Jacquie ’Alessandro - The Bride Thief

Therefore, the only logical thing to do was to follow her without her knowledge. That way, he'd not only be able to protect her, but he'd have himself a grand adventure. And perhaps even learn the answer to the question that had haunted him since Sammie's kidnapping.

His gaze rested on the experiment he'd been working on for weeks. Would his idea work? He didn't know, but he'd find out tonight.

And if it did, he would discover the identity of the Bride Thief.

Sammie stood hidden behind a tall clump of bushes near the side of the road, running her hands gently over Sugercane's neck to keep her quiet. So far everything had gone according to plan. Her heart slapped against her ribs with such a wild combination of exhilaration and trepidation, she marveled that it simply didn't leap from her chest to land at her feet. Clouds obscured the moon, suiting her purposes perfectly. Crickets hummed nearby, and a gentle earth-scented breeze cooled her heated skin.

One way or another, within the next few minutes, Miss Barrow would be on her way to freedom. She drew several deep breaths, and a sense of anticipation tempered by calm purpose settled over her. She was doing the right thing. A young woman's life hung in the balance. Dancer was tethered to a tree several yards away, completely hidden from view. From her position behind the bushes, Sammie could see the road, but it would be nearly impossible for anyone to see her. Clutching her reticule, which contained the hat pin and all Miss Barrow would need, she peeked over the bushes and scanned the area around her.

Would the Bride Thief show up? A tingle raced through her at the thought of seeing the heroic adventurer again. For Miss Barrow's sake, she prayed he would. But if he did not, she would do her best to aid the woman.

Now all she could do was wait.

And pray all went well.

Dressed in his Bride Thief mask, cape, and gloves, Eric sat astride Champion, hidden behind a dense clump of tall hedges, all his finely honed senses on alert. The combination of exhilaration and caution that accompanied all his rescue missions pumped through him, making him keenly aware of his surroundings-for tonight there would be a rescue. According to the information Arthur had gathered, Miss Barrow's story was indeed legitimate.

He scanned the area, searching for any sound or movement, and even though he detected nothing amiss, his instincts warned him something was not quite right. Out of place. Before he could decide what was bothering him, he heard the approaching squeak of a carriage wheel.

Forcing his unease aside, he moved Champion forward through the shadows until he was in perfect position at the side of the road to dash in front of the coach when it rounded the bend-if indeed it bore the Barrow family insignia. The squeak grew ever closer, and Eric patted Champion's neck. "Get ready, my friend," he whispered. Champion laid his ears back in acknowledgment.

Eric leaned forward, every muscle ready, his eyes trained on the bend in the road. A coach drawn by a pair of matching bays came into view. He peered at the coat of arms on the door. It matched the description Arthur had given him. Drawing a deep breath, he set Champion in motion, expertly calculating his speed. When the coach pulled alongside him, he reached out and grabbed the reins from the startled coachman, then forced the coach to a halt.

Reaching inside his cape, he tossed his signature bouquet and attached note on the leather seat next to the coachman.

"Stap my vitals," the coachman said. "You're the bloody Bride Thief."

"Silence," Eric commanded in the Bride Thief's raspy brogue. "Cooperate and no harm will come to ye. Now I-"

His words sliced off as a movement across the road caught his attention. Turning, his gaze swept the area. Trees. Thicket. More trees. Wild hedges.

Samantha Briggeham peeking at him over the top of a bush.

His hands fisted in his gloves. Bloody hell, she was involved in this! But how? He didn't know, but by damn, he was going to find out. But first he had to deal with the coachman.

He turned his attention back to the man, and instantly cursed his grave error. In those few seconds he'd been distracted, the coachman had acted. He now wielded a stout wooden stick and his face bore a fierce expression. Eric tried to deflect the oncoming blow, but he was too late.

The stick slammed into the side of his head, the impact jarring him from the saddle. He landed on the road with a stinging thud, white-hot pain searing through him.

"Got you, you devil," he heard as if from a great distance.

Then blackness washed over him and he heard no more.

Sammie stood behind the bushes and watched in horror as the coachman swung a wooden stick and knocked the Bride Thief from his mount, rendering him senseless.

"Got you, you devil," the coachman said. "Try to steal me employer's daughter, will ye?"

