Jacquie ’Alessandro - The Bride Thief

The problem. Yes, that's what she was to him. An acute sense of loss washed through her, coupled with an almost insane desire to laugh. She'd never thought she'd find a man to love, and what happened when she did? He was two men-and while she admired his courage and believed fervently in his cause, she clearly didn't really know him. Or did she? His entire life was based on lies, and he'd deceived her from the start. How could she possibly love such a man? Yet in her heart, she knew she did. She rubbed her throbbing temples with her fingertips, in a vain attempt to dispel some of her confusion.

"It would work, Samantha," he said, his voice jerking her back.

She slowly shook her head, inching away from him. "I need time to think. I have no idea who you are. And obviously you had no intention of ever telling me. Or did you? Would you ever have told me the truth?"

His gaze bore into hers, and silence stretched between them for nearly half a minute before he shook his head and said, "I do not know, but for your own protection… probably not."

"I… see." Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. Then, raising her chin she whispered, "I said things to you, the Bride Thief you, that I would not have had I known to whom I was really speaking. I truly do not know who you are, but I do know that you are not the man I thought you were. Either of you." A bitter, humorless laugh nearly choked her. "My God, I don't even know who I'm talking to."

Gathering the last fragile remnants of her control, she drew a shuddering breath. "I must go." She started to walk from underneath the tree.

He grasped her arm. "Samantha, wait. I cannot let you leave like this. We must talk."

She tried to jerk from his hold, but could not. "I have nothing to say to you. Not now. I want, I need to be alone. Away from you. So I can think. Decide what to do." The tight rein she'd held on her emotions slipped another notch. "I gave everything to you. My respectability, my innocence." My heart. My soul. "Let me leave without surrendering my dignity as well. Please."

He slowly released her arm. "I will be at the church the day after tomorrow."

Choking back a sob, she inched away from him. "I'm afraid I cannot promise the same." Without another word, she lifted her skirts and walked away, her strides quickening with each step until she ran as if the devil pursued her.

Eric stood rooted to the spot and watched the darkness swallow her running form. His mind screamed to go after her, but he honored her request, her broken words branded in his brain. I gave everything to you.

No, Samantha, I took everything from you. Self-hatred battered him, and he sank to his knees, the moist earth seeping through his breeches. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rested his forehead on his clenched fists. How the hell was it possible to feel so numb, yet hurt so excruciatingly bad at the same time?

Somehow, without looking for it or even realizing he'd wanted it, a treasure had miraculously been handed to him. A woman who touched him deeply, profoundly, in parts of his heart and soul he hadn't known existed.

But like a handful of sand, he'd let Samantha slip through his fingers, although, in truth, nothing he could have done would have stopped their inevitable parting-except never going near her in the first place. Bloody hell, what a selfish bastard he was! He'd had no right to want her, to touch her, to love her, knowing he couldn't offer her the sort of future she deserved. If he'd left her alone, another man, one without a price on his head, might have courted her. Fallen in love with her and married her.

A bolt of white-hot jealousy streaked through him at the mere thought of another man touching her. She was his, damn it. But the choice had to be hers. Would she come to the church and marry him? A bitter laugh rose in his throat. Are you mad? Why would she marry a man she viewed as a liar? One who would no doubt hang and embroil her in scandal? If I were her, I'd simply want to settle in a new life, as far away from me as possible. Well, if that was what she wanted, he'd do everything in his power to make it happen.

The decision was out his hands. All he could do now was wait. She was better off without him, but his selfish heart prayed she would show up for their wedding.

Sammie did not stop running until she entered her bedchamber. Closing the door behind her, she stumbled to her bed and crawled under the covers, aching all over like a wounded animal. She curled into a tight ball and finally allowed the tears to flow. She'd never known it was possible to hurt so much, as if her heart had been ripped from her chest, then tossed on the floor.

Burying her face in her pillow to muffle her sobs, she cried until her gritty eyes were nearly swollen shut, her mind replaying every minute she'd spent with Eric, punctuated with silent screams of liar!

