Of course, she must be mistaken. Why on earth would Lord Wesley want to kiss her? No doubt he'd simply been curious about her fragrance, wondering why she smelled like porridge.

But the way he'd looked at her… with that intense expression that had all but stolen her breath. Surely he hadn't meant to stand so close. No doubt he'd just wanted to stand more in the shade.

And what had she done? Acted like an utter idiot, rendered breathless and weak-kneed by his proximity, her heart pounding in anticipation, yearning for the touch of his lips on hers.

Embarrassment washed through her. Had he known? Had her longing shown in her eyes? She clapped her hands to her burning cheeks. He'd simply wanted to stand in the shade, and all her logic had scattered like ashes in a windstorm. Good heavens, what on earth had come over her? She did not know, but there was no denying that the man affected her in the most dismaying fashion.

Perhaps she shouldn't go to his home… out no, the lure of seeing a Herschel telescope was too strong. She couldn't deny herself or Hubert such a rare opportunity. And besides, Hubert would be with her to act as chaperone. There would be no reason for Lord Wesley to stand close to her, and therefore, logically, no reason for her heart to flutter or her breath to stall. She and Lord Wesley merely shared an interest in astronomy. Naturally she would feel a… kinship toward him. Why, it was really no different than discussing the stars with Hubert.

Satisfied with her logical explanation, she pushed off from the tree, then walked briskly down the path leading toward her house. With a sigh, she realized one possible problem with this visit to Lord Wesley's home would be Mama. She did not want her mother to misinterpret the earl's invitation as being anything more than what it was-a kind and generous gesture toward fellow enthusiasts to view a telescope made by the world's foremost living astronomer. Lord Wesley was simply being… amiable. In fact, he was so amiable, it was… alarming. Astonishing.

Yes, she'd have to be very certain that Mama understood there was nothing more to it than that. Otherwise she suspected that Mama's matchmaking mind would leap with impossible, hopeless thoughts.

And you yourself would do well to remember that they're hopeless, impossible thoughts.

Yet while that stern inner warning stiffened her spine, it did little to squelch the impossible longing that Lord Wesley's nearness had kindled in her heart.

Chapter Eight

"That's the third time ye've checked the mantel clock in the last ten minutes, my lord," Arthur Timstone noted in his husky voice from across the room. "Yer guests will arrive soon. Makes the time go slower when you watch it."

Eric turned from his position near the fireplace in his private study and looked at his faithful servant over the rim of his brandy snifter. Arthur was comfortably ensconced in his favorite chair next to Eric's mahogany desk, a half-filled tumbler of whiskey cradled between his work-roughened hands.

They met like this frequently in the evenings, sharing a drink while Arthur related any news he'd gleaned through the servant grapevine that might be of interest to Eric and the Bride Thief. Tonight, however, it seemed Eric himself was the focus of gossip.

"Quite a stir this invitation to Miz Sammie has caused at the Briggeham's," Arthur remarked. "Her ma is all a-twitter. She's already invited Missus Nordfield to tea tomorrow to discuss it."

Eric had suspected something of the sort might occur, but he was well-versed in the art of sidestepping match-making mothers. "There's nothing to discuss. I simply offered to show Miss Briggeham and her brother my telescope."

" 'Course that's all there is to it," Arthur agreed with a nod. "Anybody would be a fool to suggest ye'd be interested in Miz Sammie."

"Precisely. And both Cordelia Briggeham and Lydia Nordfield, along with everyone else, know damn well my long-standing views on marriage. They'd be fools to think I'd changed my mind."

"Bah, ye could shout it from the rooftops that ye've no wish to marry. Wouldn't matter to some. They'd just think it a challenge of sorts. They probably think ye're just bein' coy."

"Coy?" A bitter sound erupted from between Eric's lips. "After witnessing firsthand my parents' nightmare marriage, and knowing how unhappy Margaret is in hers, I've no intention of foisting such misery upon myself. And even if I were mad enough to consider marriage, I couldn't possibly subject a wife, or children, to the danger I face. If I were caught, their lives would be ruined."

"A wise decision," Arthur agreed. " 'Course them match-makin' biddies have no way of knowin' that reason." He savored a sip of whiskey, then expelled a contented sigh. "Still, it's mad for them to think ye'd want Miz Sammie. She's not the sort of woman to attract a man like you."

"No, she's not," Eric agreed in a harsher tone than he'd meant. He tossed back his brandy and immediately poured another.