The coach door rattled loudly and a muffled feminine voice came from within.

"Not to worry, Miz Barrow," the coachman called. "Ye're locked up in there good and tight. Yer Pa's orders." He reached under his seat and pulled out a length of rope. Jumping to the ground, he approached the still form of the Bride Thief. "I figgered ye might try to abscond with Miz Barrow, ye blackhearted thief, and I was ready for ye. And now I'll truss ye up all tidy, deliver ye to the magistrate, and collect meself that nice, fat reward wot's bein' offered for ye."

Sammie clapped her hands over her mouth to contain her gasp. If she didn't act quickly that dreadful man was going to turn the Bride Thief over to the authorities.

Grim determination filled her. She couldn't allow such a thing to happen. But with the coachman already binding the unconscious Bride Thief, there was only one way to stop him.

Opening her reticule, she carefully removed the hat pin Hubert had prepared. She then pulled up her hood to hide her face as much as possible. Holding the long pin in front of her like a sword, she crouched low and inched forward. The coachman was murmuring to himself, completely absorbed in his task of tying the Bride Thief's hands and feet with a sturdy piece of rope.

Keeping one eye on the coachman, she silently crept up behind him. Praying that Hubert's potion would work, she jabbed the pin into the man's buttocks.

"Ouch!" Dropping the ropes, he pressed his hand to his abused flesh and spun around. Sammie jumped to her feet and scooted backwards until her back bumped into the coach's door. The coachman's eyes narrowed on her, and he took two menacing steps forward. "Who the 'ell are you?"

Her heart pounding, she fumbled to hide the hat pin between the folds in her dark gown while her mind screamed Go to sleep!

As if he heard her silent plea, his eyes rolled back, his knees folded, and he crumpled to the ground, landing face up next to the Bride Thief. Sammie stared at the man for several seconds, her heart in her throat. Then she leaned over him. Soft snores emitted from between his lax lips and relief surged through her. By jove, Hubert really was a genius!

Moving swiftly, she dropped to her knees next to the Bride Thief and pressed her fingers to his neck. When she felt the strong thump of his pulse beating against her skin, she nearly swooned with relief. Before she could assist him, however, the coach door rattled once more.

"Please, let me out," came the cry from within.

Crawling to the coachman, Sammie slipped her fingers into his waistcoat pocket. She encountered cool metal and swiftly withdrew what she prayed was the correct key. Several seconds later she yanked open the coach door, and a wide-eyed, disheveled young woman stumbled out.

"Who are-?"

"Samantha Briggeham. Your coachman has injured the Bride Thief. I've temporarily disabled your man, but we must hurry."

Miss Barrow's gaze flew to the two fallen men. "Dear God. What can we do?"

Sammie walked swiftly to the pair and dropped to her knees next to the Bride Thief. "You work on untying him and I shall try to bring him around."

Without another word, Miss Barrow knelt beside the Bride Thief and applied herself to the knots binding his wrists. Sammie ran gentle hands over the silk mask that covered his head, pausing when she encountered an egg-sized lump just above his ear.

Alternately tapping his silk-covered cheek and gently shaking his shoulder, she asked, "Can you hear me, sir? Please wake up."

Eric heard a voice as if through a thick, pain-filled fog.

He slowly became aware of the sensation of gentle hands smoothing over his face. Touching his head. Running across his shoulders. He inhaled and smelled honey.

"Can you hear me, sir?"

Eric turned slowly toward her voice, a breath hissing between his teeth as shafts of pain ricocheted through his head. He forced his eyes open, then blinked several times, trying to align the trio of figures swimming before his eyes into one entity. When he finally succeeded, he found himself staring up into Samantha Briggeham's anxious face.

When his gaze locked on hers, she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second and exhaled. "Thank God you're all right." She offered him a tremulous smile, then added, "You've nothing to fear, sir. 'Tis I, your friend, Samantha Briggeham."

He tried to lift his head, but immediately thought better of it when a battalion of hammer-wielding devils set up an unholy rhythm in his temples. A groan escaped him.

She laid her palms against his chest. "Don't try to move yet. Rest for a few more moments."

"I've untied him," came an unfamiliar feminine voice. "How is he?"

"Coming around," Samantha said. "Why don't you use those ropes to bind the coachman in case he awakens?"