The Bride Thief

Adam's eyes narrowed on the man's retreating back. Although Timstone had been convincing, there was no doubt he'd lied. But why? Adam had seen the animal clearly, and no trick of sunlight had made that horse's coat turn from brown to black.

And somehow, this mysterious black stallion that Lord Wesley seemed not to own, had disappeared somewhere between the stable doors and its stall. Was it possible there was a stall he'd missed? No, he'd been quite thorough… unless there was a hidden stall somewhere behind a door. A stall no one was meant to see.

Adam's heart started to beat in slow, hard thumps as he allowed the full ramifications to fall into place. Why would Timstone lie about the horse unless he had something to hide… like perhaps the Bride Thief's mount? But if that black stallion did indeed belong to the Bride Thief, Adam could not envision Arthur as the man behind the mask. No, the Bride Thief was much younger and stronger…

A sense of shock stilled him. Good God, could Wesley be the Bride Thief? He tried to discard the possibility as ridiculous, but could not. Indeed, he could almost hear the puzzle pieces clicking into place in his brain. Wesley certainly had the financial means. His estate afforded him privacy. He was an expert horseman. And who would ever suspect him?

Adam recalled the earl's willingness to help in the investigation. Was it help-or sabotage? He exhaled a long breath and attempted to calm his racing thoughts. Had the man he'd sought all this time been practically under his nose? Was his investigation nearing an end?

His jaw clenched. Damn it, he'd always liked Wesley. Of course, like him or not, he'd bring the earl to justice if he proved to be the Bride Thief. His hands fisted at his sides at the thought of Margaret suffering the loss of her brother, and the idea that her name would be blackened by the scandal. If her brother hung and her name was besmirched, I could comfort her. I could-

He sliced the thought off, appalled at himself. He would never abuse his position as magistrate to further his own personal wants. Besides, Margaret would no doubt hate him for arresting her brother. But justice had to be served. And the Bride Thief had to be stopped. What he needed now was proof.

His gaze settled once again on the stables. Timstone stood in the doorway, watching him, and Adam raised his hand in a friendly wave. Timstone returned the gesture, and Adam forced his feet to move toward the path leading back to the village.

He needed to get into the earl's stables again, but he couldn't conduct the sort of search he needed to under Timstone's watchful eye. Tonight. I'll return after Timstone retires and see if I can't find that horse.

That decided, his thoughts drifted to Samantha Briggeham. Did she have any idea the man she was about to marry might very well be England's Most Notorious Man? She had, after all, been carried off by him that night. Had she recognized him?

He didn't know, but by God, he was going to find out. When he reached the fork in the path, he turned away from the village and headed toward Briggeham Manor.

Sammie sat at her usual place in the dining room and forced a forkful of breakfast into her mouth. It might have been eggs she chewed, but she wasn't certain. Her gaze drifted between Mama, Papa, and Hubert, and all she could think was that after today she did not know when, or even if, she would ever see them again.

A lump lodged in her throat and hot tears pushed at her eyes, and she quickly lifted her teacup in an attempt to hide her distress. Mama was chattering away about the wedding, her lovely face wreathed in smiles. Mama could be exasperating at times, but Sammie would miss her dreadfully. Her quick laugh, her antics, her chirping.

Her gaze wandered to Papa and warmth filled her. Papa who loved her even though he often didn't understand her, and possessed more patience than any dozen men combined-although he could hold his own with Mama when the need arose. As a child she'd loved to curl up in his lap with a book and listen to his deep voice as he read to her. When she was older, she and Papa would sit together in the drawing room on the overstuffed settee cushions and applaud enthusiastically after Lucille, Hermione, and Emily sang one of their many impromptu family concerts.

Her mind drifted to her sisters and her lips trembled. They'd shared so many wonderful times, so much laughter as they'd banded together to deflect Mama's more outrageous ideas, or when the three beauties good-naturedly tried to turn Sammie into the swan she would never become, heatedly defending her when others scoffed at her.

Sadness swamped Sammie that she would not share in the birth of Lucille's child, perhaps never know her niece or nephew.

Hubert asked Mama a question, his voice drawing Sammie's gaze to his serious bespectacled face. An ache such as she'd never known, squeezed her. Dear God, how could she bear leaving Hubert? She'd loved him from the moment he was born and had delighted in each stage of his development like a proud mother. And now look at him-a young man, so intelligent and full of promise. It broke her heart that she wouldn't see him grow into the wonderful man he was destined to become.

At least she would say a proper good-bye to Hubert. She'd considered not confiding her plans to him, but she simply could not face leaving without doing so. She'd tell him everything once her arrangements were in place. He'd proven he could keep a secret, and she trusted him implicitly.

Her thoughts switched to those very arrangements and what she needed to do directly after breakfast. A trip to London to secure her passage to… where she was not sure. It would depend on which ships were setting sail on the morrow. But before she headed to London, she planned to stop at Wesley Manor. She needed to inform Eric of her decision.

Her heart ached with loss at the prospect of calling upon Eric. It would take every last ounce of strength she possessed to say the words that would set him free… and then to leave him.

And when she arrived home from London, she needed to gather the belongings she wished to bring with her. Much of her wardrobe was already packed for what everyone believed would be her wedding trip, but there were her books, her journals, and personal mementos she could not bear to leave behind.

Mama's voice pulled her from her reverie. 'Don't you agree, Sammie darling?'

Sammie looked at her mother's beaming face and tried to smile, but failed completely. Instead her lips trembled, and to her mortification, a huge tear plopped into her teacup.

Mama's eyes filled with concern. 'Why, whatever is the matter, darling? Oh dear, it's those pre-marriage nerves.' Mama rose, and in a rustle of muslin walked quickly to Sammie's chair. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Mama said gently, 'Don't fret, Sammie. All brides feel unsettled the day before their wedding. But after tomorrow…' Mama heaved a blissful sigh. 'Your entire life will be different.'

Sammie squeezed her eyes shut to contain her tears, and leaned into her mother's comforting embrace. Indeed, after tomorrow her entire life would be different.

Dressed in her most comfortable blue walking gown and shoes, Sammie closed the front door behind her, then hurried down the sunlit flagstone porch steps. The sooner her visit with Eric was over, the better.

She'd only taken a half-dozen paces when her footsteps faltered at the unwelcome sight of the magistrate approaching. She remained in place, trying to appear outwardly calm, while her heart thudded painfully and surely loudly enough for him to hear. Why was he here? Did he have further news on his investigation, or more questions? Dear God, had he discovered the truth?

When he'd nearly reached her, she forced a smile. 'Good morning, Mr. Straton.'

'The same to you, Miss Briggeham. Are you on your way out?'

Deciding it was best if he not know her plans, she said, 'Yes, as a matter of fact I am on my way to the village. If you'll excuse me.' She moved around him, but he simply fell into step beside her.

'I have several questions to ask you. Perhaps you'd permit me to walk with you?'

As she had no intention of walking to the village, nor did she want to remain in his company that long, she halted and offered him a regretful smile. 'I fear my mother would not approve of me walking such an extended distance with a man, unchaperoned.'

'Of course.' He looked around, then indicated a stone bench a short distance away, near the pathway leading into the garden. 'Why don't we sit for a moment. I promise not to take too much of your time.'

Suppressing the urge to refuse, she nodded her consent.

Once they were seated, Mr. Straton offered her a smile. 'I trust all the arrangements are in place for tomorrow's wedding?'