Jacquie ’Alessandro - The Bride Thief

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.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Nothing existed except her… This woman in his arms. This woman he loved so much he trembled with it.

This woman who loved him.

Ending their kiss, he gently cradled her face… The unique, imperfect face that had captured him, fascinated him from the start.

Her eyes slowly slid open and their gazes collided. She blinked several times, then frowned. Very slowly she lifted her hand and touched his face. His masked face.

At that instant sanity returned, and he recalled where he was. Who he was.

Damn it to hell! What was he thinking? Obviously he wasn't thinking. But what the hell was she thinking? Kissing another man like that, seconds after she'd professed to love him.

He released her as if she'd turned into a column of fire and took two hasty steps backward. "Forgive me, lass," he rasped. "I don't know what came over me."

She simply stared at him, eyes round with shock, somehow managing to appear still as a statue yet limp as an overcooked noodle at the same time.

He braced himself, waiting for her outrage, for a barrage of angry words. But she merely looked at him with tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, and whispered one word.

"Eric."

Sammie had to fight to pull a breath into her lungs. The edges of her vision blurred, and for an instant she actually believed she might faint.

This masked man standing in front of her, the Bride Thief, was Eric. There was not a trace of doubt. The instant he'd pulled her into his arms, her body, her mind had recognized him.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to apply logic, but her brain seemed frozen. How was this possible? Why? She needed to ask him, but she could barely form a coherent thought, let alone speak.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, standing motionless, swathed from head to toe in black, only his eyes and mouth uncovered. Even so, now that she knew the truth, she recognized him instantly. His height, the breadth of his shoulders, his commanding air. How could she not have realized the truth sooner? Because you had no reason to believe he was anything more than what he appeared. You had no reason to suspect he was lying to you.

And indeed, that one fact pushed its way through the morass of thoughts jumbling her brain. He'd lied to her. Repeatedly.

Anger smacked her like a two-fisted blow, and she nearly reeled from the impact. Clenching her hands at her side, she approached him on shaking legs.

"Take off that mask," she demanded, proud that she managed to keep her voice steady.

When he hesitated, her anger turned to full-blown fury, and for the first time in her life she had to fight the urge to hit someone. Unable to completely suppress the impulse, she jabbed his chest with her index finger. "I know it is you behind that mask, Eric. I would recognize your kiss, your taste, anywhere. Take. It. Off." She punctuated her demand with three more sharp jabs to his chest.

They stared at each other for what felt, to Sammie, like an eternity. Finally, he reached up and slowly pulled off the black silk that covered his head and face.

Shock sizzled through her even though she knew she'd see Eric's face. He watched her, his dark hair mussed from the confines of the mask, his countenance unreadable. Silence stretched between them until she felt as if her head would explode.

Fighting to control the tumult roiling through her, she asked, "Can you please explain this to me?"

"What more do you wish to know?"

"More? I know nothing! Except that you've deceived me."

He stepped toward her, and she backed away from him. A frown creased his brow, but he ventured no closer. "Surely you can understand the necessity to protect my identity, Samantha."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Only Arthur Timstone. And your brother."

She felt as if the ground moved beneath her feet. "Hubert? "

"He followed you the night I rescued Miss Barrow and sprinkled a special powder he'd concocted on the Bride Thief's saddle and stirrups. When I-Lord Wesley-came to your home the next day, my boots and saddle still bore traces of his powder. I couldn't deny it when he confronted me with such irrefutable evidence."

She locked her knees to keep from sinking to the ground. "I cannot believe he did not tell me."

"I asked for his word to keep my identity a secret. If I'm discovered…"

His voice trailed off and an image of him with a noose around his neck flashed through her mind.

"You shall hang," she finished for him, her stomach churning at the mere thought. "You know I believe strongly in your cause, but what made you-?" But even as she started to ask the question, the answer came to her. "Your sister," she whispered. "You told me someone you loved was forced to marry-"

"Yes. I failed to save her. But there were so many others I could help." He raked his hands through his mussed hair. "But now, with the magistrate's investigation tightening, it seems I shall have to retire."

"Yet in spite of the danger, you came here tonight."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Yes."

The significance of that trickled into her brain, slowly at first, then gaining momentum until it galloped at her full speed. A half-laugh, half-sob rose in her throat, and she forced her lips together to contain the cry. She'd known he hadn't wanted to marry her, but God in heaven she hadn't suspected the lengths he would go to to keep from doing so. In spite of the threat he faced from the magistrate and the Bride Thief Posse, he'd risked his life to offer her freedom.

And by freeing her, he would liberate himself.

Eric looked down at her, trying to make sense of his wildly conflicting emotions. She loved him. He briefly squeezed his eyes closed as warmth coursed through him, and he savored the incredible feeling. A series of images flickered through his mind, of what their life might have been like… sharing their love, making each other's dreams come true, raising their children.