"My pleasure," came the soft reply.

Coachman? Were they out for a ride? "What happened?" he whispered. His tongue felt like shoe leather.

"Miss Barrow's coachman struck you." Her bespectacled eyes reflected grave concern. "Do you not remember? You were about to perform a rescue."

Rescue? He raised a hand to his pounding head. His leather glove rasped against silk, and his memory returned in a rush. Mask. Bride Thief. Rescue. Seeing Samantha across the road. Distracted. Coachman wielding a stick. And now sizzling pain shooting through his head.

Recalling to speak in his raspy brogue, he said, "I remember. Where's the coachman?"

"He's unconscious. Miss Barrow is tying him up."

A wave of dizzy nausea rolled through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut and drew in slow, deep breaths. She clasped his gloved hand with one of her hers, and continued to stroke soothing fingers over his masked face and shoulders. After a moment, the dizziness subsided and his wits returned-along with a heaviness that settled in his gut like a rock.

What an untenable mess this was. He had to get away from here as quickly as possible-Miss Briggeham and Miss Barrow as well-before the coachman regained consciousness and decided to unmask him and turn him over to the magistrate. Or before someone else happened along the road and decided to do the same.

Or had his identity already been discovered?

Opening his eyes, he looked directly at her. "Did the coachman remove my mask?"

"No."

Relief eased through him. "Did ye?"

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "No."

Some of the tension left his body. She didn't know who he was. Thank God. She squeezed his hand and he returned the pressure.

"Do not fear, sir," she whispered. "I shall see to it that no further harm comes to you." She laid her free hand along his masked jaw and offered him a gentle smile.

His eyes narrowed. She certainly was being solicitous of the Bride Thief. Holding his hand, touching him. Yes, she was being all too much familiar with his person, damn it.

"Do you hurt anywhere else?" she asked with a tender concern that rankled him.

Bloody hell, he hurt everywhere, but he'd be damned if he'd tell her. She'd no doubt offer to massage away all the Bride Thief's aches and pains.

"I'm fine," he rasped. "I want to sit up." After he pushed himself up onto his elbows, she grasped him by his forearms and helped him slowly move into a sitting position. The earth spun around him, and he held his head between his gloved hands, wincing when his fingers encountered an egg-sized lump. After a moment the dizziness passed, and he lowered his hands.

Moistening his lips, he whispered in his brogue, "Why are ye here?"

"The same reason you are. To help Miss Barrow."

"Did ye not trust me to do so?"

She pushed her spectacles higher on her nose, then gazed at him through serious eyes. "I would trust you with my life, sir. But Miss Barrow asked for my assistance. As I had no way of knowing if word of her plight would reach you, I had to be prepared to help her myself."

"And how did ye plan to do that?"

In a terse voice she outlined a plan that simultaneously filled him with admiration and fury. His gaze wandered to the sleeping coachman, whom Miss Barrow was still trussing up like a goose. Bloody hell, he wished he'd been awake to see Samantha stab the bastard in the arse. "Blast it, lass. Don't ye realize the danger ye put yourself in?"

"No more danger than you put yourself in, sir. I assure you I did not undertake this adventure without extensive, logical thought, and I carefully weighed the risks involved. But as you understand only too well, I could not ignore Miss Barrow's plea for help."

"But what if ye'd been hurt?" The thought of her injured, lying in the woods, at the mercy of that stick-wielding bastard or someone else, sent a tremor of fear and fury down his spine.

"I knew there were risks, of course. But as I'm sure you'll agree, the wanted outcome makes them worthwhile." She rose, then held out her hands. "Let's get you on your feet. Slowly now."

He grasped her outstretched hands and moved first to his knees, where he remained for a moment while another wave of dizziness hit him. Then with her assistance, he gained his feet. His knees wobbled a bit, and he braced his hands on her shoulders, closed his eyes, and drew deep breaths until his equilibrium returned.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice tight with concern.

He opened his eyes and gazed at her tense face. "Yes, lass."

"I'm so relieved. I nearly died when that horrid man struck you." A shy note entered her voice. "It was my honor to assist you, sir. I… I would gladly do so again."

