"Hello?" he called, walking in farther. "Are you about, Timstone?"

Silence, at least of the human kind, greeted his query. Clearly Arthur had departed after settling the black horse in its stall, no doubt to the kitchens for a bite to eat. Well, he'd just snatch a look at the animal before walking up to the house to call upon Lady Darvin. With any luck the earl would also be home, and he could ask him about the black stallion.

Adam walked slowly through the stables, peering into each stall. When he looked into the last stall, he stilled. Lord Wesley owned some exceptionally fine horseflesh. But there was not a black stallion among them.


Lord Wesley's dour-faced butler opened one half of Wesley Manor's massive double oak doors in response to Adam's knock.

"May I help you, sir?" the butler asked.

Adam handed him his card. "I would like to speak to Lord Wesley or his sister, please. Both of them, if possible."

"I'm afraid it's quite impossible, Mr. Straton, as they left early this morning to travel to London for the day."

"I see. Do you have any idea when they plan to return?"

"No, however as the earl is scheduled to be married at ten tomorrow morning, I would assume they shall return prior to that time."

"Er, yes. Of course. Do you know the reason for their journey?"

The butler sniffed with clear disapproval at the question. "His lordship is not required to explain his comings and goings to the staff."

In other words, the servant didn't know. Or wasn't telling. Reaching out, Adam handed the bouquet of roses to the butler. "I brought these for Lady Darvin. To help her spirits."

The butler's stern countenance relaxed a bit as he took the roses. "That was very thoughtful, sir. I'll see that she gets them."

"Thank you, Mr…?"

"Eversley, sir."

"Tell me, Eversley, have you seen Arthur Timstone about? He wasn't at the stables, and I was hoping to have a word with him."

"If he's not in the stables, then he's most likely in the kitchen eating. Would you like me to fetch him?"

"Does he return to the stables after breakfast?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then don't disturb his meal. I'll walk back to the stables and await him there."

"Very well, sir."

Adam started to walk away, but then turned back. "One more thing, Eversley. Would you happen to know if the earl owns a black stallion?"

Eversley appeared startled by the question. "The horses are Timstone's area, sir, but I cannot say I recall ever seeing such an animal or the earl ever mentioning one."

"Thank you, Eversley."

The butler nodded, then closed the door. Frowning, Adam strode back across the expanse of perfectly manicured lawns toward the stables, determined to await Arthur Timstone's return. Something very odd was going on and he had no intention of leaving until-

A gruff voice hailed his name. Pausing, he turned and saw Arthur walking toward him. Excellent. He'd have his answers sooner than he'd anticipated.

"Mornin', Mr. Straton," Arthur said once the older man reached him. "What brings ye to Wesley Manor?"

"I'd intended to pay a condolence call upon Lady Darvin, but I was informed she and the earl traveled to London for the day."

"That's right."

"Do you know the reason for this trip? Or when they're expected home?"

"Don't know for certain, but I'd guess the earl went to buy some bauble or another for his bride and asked for Lady Darvin's assistance. Probably be home by dinner time."

"I see. I'd also hoped to ask the earl if he'd had any success with some inquiries he was making for me regarding an all-black stallion." Adam offered the man a friendly smile. "Has Lord Wesley located such an animal?"

"Not that he's mentioned."

"Indeed? Does he perhaps own such an animal?"

Arthur's face scrunched into a perplexed frown and he scratched his head. "A black stallion? No, sir. Lord Wesley has no such horse."

"A black gelding, then?"

"No, sir. Only pure black horse his lordship owns is a mare name of Midnight."

Adam shook his head. The horse he'd seen had most definitely not been a mare. "Perhaps the earl is boarding the stallion for someone? I'm speaking of the horse I saw you leading into the stables approximately thirty minutes ago."

Arthur's face cleared and he chuckled. "The earl don't take in no boarders, so ye must mean Emperor. I walked him about a bit before me breakfast. But yer eyesight's failin' ye, Mr. Straton. Emperor's coat ain't black, 'tis dark brown. An easy mistake to make. Sunlight and shadows must have played tricks on ye."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Well, if ye'll excuse me, I've a lot o' work to get to."

Adam smiled. "Of course. Have a nice day, Timstone."

"Same to ye, sir." The stableman departed, continuing across the lawn toward the stables.

