His annoyance level notched up another step at the undeniable truth. But how the hell was he supposed to stay away from a woman who fascinated him? Charmed him? And all without an ounce of artifice or coyness or even effort on her part? A woman who wished to become his lover? He didn't know, but clearly lying in wait for her in the forest was not the way to dismiss her from his thoughts.

He'd simply give her the jar of honey. This was an errand of honor. He'd promised her the honey and give it to her he would. Then he'd immediately remove himself from her distracting presence. Yes, that was an excellent plan.

When she was only a few yards away, he stepped from beneath the low-hanging willow leaves, onto the path.

She halted and gasped. "Good heavens, Lord Wesley, you startled me."

"Forgive me. I did not mean to."

The most deafening silence he'd ever heard stretched between them. She twisted her bonnet ribbons between her fingers, clearly waiting for him to speak, but it was as if her presence rendered him witless. He simply looked at her, his question from yesterday echoing through his mind. Do you have any idea how close I came to making love to you? And her heartstopping reply. Do you have any idea how much I wanted you to? Good God, how had he managed to let her walk away?

Finally she cleared her throat. "Well, it was lovely seeing you again, my lord. If you'll excuse me…" She inclined her head then started to move around him.

He caught her arm as she passed him. "Wait. I wanted to give you this." He held out the jar of honey. "You forgot it the other evening."

A blush stained her cheeks, and he wondered if she was thinking about the heated kiss they'd shared after he'd given her the honey at his home.

She took the jar from him. "Thank you. I'll see to it that Mr. Timstone receives his cream. And now if you'll excuse me…" She tried to pull her arm away, but his fingers flexed, keeping her in place.

She peered up at him with a quizzical expression. "Was there something else, my lord?"

His eyes narrowed, and he studied her upturned face. There was nothing even resembling desire in her eyes, in fact, she was regarding him with nothing more heated than cool detachment. Bloody hell, she looked downright disinterested.

Damn inconsistent woman. One moment she wanted him as a lover, now it seemed she couldn't get away from him fast enough. His common sense told him this was good. Every other part of him rebelled against it. Why this sudden change? Even though he'd refused to become her lover, his desire had not lessened. Not one damn bit.

"Is something amiss at home, Miss Briggeham? You seem in a hurry."

"No, my lord. But there's a… project I need to start on as quickly as possible."

"What sort of project?"

She lowered her gaze, apparently fascinated by something on the ground. "Nothing that would interest you."

An acute sense of loss flooded him. She didn't want to share the details with him-details of a project that was clearly important to her, as she couldn't wait to get home to start on it. Hell, he hadn't anticipated that he would so sorely miss the easy camaraderie they'd shared. He should let her simply walk away.

But he couldn't.

Moving to stand directly in front of her, he tipped her chin up until their eyes met. "About our discussion yesterday…"

Crimson flooded her cheeks. "Have you changed your mind?"

Yes. "No." A scowl pulled down his brows. "But I was hoping that we could remain… friends."

Whatever reaction he'd expected from her, it certainly wasn't the flash of temper that ignited in her eyes.

"Friends?" she repeated, raising her brows. "Yes, I suppose we can remain friends. Lord knows I do not have so many that I can turn one away."

"Yet you're angry with me."

"No, I'm disappointed. However, I am angry at the situation I'm in. The same situation thousands of women are in. Because we're not beautiful or witty or heiresses-or for whatever reason-we are forced into celibate spinster-hood. Forced to live our lives without ever experiencing a man's touch." Sparks all but flew from her eyes. "A woman should be able to choose. Good lord, it's just as bad as being forced into an unwanted marriage."

He stilled. "It's not the same-"

"Yes, it is. It's exactly the same." Yanking her arm from his suddenly lax fingers, she stepped away from him. "The Bride Thief would understand."

His every muscle tensed. "The Bride Thief? What rubbish. He's nothing more than a common criminal, absconding with women who-"

"Have no choice. Who are being forced into a life they do not want." Her voice shook with feeling. "He gives women a choice. And offers them the priceless gift of freedom. 'Tis more than a woman like me shall ever have."

His heart ached for her, as there was no denying the truth of her words. Women's choices were severely limited. He, too, railed against such unfairness, but not in a way he could ever share with her.

