Dressed in her most comfortable blue walking gown and shoes, Sammie closed the front door behind her, then hurried down the sunlit flagstone porch steps. The sooner her visit with Eric was over, the better.

She'd only taken a half-dozen paces when her footsteps faltered at the unwelcome sight of the magistrate approaching. She remained in place, trying to appear outwardly calm, while her heart thudded painfully and surely loudly enough for him to hear. Why was he here? Did he have further news on his investigation, or more questions? Dear God, had he discovered the truth?

When he'd nearly reached her, she forced a smile. "Good morning, Mr. Straton."

"The same to you, Miss Briggeham. Are you on your way out?"

Deciding it was best if he not know her plans, she said, "Yes, as a matter of fact I am on my way to the village. If you'll excuse me." She moved around him, but he simply fell into step beside her.

"I have several questions to ask you. Perhaps you'd permit me to walk with you?"

As she had no intention of walking to the village, nor did she want to remain in his company that long, she halted and offered him a regretful smile. "I fear my mother would not approve of me walking such an extended distance with a man, unchaperoned."

"Of course." He looked around, then indicated a stone bench a short distance away, near the pathway leading into the garden. "Why don't we sit for a moment. I promise not to take too much of your time."

Suppressing the urge to refuse, she nodded her consent.

Once they were seated, Mr. Straton offered her a smile. "I trust all the arrangements are in place for tomorrow's wedding?"

Sammies stomach clenched, but she managed to return his smile. "Yes."

"Excellent. I'm relieved to know Lord Wesley's trip to London isn't because of some last minute problem."

Clearly her expression indicated her surprised dismay at this news, because he asked, "You didn't know the earl was in London for the day?"

For the day? How was she going to speak to him? "No, I did not know."

"According to his butler, the earl and his sister departed early this morning. I'd hoped you might know why they'd gone."

Sammie lifted her chin and met his searching gaze. "I'm sure I don't know. Perhaps Lady Darvin ordered a dress for the wedding. Or perhaps Lord Wesley wished to purchase a wedding gift for me."

"Ah, that is no doubt the case," the magistrate agreed.

"Tell me, Miss Briggeham, have you ever had the occasion to visit Lord Wesley's stables?"

A feeling of sick foreboding slithered through Sammie, and it required a great effort not to show her alarm. "No, however I'm certain they are very well run. I am acquainted with his stableman, Mr. Timstone, and he is very knowledgeable."

"Have you ever seen Lord Wesley ride a black stallion?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Dear God. She pursed her lips and pretended to ponder the question, then shook her head. "I've only ever seen him ride a brown gelding. A beautiful, spirited mount named Emperor." She curved her lips upward in what she prayed passed for an impish grin. "I'm hoping to cajole him into allowing me to ride the beast."

Mr. Straton merely nodded at her reply, his dark watchful gaze boring into her like a drill. An interminable ten seconds of dead silence passed. Unable to stand his scrutiny any longer, Sammie started to rise.

"If that is ail, Mr. Straton-"

"Actually, I have some news regarding the Bride Thief."

Sammie slowly sank back down, her stomach knotting. "Indeed?"

"Yes. New evidence has come to light, and I am confident I shall be making an arrest very soon. Hopefully within the next twenty-four hours."

Sammie actually felt the blood drain from her face.

Mr. Straton's eyes clouded with concern. "I say, Miss Briggeham, are you all right? You're looking quite pale."

"I… I'm fine. Your news simply surprised me." She moistened her dry lips. "So you've discovered the Bride Thief's identity?"

"We're following up on several promising leads. When the man strikes again, he will be apprehended, if not before." With that, he stood. Looking down at her, he made her a bow. "Well, I won't keep you any longer, Miss Briggeham. Enjoy the rest of your day. I shall see you at the church tomorrow."

Paralyzed with shock and numb with fear, Sammie remained on the bench, watching him saunter away in the direction of the village as if he hadn't a care in the world.

When he disappeared from view, she forced her watery legs to stand, then move with studied calm back toward the house. She had to appear relaxed and normal in case he watched her from the dense foliage and trees, waiting to see her reaction. A chill edged down her spine, and she indeed had the sensation that his intense gaze was upon her.

Mr. Straton clearly suspected Eric, and she greatly feared that her involuntary reaction to the magistrate's announcement regarding an imminent arrest might have furthered the man's suspicions.

She had to warn Eric. But how could she when he was in London? And how to do so without arousing suspicion? Mr. Straton no doubt planned to watch her, and Eric as well. She dared not send a note as it might get intercepted, nor did she dare go to Wesley Manor. Any effort of her part to contact him might be construed as suspect.

She pressed her hands to her rolling stomach. What on earth was she going to do?