But as dawn broke and tentative shafts of sunlight filtered through her window, she breathed out a long, weary sigh. After hours of soul searching, she could not fault Eric for his lies. He'd done what was necessary to protect himself. Her feelings toward the Bride Thief, her deep admiration for his courage and commitment to his cause, remained unchanged. And in a moment of harsh self-honesty, she admitted that it was thrilling to know that the man she loved was in truth the masked hero.

The man she loved. Humiliation hit her again. The man she loved had risked his life to give her freedom. Or was it more to free himself? Did it really matter? Nothing could change the fact that he harbored a deeply ingrained repugnance toward marriage. He'd never wanted to marry, and while she tried to take comfort in the fact that he'd never wanted to marry anyone-not necessarily her in particular-it was cold comfort indeed.

If Eric had wanted her, she would have sacrificed anything to marry him. Instead he'd offered her freedom, thereby freeing himself. Freedom was the one thing he wanted, and she was the only person who could give it to him.

And that was exactly what she planned to do.

Immediately after breakfast, she would begin making arrangements. She would purchase her own passage abroad, would prepare to leave her home forever.

There would be no need for him to wait at the church tomorrow.

From the London Times:

With the Bride Thief Posse growing daily and expanding their extensive search, and with the price on his head now at fifteen thousand pounds, the Bride Thief is as good as dead.

Adam Straton walked briskly along a little-traveled path running along the west perimeter of the village, which led into the dense forest that marked the rear boundary of Lord Wesley's vast property. He tried to enjoy the cool, morning air, but his nerves were far too rattled by the prospect of his errand. Pausing before entering the forest, he attempted to quiet his conscience.

He really shouldn't cut through Lord Wesley's property, but… He glanced down at the bouquet of roses clutched in his hand and grimaced. If he didn't take this shortcut, the flowers he'd purchased for Lady Darvin would be wilted, not to mention strangled. Immediately his nerves jangled, and his better judgment and common sense fired a few more volleys in the battle they'd waged ever since he'd purchased the flowers in the village a half hour ago. Drawing a determined breath, he strode into the forest.

He had no business calling upon Lady Darvin, claimed his better judgment. But his common sense scoffed. Of course he should call upon her. They were Mends. Acquaintances of long standing. There was absolutely no reason not to visit her. Especially in light of their conversation, when she'd revealed the depth of her unhappiness. He was merely a concerned friend making sure she was all right.

His better judgment snickered. Merely a concerned friend? Then why was his heart slapping against his ribs and his stomach tied in knots at the prospect of seeing her? Why had he spent his weekly laundry budget on roses instead of his clothing? And why did the idea of her unhappiness fill him with an overwhelming need to make her smile?

Because, you beef-witted booby, common sense chimed in, you're hopelessly in love with her.

Adam halted on the path and raked his free hand through his hair. He absolutely should not call upon her, but he had to know if she was all right. He nodded decisively. Yes, it was his duty to visit her. In fact-

A slight movement in his peripheral vision halted his thoughts and he turned. Peering through the trees, he observed a man leading a black horse toward Lord Wesley's stables. Moving closer to allow himself a clearer view, Adam recognized the man as Arthur Timstone, the earl's stableman.

He did not, however, recognize the horse. It might have been a gelding, but judging by its height and restless manner, he decided the animal was most likely a stallion. In fact, as he watched Arthur calm the horse then lead him into the stable, he was certain.

A frown pulled at Adam's brow. To the best of his knowledge, Lord Wesley did not own such an animal. Of course, the earl might have recently purchased the beast.

His pulse jumped as he considered another possibility. Had Lord Wesley perhaps located this animal in his effort to assist in the Bride Thief investigation? The horse certainly matched the description of the Bride Thief's mount. Excitement raced through him, and he immediately headed toward the stables, intent upon speaking to Arthur.

When he arrived slightly out of breath at the large wooden structure, he stepped inside the doorway. It took his vision a moment to adjust to the shadowy interior. When it had, he noted that the Wesley stables were vast and immaculate.