Fisting his hands at his sides to keep from touching her, he said, "Even if the Bride Thief did understand, you'll never see him again."

The determined look she gave him snaked an icy chill of foreboding down his spine. "That's what you think," she said in a tight voice. Before he could recover himself, she brushed past him and stalked down the path.

He stared after her, stunned. Surely she was merely spouting nonsense in a moment of pique, as women were wont to do. But the instant the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. Samantha Briggeham was the most forthright woman he'd ever encountered. He couldn't imagine her making such a statement unless she believed it to be true.

Clearly she intended-or at the very least hoped-to see the Bride Thief again. Of course she couldn't very well accomplish that without his cooperation, but she did not know that.

Apprehension filled him. For her. And himself.

Bloody hell, what was she planning?

Chapter Twelve

By the time Eric arrived back at his stables, he still had not figured out what Miss Briggeham might be planning. Distracted, he dismounted and handed Emperor's reins to Arthur.

"We need to talk," Arthur said in an undertone.

His gaze snapped to Arthur's, and his heart thumped against his ribs as he instantly recognized the look in the older man's eyes. Eric nodded. "We'll meet in the usual place in half an hour."

Thirty minutes later, Eric entered the gazebo near the rear of the gardens. Arthur paced inside the marble structure, his weathered face taut with worry.

"I've heard word of another who needs help," Arthur said without preamble.

Eric leaned his hips against the balustrade and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm listening."

"Chit named Anne Barrow. Seems like the usual scenario, but…"

When Arthur didn't elaborate, Eric prompted, "Something is bothering you?"

"Well, I just think it's damned odd how I heard about it."

His gaze locked onto Eric's. "It seems Miz Sammie's the one wot started the gossip."

Eric froze. "I beg your pardon?"

"Surprised me, too, it did, 'cause Miz Sammie's not one to carry tales. But I heard it straight from Sarah, the Briggeham's cook. Told me Miz Sammie came into the kitchens this mornin' and told her about this Anne Barrow bein' forced to wed a horrid man, and wouldn't it be wonderful if the Bride Thief rescued her? Even went on to say how she would be traveling along a certain route two nights from now." Arthur scowled and scratched his head. "Damned odd if you ask me. Where do you suppose Miz Sammie would hear such a thing?"

"I'm not certain," Eric said slowly. "Has anyone else carried the tale to you?"

"No. And that's also strange. Story like this usually makes its way to me from several sources."

"Tell me exactly what Sarah told you."

Arthur obliged, then said, "This Bride Thief Posse is gainin' in numbers, and they're determined to catch ye. The magistrate, too. This whole story could be a trap. What are ye going to do?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I decide. In the meanwhile, quietly see what you can find out about this Anne Barrow."


Eric strode into his private study and immediately poured himself a brandy. Tipping back his head, he drained the potent liquor down his throat, enjoying the heated path it burned through his chilled insides. He poured another, then walked to the fireplace where he stared into the low-burning flames while his mind spun with questions.

Why had Samantha spread the news about Miss Barrow? By her own admission she wasn't interested in gossip. Had she merely stumbled upon the news, or been told by someone else and was simply passing it on? If so, why hadn't she told him when they'd spoken by the lake? Had a member of the ever-growing Bride Thief Posse told her the story, hoping to start the rumor as a trap for the Thief? Perhaps. Still, why use Samantha? It didn't make sense. Unless…

Had someone hoped she'd carry the tale to him? Did someone suspect him?

But if he were under suspicion, why hadn't someone brought the tale directly to him, to ensure he knew of Miss Barrow's plight rather than relying on the unpredictability of the gossip grapevine-especially if a trap was being set?

Setting his snifter on the mantel, he dragged his hands down his face and considered the other possibility… the one he'd pushed aside but could ignore no longer.

Had Samantha made up the entire tale as a way to lure out the Bride Thief so she could see him again? Could that be the "project" she'd spoken of? He recalled the words she'd spoken at the lake when he'd said she would never see the Bride Thief again. That's what you think. Damn it all, was there really a girl who needed rescuing or was it just a ruse? And if there was a girl in need, how did Samantha fit into the situation?