Adam's eyes narrowed on the man's retreating back. Although Timstone had been convincing, there was no doubt he'd lied. But why? Adam had seen the animal clearly, and no trick of sunlight had made that horse's coat turn from brown to black.

And somehow, this mysterious black stallion that Lord Wesley seemed not to own, had disappeared somewhere between the stable doors and its stall. Was it possible there was a stall he'd missed? No, he'd been quite thorough… unless there was a hidden stall somewhere behind a door. A stall no one was meant to see.

Adam's heart started to beat in slow, hard thumps as he allowed the full ramifications to fall into place. Why would Timstone lie about the horse unless he had something to hide… like perhaps the Bride Thief's mount? But if that black stallion did indeed belong to the Bride Thief, Adam could not envision Arthur as the man behind the mask. No, the Bride Thief was much younger and stronger…

A sense of shock stilled him. Good God, could Wesley be the Bride Thief? He tried to discard the possibility as ridiculous, but could not. Indeed, he could almost hear the puzzle pieces clicking into place in his brain. Wesley certainly had the financial means. His estate afforded him privacy. He was an expert horseman. And who would ever suspect him?

Adam recalled the earl's willingness to help in the investigation. Was it help-or sabotage? He exhaled a long breath and attempted to calm his racing thoughts. Had the man he'd sought all this time been practically under his nose? Was his investigation nearing an end?

His jaw clenched. Damn it, he'd always liked Wesley. Of course, like him or not, he'd bring the earl to justice if he proved to be the Bride Thief. His hands fisted at his sides at the thought of Margaret suffering the loss of her brother, and the idea that her name would be blackened by the scandal. If her brother hung and her name was besmirched, I could comfort her. I could-

He sliced the thought off, appalled at himself. He would never abuse his position as magistrate to further his own personal wants. Besides, Margaret would no doubt hate him for arresting her brother. But justice had to be served. And the Bride Thief had to be stopped. What he needed now was proof.

His gaze settled once again on the stables. Timstone stood in the doorway, watching him, and Adam raised his hand in a friendly wave. Timstone returned the gesture, and Adam forced his feet to move toward the path leading back to the village.

He needed to get into the earl's stables again, but he couldn't conduct the sort of search he needed to under Timstone's watchful eye. Tonight. I'll return after Timstone retires and see if I can't find that horse.

That decided, his thoughts drifted to Samantha Briggeham. Did she have any idea the man she was about to marry might very well be England's Most Notorious Man? She had, after all, been carried off by him that night. Had she recognized him?

He didn't know, but by God, he was going to find out. When he reached the fork in the path, he turned away from the village and headed toward Briggeham Manor.


Sammie sat at her usual place in the dining room and forced a forkful of breakfast into her mouth. It might have been eggs she chewed, but she wasn't certain. Her gaze drifted between Mama, Papa, and Hubert, and all she could think was that after today she did not know when, or even if, she would ever see them again.

A lump lodged in her throat and hot tears pushed at her eyes, and she quickly lifted her teacup in an attempt to hide her distress. Mama was chattering away about the wedding, her lovely face wreathed in smiles. Mama could be exasperating at times, but Sammie would miss her dreadfully. Her quick laugh, her antics, her chirping.

Her gaze wandered to Papa and warmth filled her. Papa who loved her even though he often didn't understand her, and possessed more patience than any dozen men combined-although he could hold his own with Mama when the need arose. As a child she'd loved to curl up in his lap with a book and listen to his deep voice as he read to her. When she was older, she and Papa would sit together in the drawing room on the overstuffed settee cushions and applaud enthusiastically after Lucille, Hermione, and Emily sang one of their many impromptu family concerts.

Her mind drifted to her sisters and her lips trembled. They'd shared so many wonderful times, so much laughter as they'd banded together to deflect Mama's more outrageous ideas, or when the three beauties good-naturedly tried to turn Sammie into the swan she would never become, heatedly defending her when others scoffed at her.

Sadness swamped Sammie that she would not share in the birth of Lucille's child, perhaps never know her niece or nephew.

Hubert asked Mama a question, his voice drawing Sammie's gaze to his serious bespectacled face. An ache such as she'd never known, squeezed her. Dear God, how could she bear leaving Hubert? She'd loved him from the moment he was born and had delighted in each stage of his development like a proud mother. And now look at him-a young man, so intelligent and full of promise. It broke her heart that she wouldn't see him grow into the wonderful man he was destined to become.