His blood ran cold at her words. Good God, if he didn't take drastic measures, he could well imagine her donning a mask and cape of her own, trotting through the forest with a sack full of hat pins. Tightening his grip on her shoulders, he barely refrained from shaking her. "Your loyalty humbles me, lass, and you'll forever have my gratitude for rescuing me this night. But in truth, if it weren't for your interference, the rescue would have taken place without a problem."

A stricken look entered her eyes, and he knew he'd hit the intended mark. "I never meant-"

"It matters not. Your presence distracted me, affording the coachman the opportunity to strike me. 'Twas a mistake that could well have cost me my life."

Her eyes widened with unmistakable horror and a sheen that, damn it all, looked suspiciously like tears. Guilt gnawed at him for being so hard on her, and unable to stop himself, he reached out and trailed his gloved fingertips down her cheek. "It could have cost ye your life as well, lass. I'd never be able to bear the guilt if harm befell ye. I want your promise that ye won't try to help me in my mission again. 'Tis far too dangerous."

"But-"

"Your promise, Miss Briggeham. I'll not leave here until I have it."

She hesitated, then jerked her head in a stiff nod. "Very well, I promise. But I want you to know…" She slowly reached up and laid her hand against his masked cheek. "I hold you in the deepest admiration."

Warmth washed through him, and it required all his will not to turn his face and press his lips to her honey-scented palm.

"And the deepest affection," she added softly.

He froze as if she'd thrown a bucket of icy water over him. Affection? And not just any affection, but the deepest affection? Bloody hell, he didn't want her holding another man in the deepest affection-even if that man happened to be him!

Miss Barrow joined them and he forced his unreasonable, not to mention annoying, jealousy aside. "Is your coachman securely bound?" he asked the young woman.

She cast a look of disgust down at the man. "Yes, sir."

"Do ye still wish for me to help ye to escape, Miss Barrow?"

"More than anything, sir."

"Then we must be off. Gather any belongings ye wish to bring." He turned to Samantha. "Fetch your mount and the horse ye brought for Miss Barrow."

As they did as he bid, he walked to where Champion stood several yards away and reassured himself the stallion was uninjured. He then returned to where the coachman lay. He bent down, wincing at the pain in his head, and checked the coachman's bindings. A humorless smile touched his lips. Miss Barrow had indeed tied up the bastard tightly.

Miss Barrow emerged from the coach carrying a small traveling case. "Wait right there," he instructed her. He then turned to Samantha, who was emerging from the woods leading two mounts. "Miss Barrow will ride with me. Ye lead your other horse, and I shall accompany ye back to the woods near your home."

"No," she protested, accepting his hand up into the saddle. "You must be off."

"And I shall be. As soon as I see ye safely back to your home. 'Tis more than an hour's journey, much too far for ye to travel alone, especially at this time of night. I'll not argue with ye, lass."

A disgruntled sound came from her throat. "Then at least take this." She pressed her reticule into his hand. "It contains the funds and passage aboard the Lady Seafarer I'd arranged for Miss Barrow." He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed it more firmly into his hand. "Please take it. It would mean a great deal to me to be able to help her."

It took all his strength not to pull her into his arms and kiss her. "I've made my own arrangements for Miss Barrow. Since it is your wish, I shall give her the funds, but I will destroy the ticket. I want no evidence that could lead back to ye. And when ye return home ye must make certain ye destroy anything that could implicate ye. Do ye understand?"

"Yes."

"Then let us be gone."

He strode to Champion, and after assisting Miss Barrow into the saddle, swung himself up behind her. He then turned Champion around and led the way into the forest, heading back toward Samantha's home.


Hubert jabbed his spectacles higher on his nose and resisted the fierce urge to kick a tree trunk in frustration. What had started off as a grand adventure had somehow turned into an utter fiasco. Based on the information provided in Miss Barrow's letter, he knew where he was supposed to eventually be, but unfortunately he hadn't a clue how to get there.

How could he possibly have lost sight of Sammie? One minute she'd been no more than ten yards ahead of him, and the next she was gone. As if she'd vanished into a puff of smoke.

Irritation rippled through him. Dash it, how was he to protect her if he couldn't find her? And how could he hope to test his experiment to discover the Bride Thief's identity? He simply had to find her.