There was no mistaking the gratitude in the half-smile Margaret offered her. "I shall look forward to our first lesson." She studied Sammie for several seconds, then said, "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that Eric took my advice."

"What advice is that?"

Margaret hesitated, then instead of answering, she asked, "Has Eric spoken to you about our parents?"

"No. I only know that your mother died when Eric was fifteen."

"Yes. She was very beautiful. And desperately unhappy." Her gaze bore into Sammie's. "Our father was a greedy, selfish man. He humiliated our mother with his indiscreet liaisons and gambling debts. He set impossibly high standards for Eric, yet would fly into rages when Eric exceeded his expectations. As for me, I was a useless girl, and therefore Father roundly ignored me… until he decided I was to marry Viscount Darvin, another greedy, selfish man whom I disliked from the moment I met him."

Sammie squeezed Margaret's hands. "I'm so very sorry."

"As am I. But because the two marriages Eric was most exposed to-our parents' and mine-were both unhappy, he'd convinced himself he did not ever want to marry. Even as a young boy, he found the idea of marriage distasteful, and when our mother died, he swore he would never enter into matrimony.

"Still, when I saw the way he looked at you, saw that he cared for you, I told him not to allow those two miserable marriages to destroy his future happiness." A smile curved her lips. "He took my advice, and I'm so very glad he did. He brought joy into what otherwise would have been a miserable childhood for me, and he deserves every happiness. He has always been a wonderful, caring brother. I'm certain he'll be the same sort of husband. And father."

Sammie forced herself to return Margaret's smile, but her insides churned with turmoil and guilt. Margaret clearly thought Eric had proposed out of an actual desire to have a wife. How horribly wrong she was. And only now did Sammie understand exactly how horribly wrong.

Dear God, he'd hated the idea of marriage his entire life! His deep-seated honor would bring him to the altar, yet the idea of marrying had to be torturous for him.

Now more than ever, she loathed the thought of trapping him.

But there was nothing she could do to free him.


Dressed for his final rescue in his black cape and mask, Eric sat astride Champion, concealed behind a wild thicket of bushes. Crickets chirped all around him, and an occasional owl's hoot sounded. He kept his gaze steadfastly trained on the path, refusing to look at the lake, unwilling to relive the memories the sight induced. He'd have the rest of his life for those memories… after she was gone.

At that instant, a figure rounded the bend. He could not distinguish the features, but he'd recognize that purposeful stride anywhere. As she drew closer, he noted her nondescript dark-colored gown with a wry half-smile. Only his Samantha would dress so plainly for an illicit rendezvous.

His Samantha. His lips compressed and a dull ache thudded in his chest. After tonight he would-never see his Samantha again. At the moment, the fact that she would be safe and free offered little consolation to the pain squeezing his heart.

She paused near the huge willow, her gaze riveted on the water, and his mind filled with the memory of standing beneath that tree the first day he'd come across her at the lake. He'd ached to kiss her, just once, believing a single taste of her would satisfy his appetite. He couldn't recall a time in his entire life when he'd been more wrong.

He watched her for a moment, his insides clenching when she briefly buried her face in her hands. Damn it, it killed him to see her so unhappy. The time had come to free her.

He dismounted then approached her on silent feet. Clearly occupied with her thoughts, he stood almost directly behind her before she detected his presence. Her shoulders stiffened and she appeared to draw a bracing breath.

"You are early, my lord," she said, then turned around. A gasp escaped her, and she stumbled back a step, her hand flying to her throat.

He grabbed her upper arm to steady her. "Do not be afraid, lass," he whispered in his raspy brogue.

"I-I'm not afraid, sir. You merely startled me."

"Forgive me. Ye were lost in thought."

Even the darkness could not obscure the sadness that passed over her features. "Yes." She suddenly glanced quickly around. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him under the willow, concealing them behind a curtain of voluminous leaves. "Why are you here, sir? It is dangerous for you to be about. The magistrate has new information-"

He pressed a gloved fingertip against her lips. "I am aware of this information, lass. Fear not." Moving a step closer to her, he whispered, "Just now… were ye thinking about your upcoming marriage?"

