"And how do people respond to that?"

"The men ask about his horse and whether or not he carried any weapons. And those two nincom-I mean, Misters Babcock and Whitmore-wished to know the details of how the gentleman tied his cravat."

Suppressing a smile, he asked, "And the ladies?"

"They heave sighs and ask such silly questions as 'was he handsome?' or 'was he strong?' or 'what color were his eyes?'"

"I see. And what do you tell them?"

"That his mask completely hid his features. And that he was very strong. He scooped me off the ground as if I weighed no more than a sack of flour."

You barely do, my dear. "How do you answer about his eyes?"

"I tell them it was too dark to tell. But his eyes were intense. And glowing with intelligence. And commitment to his cause."

"It sounds as if the brigand made quite an impression on you."

She halted, then turned to face him squarely, blue fire igniting her eyes. "He is not a brigand, Lord Wesley. He is a man committed to helping women in need, in spite of the risk to himself. He has nothing to gain and everything to lose by his unselfish actions. Dare I be so bold as to say that if more people were like him, the world would be a much better place, indeed."

Indignation, like her smile, did wonderful things to Miss Briggeham. Becoming color flushed her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell with her deep, rapid breaths. Her magnified eyes burned like blue braziers, filling him with the urge to slip her spectacles from her nose to observe that fire without any obstacles.

"In fact," she continued in a heated whisper, "I would dearly love to help the man in his noble cause."

Pleasure that she believed his cause noble filled him, but the feeling was quickly replaced by foreboding. Help the man? Bloody hell, what was she thinking? Whatever it was, he needed to discourage her. Immediately.

Forcing his voice to remain even, he asked, "How could you possibly help him?"

"I don't know. But if there was something I could do, I pledge I would."

"Don't be ridiculous, Miss Briggeham," he said more sharply than he'd meant to. "The man and his outrageous escapades are dangerous. It is preposterous for you to consider involving yourself with him."

The frigid look she leveled at him clearly indicated that he'd said the wrong thing and that their earlier companion-ability was severed. All vestiges of warmth disappeared from her eyes, and an acute sense of loss washed over him. "I'm only thinking of your welfare," he said.

"Do not concern yourself, my lord." Her frosty tone matched the chill in her gaze. "I am quite capable of looking after myself. And allow me to congratulate you. Your method of questioning me was much more clever than most." She performed an awkward curtsy. "I bid you good evening."

He stood, rooted to the spot, watching her hurry by several wandering couples on her way from the gallery. He could not recall ever having been so summarily dismissed. And if he had, it certainly wasn't by a woman. And he certainly couldn't remember anyone, save his father, looking at him with such disdain. Clearly, in her opinion, he was no better-albeit more clever-than all the other people who had sought her company solely to glean information about the Bride Thief, a fact that filled his chest with an odd, hollow ache.

Her pledge to help the Bride Thief echoed through his mind, and his hands fisted at his sides. Bloody hell, she couldn't possibly be contemplating trying to find the Bride Thief and offer him her assistance… Could she? While he didn't fear that any efforts on her part to locate the Thief would prove successful, he did worry that she might do something that could prove potentially dangerous to herself. He well knew the dangers involved in what he did.

He raked his hands through his hair and blew out a frustrated breath in an attempt to calm the unease coursing through him. On the bright side, Miss Briggeham had clearly not suffered any social repercussions as a result of his kidnapping blunder. Indeed, she was experiencing her first taste of popularity-which, although she may not like it, was certainly preferable to being ostracized.

Yes, all had worked out well for Miss Briggeham, and he'd been fully prepared to cease worrying about her… until she'd voiced her ridiculous pledge. He gave himself a mental shake. What could she possibly do? Nothing. She was simply making a statement, the way many women did.

Only instead of declaring that she'd dearly love to own a twenty-carat diamond, Miss Briggeham wished to help the Bride Thief. They were just words spoken in the heat of the moment. They meant nothing.

Precisely. Now he could stop thinking about her. About her huge aqua eyes that reflected a fascinating combination of intelligence, innocence, seriousness, mischief, and vulnerability. The fact that those eyes had last looked at him with chilled disdain instead of warmth unsettled him in a way he could not name… but he could forget that.

Just as he could forget those incredible lips, along with her curvaceous figure, both more suited to a practiced courtesan than a country miss.

Exiting the gallery, he caught sight of her heading toward the foyer, her mother at her heels.

Still, perhaps he should see Miss Briggeham one more time. Just to ascertain that she'd meant nothing by her comment. Yes, that was an excellent idea. He'd make a point to call on her within the next week.

Maybe even tomorrow.

Chapter Six

The morning after Mrs. Nordfield's soiree, Sammie sat at her escritoire, leafing through the ivory pages of her private journal-the place where all her secret fantasies lived. She paused at an entry dated three months earlier.


He was the most beautiful man I'd ever beheld, yet his beauty had little to do with his handsome features and manly physique. There was a kindness in his eyes, and a generosity in his spirit that attracted me-that and the fact that he overlooked faults that others did not. Indeed, he claimed it was those traits that others viewed as odd that so endeared me to him. He gazed at me as if I were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Love shone from his eyes, warming me, but something else filled his gaze… a dark longing that sent heat rippling down my spine.

