bayonet-wielding soldiers. The enormity of her words, of what she was willing to sacrifice for him-her family, her entire existence-humbled him in a way that left him shaking. Overwhelmed.

'Samantha,' he whispered around the lump clogging his throat. 'God, Samantha…' Her name ended on a groan, and he hauled her into his arms and kissed her with all the passion and need hammering through him. She gasped, effectively parting her lips, and his tongue possessed her mouth with desperate demand. He crushed her closer, his arms wrapped around her like bands of steel. She melted against him with a low moan, returning his urgent kiss, and his blood pounded through his body.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Nothing existed except her… This woman in his arms. This woman he loved so much he trembled with it.

This woman who loved him.

Ending their kiss, he gently cradled her face… The unique, imperfect face that had captured him, fascinated him from the start.

Her eyes slowly slid open and their gazes collided. She blinked several times, then frowned. Very slowly she lifted her hand and touched his face. His masked face.

At that instant sanity returned, and he recalled where he was. Who he was.

Damn it to hell! What was he thinking? Obviously he wasn't thinking. But what the hell was she thinking? Kissing another man like that, seconds after she'd professed to love him.

He released her as if she'd turned into a column of fire and took two hasty steps backward. 'Forgive me, lass,' he rasped. 'I don't know what came over me.'

She simply stared at him, eyes round with shock, somehow managing to appear still as a statue yet limp as an overcooked noodle at the same time.

He braced himself, waiting for her outrage, for a barrage of angry words. But she merely looked at him with