"Still, with all the attention comin' her way, she might catch some gent's eye. Ye'd think there'd be one bloke with enough smarts to see beyond her spectacles." Arthur shook his head and muttered a disgusted sound. "But bah, these young pups want nothin' more than pretty faces, coy smiles, and simperin' giggles. Wouldn't know a special woman if she jumped up and bit their arse. And special, that's wot Miz Sammie is." He jabbed a thick index finger in Eric's direction. "I tell ye, if I were a few years younger and a gentleman, I might court her meself."

Eric's hand froze halfway to his mouth. Slowly lowering his snifter, he asked, "I beg your pardon?"

Arthur waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. "Don't concern yerself. I'm arse over heels for my Sarah. Still, a man'd have to be blind not to notice Miz Sammie's smile. Or how pretty her hair is. Or how those big eyes of hers sort of… glow. And smart as a whip she is, too. Took young Hubert under her wing, and thanks to her teachings, he's now sharp as a nail. Yes, there's more to Miz Sammie than wot most people see."

Eric leaned against the marble mantel in a relaxed pose completely at odds with the inexplicable annoyance pumping through him. "I didn't know you were so… aware of Miss Briggeham and her charms."

The instant the sharply spoken words left his lips, he knew he'd made a mistake. Arthur blinked several times, then leaned forward and peered at Eric. Eric tried his damnedest to keep his expression impassive, but clearly he failed because Arthur said, "I'm old, not blind. And I didn't know.you were aware she had any charms."

Eric raised his brows. "I'm neither old nor blind."

Arthur's expression slowly changed from confused to stunned. "Devil take me, surely ye're not casting yer eye at Miz Sammie!"

Eric opened his mouth to deny it, but before he could utter a word, Arthur's eyes rounded. "Damn it, boy, have ye lost yer mind? She's not the sort of woman for the likes of you."

Unexpectedly stung by the remark, Eric asked in a cool tone, "The likes of me? What does that mean?"

"Oh, get that stick out of yer arse. Ye know I love ye like a son. It's just that…" His eyes turned troubled and his voice trailed off.

Eric cocked a brow. "Clearly there's something you wish to say to me, Arthur. Why not simply say it-as you always have?"

Arthur downed a hefty swallow of whiskey, then met Eric's gaze. "All right. Why exactly did you invite her here?"

He didn't pretend to misunderstand what Arthur was asking, yet how could he explain what he himself didn't understand? Setting his snifter on the mantel, he tunneled his fingers through his hair. "I suppose I feel a certain responsibility toward her, to make certain she doesn't suffer any social backlash because of her kidnapping."

"She hasn't. I told ye, she's been highly sought after ever since."

"I know. But…"

"She's gotten under yer skin."

Their eyes met and understanding flowed between them. Understanding born of years of sharing, first as boy to servant, then young man to mentor, then as man to man. Friend to friend. Confidant to confidant. And what Eric had always felt for Arthur was more like son to father than anything he'd ever had with his own sire.

"Under my skin," Eric repeated slowly. "Yes, I'm afraid she has."

A long breath expelled from Arthur's lips. "Well split my windpipe." He leaned back against the leather chair and regarded Eric through shrewd eyes. "Be a shame if she got hurt."

There was no denying the hurt that pricked Eric. "Why do you suddenly harbor this ill opinion of me? I have no intention of hurting her."

"I hold ye in higher regard than anyone, and ye know it," Arthur said, his gaze sharp and steady. "Ye wouldn't mean to hurt her, but Miz Sammie's not like yer usual sort of woman. She's not one of yer sophisticated widows or experienced actresses."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Eric again raked his hands through his hair. "Bloody hell, you make it sound as if I'm bent on seducing the woman. It's disturbing and insulting that you'd even think such a thing. Do you not trust me?"

Arthur's fierce expression softened. Rising on creaking knees, he crossed the room to stand before Eric, then laid a warm hand on his shoulder. " 'Course I do. With my life. Ye're the finest man I know. But sometimes a man's judgment can get clouded. Even the most well-intentioned man. Especially if there's a woman involved."

Understanding and concern flowed from Arthur's gaze. "Miz Sammie… she's kind. Decent. Even to folks who snicker about her behind her back. And she's innocent. Just the sort of woman who might read more meanin' into yer attentions than ye mean." He leveled a look on Eric that seemed to penetrate to his soul. "Unless of course ye truly mean them?"