He gently touched my face, and his hands trembled, as did mine. Slowly he lowered his head until his mouth hovered just above mine.

"You're everything I've always wanted," he whispered against my lips, his breath beating softly against my skin. Surely he could hear my heart pounding, for it was about to burst from my chest.

His mouth brushed softly across mine, and my pulse soared as if on wings. He then gathered me in his strong arms, tucking my head beneath his chin. "I love you, Samantha. I want us to travel the world and share exciting adventures together."

I breathed in his wonderful scent and nodded my agreement. I'd found the man of my heart.


Sammie heaved a deep sigh, then gently closed her journal. Had she really been that naive only three short months ago? Of course, three months ago, nary a gentleman had been interested in her. Now, however, she realized how silly and utterly unrealistic her fantasies were.

Based on what she'd observed so far, a man such as the one she'd created on the pages of her journal simply did not exist. While properly polite, at least to her face, none of the gentlemen now bestowing attention on her appealed to her. None wished to discuss meaningful topics, and there was no mistaking the glazed look in their eyes when she attempted to do so. And even while they brought her punch and conversed with her, it seemed as if they looked through her-until they brought the conversation around to the Bride Thief. Then their attention focused on her like a specimen under a microscope.

But none of them were interested in her. In what she thought or felt. None appeared to share her zest for adventure, or her thirst for knowledge. If they did, they clearly didn't choose to discuss such topics with her. Her mind had always told her as much, but in the deepest recesses of her heart, she'd always cherished a kernel of hope…

Only on these vellum pages did she dare reveal her secret longings. Foolish, silly dreams that would never come true, but still, she couldn't stop them from invading her mind. And her heart. So rather than fight her yearnings, she recorded them, pouring out all her unfulfilled dreams of love and adventure, re-reading them on those long lonely nights when sleep eluded her.

Her sisters and Mama would be stunned if they knew that her logical, practical thoughts wandered in such a manner, and she was careful not to let them know. She couldn't bear to see their beautiful faces filled with well-intentioned but unwanted pity, knowing that "poor Sammie" would never live out any of her cherished dreams. Or find a man who embodied all her feminine imaginings… a man who loved adventure. Nature. Animals. Science.

Her.

Yes, growing up with three gorgeous sisters, she knew the futility of her longings. Gentlemen admired beauty above all else. And if a woman was not blessed with a lovely face, she at least had to possess feminine talents such as conversation, fashion sense, musical and dancing ability, and a pleasant singing voice.

No, there wasn't a man alive who would overlook all her resounding flaws. But he existed in her mind, and in her journal, and she would continue to write about him there. And dream…

With lingering thoughts of adventure wandering through her brain, an image of the Bride Thief flashed through her mind, bringing with it a warm tingle. Now he was a man who could inspire daydreams of adventure. For the first time in her life, she avidly read the Society pages in The Times, looking for word of him. The fact that a group of men had formed the Bride Thief Posse was most disturbing, and with a veritable fortune now being offered for his capture, the danger the Bride Thief faced increased significantly. Had he rescued any more women? Was he safe? She'd prayed for his safety every night before retiring, asking the Lord to watch over him.

She'd carefully worded her replies to the probing questions everyone from the magistrate to the neighbors had asked her, partly because she did not wish to say anything that could endanger the Thief, but also because her heart simply couldn't share all the wonderful, enthralling details of their short time together.

The Bride Thief. Yes, there was no denying he embodied many of the qualities her fantasy gentleman possessed. She would never forget the brief time she'd spent with him, the thrilling exhilaration of dashing through the dark forest with a man who seemed more mythical than real.

Yet he was flesh and blood, and impossible questions nudged at her. What was he like under the mask? Where did he live? Her imagination conjured up a hidden fortress, and she nearly laughed aloud at her fanciful thoughts. Of course she'd never know, but she did know he was a man to admire… a man of strong convictions and moral fiber. Certainly not the brigand so many people wished to cast him as. People such as Lord Wesley.

Her brows collapsed into a frown. For reasons she could not explain, her thoughts had circled back to the irritating man a dozen times since their meeting last evening. She'd easily dismissed all the fops she'd encountered… Why hadn't she forgotten him?

Perhaps because he'd discussed topics other than fashion and the weather with her. Or the fact that he'd made her laugh. Perhaps because she'd actually enjoyed his company before their awkward parting. Before he'd proven himself to be no different than any of her other false admirers.

But no matter. She would most likely not find herself in Lord Wesley's company again. After all, except for last evening, she hadn't seen him in years. Even though her family enjoyed prominence in Tunbridge Wells, the earl's social world orbited far above hers. She knew from Mama that the earl spent most of his time in London. No doubt pursuing all manner of debauchery, as the nobility was wont to do.

Yet, while so many others gazed upon her with speculation and shrewd glances, there had initially been something in Lord Wesley's eyes-an unexpected warmth, a surprising kindness-that had put her at ease. And had attracted her.

She drew in a sharp breath. Attracted? Heavens, no! She most certainly was not attracted to that man! Of course any woman would find him physically… pleasing, but a handsome face meant nothing. Not when one was arrogant and presumptuous and claimed her desire to help a noble man was "preposterous."