Continuing through the unfamiliar woods in the direction where he'd last seen her, he walked along, pausing every few minutes to strain his ears. After nearly a quarter hour, he halted at the sound of muffled voices in the distance. Crouching low, he moved cautiously forward. His heart jumped with relief when he spied Sammie sitting upon Sugarcane. His relief turned to excitement when he discerned a figure speaking to her-a masked man who could only be the notorious Bride Thief.

He had come! His gaze swept the area. A woman who was surely Miss Barrow stood by a coach, a traveling case clutched in her hands. A huge black horse stood near the side of the road. Based on what Sammie had told him, he deduced this was the Bride Thief's mount. His elation quickly turned to dismay when he realized the group was about to depart the area. He had to act immediately if he had any hope of testing his experiment.

Keeping one eye on the Bride Thief, he moved toward the black horse. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he opened the leather pouch clutched in his hand. He quickly sprinkled the contents over the animal's saddle, reins, and stirrups, then withdrew, hiding behind a dense clump of hedges.

Frustration mixed with exhilaration pumped through him. If only he'd had more time! Then he could have emptied his powder inside the Bride Thief's saddlebag and snipped a small hole in the leather to leave a trail he could follow. He cursed the failure of his original plan, but at least by spreading the powder as he did, he'd see if its long-term phosphorescent properties worked. And perhaps the Bride Thief might lead him to the cottage where he'd brought Sammie!

Seconds later the Bride Thief helped Miss Barrow into the saddle, swung up behind her, then led the way into the woods.

Making certain to keep Sammie in his sights, he followed behind the group. Disappointment filled him when after a time it became obvious they were heading toward Briggeham Manor, dashing his hopes of finding the Bride Thief's cottage. Fustian! Simply everything had gone wrong! Just before the woods thinned into the clearing that led to his house, the group stopped. On stealthy feet he moved closer.

"This is where we part company, Miss Briggeham," the Bride Thief said in a low, raspy brogue. "I thank ye again for your assistance and remind ye of your promise."

"And I thank you as well, Miss Briggeham," said Miss Barrow.

"God speed to you both," came Sammie's reply.

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than the Bride Thief turned his mount and raced with Miss Barrow through the woods. Seconds later the darkness swallowed them, and they were lost from sight.

Hubert watched a slow smile ease over Sammie's face, then she closed her eyes and blew out the sort of long, drawn-out sigh his other sisters usually heaved. She then headed toward the stables.

The instant she was gone from view, he dashed across the clearing toward the house. In spite of his experiment not going as planned, he was barely able to contain his excitement over his adventure. He'd actually seen the infamous Bride Thief! Heard his voice!

Would he also, by some stroke of luck, learn the Bride Thief's identity?

Chapter Fourteen

From the London Times:

The Bride Thief strikes again! The infamous Bride Thief's latest kidnapping two nights past answered the burning question, When will he strike again? Stolen was Miss Anne Barrow of Kent, betrothed of Mr. Lucien Fowler. Miss Barrow's coachman, Nigel Grenway, informed the magistrate that just before he fell victim to an inexplicable malady, a hooded figure appeared behind him, leading to speculation that the Bride Thief has an accomplice. The investigation has intensified, and the magistrate has vowed to bring the kidnapper, as well as any other involved parties, to justice.

In related news, the Bride Thief Posse reports that since allowing any man with a marriage-aged daughter to join their ranks, their membership has swelled to two hundred and is growing daily. The newest member is the latest victim's father, Mr. Walter Barrow. The reward now stands at nine thousand pounds.

Eric stared at the words that cramped his stomach: speculation that the Bride Thief has an accomplice. Tossing the newspaper onto his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose. An accomplice. Bloody hell. Had the coachman discerned, in spite of the darkness, that the hooded figure was a woman? Had he provided the magistrate with a description of Samantha?

Rising, he paced the length of his study. Damn it all, if this Grenway identified Samantha…

His gut knotted tighter and his hands fisted. Fear more potent than any he'd ever felt for his own safety pumped through him. He had to protect Samantha. But in order to do so, he needed to know what Grenway had told the magistrate. It seemed another conversation with Adam Straton was in order.