She stared up at him, her eyes shining like two pools of distress. "You know about my wedding?"

Before he could answer, an owl hooted nearby and she started, looking wildly about. "I am supposed to meet my fiancé here, and he is as intent upon capturing you as the magistrate. You must leave at once."

"I wrote ye the note." Her expression turned to surprise, then confusion. Her hand still clutched his, and he flexed his fingers, savoring the contact. "Your wedding… 'tis the reason I am here, lass. To save ye from it."

"Save me…?" Confusion filled her gaze, followed by stunned amazement as comprehension dawned. "You're here to help me escape."

"I offer ye the gift I've offered the other women, Miss Briggeham. Freedom from an unwanted marriage." His voice grew raspier. "Ye shall have all those adventures ye told me about."

Her eyes widened to saucers. "I… I don't know what to say. I must think on this. Logically." Releasing his hand, she pressed her fingers to her temples and proceeded to pace in front of him with short, jerky steps. "I never considered I'd have such an opportunity to free him. I hate the thought of leaving my family… but dear God, for me to disappear would certainly be the best thing for him. The best gift I could give him."

A frown formed behind Eric's mask. " 'Tis ye I'm seeking to free, lass."

She paused in front of him. "I understand. But it's actually Lord Wesley you'd be freeing."

"What are ye talking about?"

Looking at the ground, she said, "He is only marrying me because Society dictates he must."

"He compromised ye," Eric rasped in a harsh tone.

Her head jerked up. "He did nothing I did not want… Nothing I did not ask him to do," she whispered fiercely. "Yet he is shouldering all the consequences by being forced into a marriage he does not want."

"That ye do not want either," he said, then waited for her to confirm it.

Instead, moisture that looked suspiciously like tears glistened behind her spectacles. Then, pressing her lips together, she averted her gaze. "What makes you think that, sir? Indeed, I have to wonder why you're here. It never occurred to me that you would attempt to rescue me again as you only help unwilling brides."

An odd feeling he could not name prickled through him. Touching his gloved fingertips under her chin, he gently brought her gaze back to his. "That first night, ye told me ye had no desire to ever marry. Have ye changed your mind since then?"

A single tear trailed down her cheek. "I'm afraid so."

Confusion broke over him like a tidal wave. "Are ye saying ye want to marry the earl?"

"More than anything."

Bloody hell, he might have been more shocked in his lifetime, but he'd be hard-pressed to recall the time. "But why?"

"Because I love him."

Time seemed to halt, bringing his breath and his heart along with it. Her words reverberated through his brain like the echo in a cave. I love him. I love him.

By God, he hadn't thought he could be more shocked than when she'd said she wanted to marry him, but this… this knocked him sideways like a blow to the head. Damn it, he actually felt a strong need to sit down. But first he had to clarify a few things.

He grasped her by the shoulders. "Ye love the earl," he stated, thankful he remembered to speak in his raspy brogue.

"Completely."

"Ye want to marry him."

"Desperately."

Elation flashed through him like a bolt of lightning.

"But," she said, "he doesn't wish to marry me. He's only doing so because he must. To save my reputation. He is kind and decent and honorable…" A sad half-smile curved her lips. "Those are only a few of the reasons I love him so much."

She drew a deep breath, then bobbed her head with a single, decisive nod. "I would have tried my best to make him happy, to be a good wife, but you have given me the unexpected opportunity to free him." A tremor ran through her, and her voice dropped to an aching whisper. "Even though it breaks my heart to do so, I love him enough to let him go."

He could do nothing but stare at her, emotions stabbing him from all sides, ambushing him like a brigade of bayonet-wielding soldiers. The enormity of her words, of what she was willing to sacrifice for him-her family, her entire existence-humbled him in a way that left him shaking. Overwhelmed.

"Samantha," he whispered around the lump clogging his throat. "God, Samantha…" Her name ended on a groan, and he hauled her into his arms and kissed her with all the passion and need hammering through him. She gasped, effectively parting her lips, and his tongue possessed her mouth with desperate demand. He crushed her closer, his arms wrapped around her like bands of steel. She melted against him with a low moan, returning his urgent kiss, and his blood pounded through his body.