The Bride Thief

about.' She gently eased her hand from his. 'I'd best go offer my congratulations. Would you care to join me?'

Before he could reply, he heard a discreet cough behind him.

'Begging your pardon, Mr. Straton, but I need to speak with you.'

Adam's every muscle tensed as he recognized Farnsworth's voice. Offering Lady Darvin a bow, Adam said, 'I'll be along in a few moments.'

She inclined her head, then moved past him, walking toward the crowd of well-wishers. Once he was certain she could not overhear, he turned to Farnsworth.

'Well?' he asked.

Farnsworth pulled a piece of black material from his pocket and handed it to Adam. 'I found this in Lord Wesley's bedchamber, sir. Behind a hidden panel under his desk. No question it's the Bride Thief's mask.'

Adam stared at the black silk mask. In his hands he held the evidence he'd sought for five long years. He now had everything he needed to arrest the Bride Thief.

Sammie and Eric no sooner rounded the corner after their passionate kiss than Mama descended upon them.

'There you are, darling!' She engulfed Sammie in a rib-squeezing hug that Sammie nonetheless relished, as it would be the last time she felt her mother's arms around her. 'I'm so happy for you,' Mama said with a sniffle. Then into Sammie's ear she whispered, 'I'm sorry we didn't have time to discuss… you know what, but I'm certain the earl will know what do to.'

Stepping back, Mama dabbed her eyes with a lacy handkerchief and emitted a trio of chirping sounds. She glanced quickly about, but obviously realizing that no benches were in 'fainting' distance, Mama drew a deep breath and recovered herself. Indeed, she lit up like a dozen candles when Lydia Nordfield and her daughter Daphne approached, both women wearing similar puckered expressions.

'Lydia!' Mama exclaimed. She embraced her nemesis with an enthusiasm that brought a wince to Mrs. Nordfield's already pinched features. Leaning back, Mama's face became the personification of concern. 'Now don't you worry, Lydia. I'm certain Daphne will find a nice gentleman. Someday.'

A choking sound erupted from Mrs. Nordfield, and the smile she leveled upon Mama was glacial. Mrs. Nordfield and Daphne then offered Sammie stilted best wishes. The woman's narrow-eyed gaze bounced between her daughter and Sammie several times. Sammie bit the insides of her cheeks to hide her amusement, for she could almost hear Mrs. Nordfield saying, If Samantha Briggeham can become a countess, surely my Daphne can become a marchioness or a duchess.

'Perhaps if you had spectacles, Daphne dear,' Mrs. Nordfield mused as she led her pinch-faced daughter away. 'They do have a certain charm…'

Hermione, Lucille, and Emily came next, and Sammie embraced them each in turn, committing their glowing faces to her memory. How was it possible to feel such sadness and such joy at the same time? Such regret for the times they would not share, yet such anticipation for the future?

Papa followed, kissing both her cheeks. 'Always knew some lucky fellow would find you, Sammie. I told your mother so.' He patted her on the head as if she were his favorite hound, then moved on.

And then Hubert stood before her. They'd already said their good-byes earlier this morning, and although she smiled at him, tears still misted her eyes. Reaching up, she tousled his unruly hair, and their gazes met. His Adam's apple bobbed, and a lump lodged painfully in her throat.

Sadness lingered in his eyes, but his lips curved upward in a lopsided grin. He then wrapped her in an awkward, bony hug and their spectacles smacked into each other. Laughing, they separated.

'Nice show, Sammie,' he said, adjusting his glasses. 'You're the most beautiful countess I've ever seen.'

Swallowing her melancholy, she laughed at him. 'I am the only countess you've ever seen.'

'Well, I've seen a great many countesses'-interjected Eric-'and I must agree with Hubert. Beautiful.' Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, his dark eyes sending her a message that shot heat down to her toes.

Hubert moved on, and what seemed like an endless stream of well-wishers followed. Finally Margaret stood before her, extending both her hands. 'We're officially sisters now,' she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. 'And you're officially a countess.'

Sammie squeezed her hands and smiled to hide her sorrow that she would not have the opportunity to get to know Margaret better. 'Indeed we are sisters. And good heavens, I am a countess-a prospect I find a bit… daunting.'

Margaret shifted a quick glance at her brother, then offered Sammie a genuine smile. 'Not to worry. You have already mastered a countess's most important task. You've made the earl very, very happy.'

Sammie felt Eric's warm hand at her back. 'Indeed she has,' he said.

She watched Eric hug his sister, her heart tugging when his eyes squeezed shut to savor what would be their last embrace. She turned to the next person waiting to extend best wishes.

Adam Straton stood before her. Another man she did not recognize stood next to Mr. Straton. She judged Mr. Straton's companion to be in his mid-thirties, well-built, with dark blond hair, and a tight-lipped, serious air. Both men appeared tense, with no signs of well-wishes in their gazes. Their attention was riveted on Eric, who was smiling down at his sister.

Sammie's heart started drumming in slow, hard thumps, dread spreading through her with each beat, while her stomach seemed to fall like a dead weight to her feet. Forcing what she hoped passed for a cordial smile, she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, Mr. Straton spoke to Eric.

'Would you mind stepping inside with me for a moment, Lord Wesley? My man Farnsworth here and I need to speak to you. Privately.'

Eric and the magistrate exchanged a long look, then Eric nodded slowly. 'Of course.' He slid his arm around Sammie's waist and gave her what she guessed was supposed to be an encouraging squeeze. Leaning down, he brushed a kiss across her cheek. 'Don't ever forget,' he whispered in her ear, 'how much I love you.' He released her, and she bit her lips together to contain the agonized No! threatening to spill from her throat.

Fingers of ice-cold fear clutched her, freezing her as the trio of men entered the shadowy church interior and disappeared from her view.

'I wonder what that is all about,' Margaret murmured.

Sammie's stomach heaved with panic.

She suspected she knew.

With his heart pounding at thrice its normal speed, Eric stood in the vicar's office and regarded Straton and Farnsworth with studied detachment. After several seconds of silence, Eric crossed his arms over his chest and raised his brows. 'What did you wish to discuss with me?' he asked, injecting a bit of impatience into his voice.

Straton slowly pulled a piece of black material from his pocket and handed it to Eric. The familiar smooth silk felt cool against his palm, in complete contrast to the heated sense of dread thumping through him. Keeping his expression carefully blank, he asked, 'What is this?'

Farnsworth cleared his throat, drawing his attention. 'It is the Bride Thief's mask. I found it hidden in the desk in your bedchamber, my lord.'

The words reverberated in his mind, and he clamped his jaw to contain the anguished roar threatening to erupt. Not now! Not when he'd just been handed happiness on a golden platter. Not when he and Samantha were so close to escaping.

Not when he had so much to live for.

He shifted his gaze to Straton, expecting to meet a hard-edged stare. Instead, the magistrate was looking out the window with an expression that Eric could only describe as troubled. Following his gaze, Eric realized Straton's attention was riveted on Margaret, who stood alone, a short distance away, in the shade beneath a huge oak tree.

With his hands clenched, one fist crumpling the soft silk, Eric stood still as a statue, every muscle tense as he waited to be arrested. There was no refuting the evidence in his hand, and he even had to give Straton and