And based on the outcome of their talk, he'd then decide if he needed to provide Adam with some additional "helpful" information.

In the meanwhile, he-or rather the Bride Thief-had to warn Samantha to watch her words should the magistrate call upon her. He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing her earnest, concerned face as she'd helped him in the woods. He'd been at her mercy, and she easily could have turned him in. The reward on his head would have made her a wealthy woman. At the very least, she could have satisfied her curiosity and lifted his mask.

Instead she'd risked her reputation, her freedom, her very life to help him. To help Miss Barrow. He was furious with her. Frightened for her.

And so damn proud of her.

Frowning, he pushed that disturbing thought away. He needed to concentrate on the fact that she'd poked her nose where she had no business meddling. Yet one phrase kept running through his mind. What an incredible woman.

Blowing out a weary sigh, he raked his hands through his hair, avoiding the still-tender spot above his ear. Yes, she was incredible. But if the magistrate discovered she'd assisted the Bride Thief, she'd face criminal charges. Not so long as there's a breath in my body.

Stalking to his desk, he pulled a piece of vellum from the top drawer and prepared to write the most important letter of his life.


Sammie stood in the drawing room and stared at her name neatly scrawled on the thick ivory vellum. Somehow she knew the letter was from the Bride Thief. The unfamiliar, bold print. The way it had mysteriously appeared on the front step, as if left there by a ghostly hand.

With her heart beating in slow, heavy thumps, she broke the wax seal.


My dear Miss Briggeham,

I write to warn ye. The coachman has informed the magistrate that the Bride Thief may have an accomplice. I do not know if the man was able to offer any description of ye, but ye must prepare yourself for the possibility that the magistrate may call upon ye, either in reference to the other evening, or to question ye further regarding our first meeting.

For your safety, I remind ye of your promise not to attempt to aid me again. I also remind ye to destroy anything that could possibly link ye to the other evening. Needless to say, ye must bum this note as soon as ye finish reading it. Ye will be happy to know that our friend is safely on her way to a new life of freedom. Please take care of yourself.


There was no signature, but of course there was no doubt as to who had sent the note. Her eyes drifted shut, and she pressed the letter against her heart.

Miss Barrow was safe. And free. Embarking on a brand-new life rilled with adventure. Happiness, tinged with a pang of envy, filled her as she mentally wished the young woman a long, happy life.

The Bride Thief was also clearly safe, thank God, but for how long? A shudder ran through her as an image of him lying helpless on the ground flashed through her mind. He could have been killed. Or captured. She offered a silent prayer of thanks that the rescue had turned out successfully, but what if his next one did not? According to The Times, the Bride Thief Posse was growing daily, along with the price on the Bride Thief's head. How much longer could his luck possibly hold out? Her stomach turned over at the thought of that vital man swinging from a hangman's noose.

That vital man. An involuntary sigh escaped her lips as she recalled the feel of his solid shoulders and muscular arms. Warmth eased through her, and she pressed his letter closer to her heart. For the second time, he'd provided her with a grand adventure, the memories of which she'd always treasure. A heated blush rose up her cheeks when she thought of him gently touching her face with his gloved hand. He was tender and caring. Utterly heroic. Kind and gentle. Just like…

She blew out a long breath. Just like Lord Wesley. But just like the Bride Thief, Lord Wesley was lost to her-albeit for different reasons. The Bride Thief didn't want her help with his missions, and Lord Wesley simply didn't want her. At least not in the same way she wanted him.

The memory of their passionate kisses rushed through her, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. The sensation of his body pressed against hers, his hands caressing her breasts. All right, clearly he does want me, but unlike me, he is unwilling to undertake the risks involved. If only Lord Wesley were as daring as the Bride Thief!

Of course, Lord Wesley had offered her friendship, which was more than any other man had ever offered her. And while she would accept and cherish his friendship, a portion of her heart still wished for more from him. His kiss. His embrace.

But for right now, she needed to stop thinking about both Lord Wesley and the Bride Thief, and burn this incriminating letter. The vellum crinkled against her bodice and sadness swept through her. She hated to destroy her only memento of the man, but for safety's sake she must. By her own promise, she'd never see him again, a vow that lay heavy on her heart, but that she wouldn't break. She had to keep him, and herself, safe.