Hidden behind a thick hedge, Adam watched Miss Briggeham walk slowly toward her front door. He raised his brows. Apparently she'd forgotten about her trip to the village.

She'd tried to act nonchalant at his questions, and indeed he had to give her credit for her fine performance, but he'd noted several flickers of fear in her eyes. And when he'd announced that he expected to make an arrest, her face had turned to chalk.

Yes, Miss Briggeham's reactions not only reinforced his suspicions regarding Lord Wesley, they led him to believe she knew, or at least suspected, her betrothed was the Bride Thief. Now all he had to do was prove it.

And a plan was forming in his mind of how to do just that.

Chapter Twenty-three

At ten that evening, Eric strode down the dark corridor toward his study, wanting nothing more than solitude and a stiff brandy. While he'd enjoyed Margaret's company on their outing to London, he was relieved to be home where he could be alone with his thoughts.

His thoughts. Bloody hell, Samantha had occupied them the entire day. On the coach rides to and from Town. While he'd awaited Margaret at the dressmaker's. As he'd secured passage for two aboard the Sea Maiden departing for the Continent the next evening, then again during his meeting with his solicitor, where he'd updated his Will to include provisions for her and any children resulting from their marriage-a marriage he wasn't certain would even take place.

He entered his study, closing the door behind him. Heading toward the crystal decanters, he halted halfway across the room at the sight of Arthur sitting in his usual chair, a tumbler of whiskey cradled between his work-roughened hands.

"We need to talk," Arthur said in a tone that set Eric's nerve endings on alert. Jerking his head toward the decanters, Arthur added, "Pour yerself a long one. Ye'll need it."

Twenty minutes later, with Arthur's disturbing words about Adam Straton's visit echoing in his ears, Eric poured himself a second hefty drink. Standing in front of the fire, he lifted his snifter in a wry salute. "Well, that's not particularly good news."

Concern flashed in the older man's eyes. "It's nothin' but bad news. The man is suspicious of ye. He'll be like a bloody dog with a bone, searchin' and pryin' til he sees ye swingin' from a noose. I think ye should take yerself on an extended trip. Somewhere far away."

"Actually, I've made plans to do just that. Under the guise of a wedding trip, I've purchased passage for Samantha and I to leave England after the wedding-provided she shows up for the wedding."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Right smart plan. Ain't unusual for yer class to be gone months on a weddin' trip. Years even."

"Exactly. I've made all the necessary arrangements, but I would ask that you keep an eye on Margaret for me. Make certain she settles in here and that she's… happy. Unless, of course, I'm still here."

"Ye know I will. But ye must leave no matter what-even if Miz Sammie leaves ye at the altar. Say ye're leavin' England to mend yer broken heart. The reason don't matter none, just so long as ye go."

"I can't do that. I couldn't leave Samantha to face the scandal alone. If she doesn't show up, I'll…" he dragged a hand through his hair and blew out a long breath. "Bloody hell, I don't know what I'll do. I'll just have to come up with another plan."

"They'll kill ye if ye don't leave." Tears glistened in Arthur's eyes. "I'll never forgive meself fer bein' so bloody careless, walkin' Champion that way. This entire mess lays on me."

Eric set his snifter on the mantel then crossed to Arthur. Crouching down until they were on eye level, he squeezed the distraught man's shoulder then pinned him with a steady stare.

"Stop blaming yourself. You had no way of knowing Straton was watching you. I've known and accepted from the beginning the consequences of my actions, and that is what they are-my actions. And I shall take responsibility for them. As for Straton, he can be as suspicious as he wants, but he can do nothing without proof. Even if he were to locate Champion's stall, that doesn't prove I'm the man he seeks."

"No, but the bastard could make yer life miserable. We'll have to make sure he finds no evidence against ye. And that means ye absolutely can't risk another rescue. Ever."

Eric nodded slowly, then offered what he hoped passed for an encouraging smile. "Agreed." But in his heart he suspected it was already too late.


The next morning Eric stood in an alcove tucked away to the right of the church's altar and glanced at his watch fob. Thirty minutes until the wedding ceremony was scheduled to begin.

Would Samantha show up?


Clutching the fob in one hand, he paced in the confining space. Would she show up-bloody hell, he'd asked himself that question a thousand times since he'd last seen her. The fact that she hadn't contacted him-did that mean she meant to marry him? Or that she'd cut him out of her life, scandal be damned?

Muted voices reached his ears and he parted the heavy green velvet drapes concealing the alcove enough to allow him to observe the gathering guests while remaining hidden.

It seemed as if every person in the village was turning up at the church to see the Earl of Wesley make Samantha Briggeham his countess. He scanned the growing crowd, noting Lydia Nordfield sitting on a long wooden pew, flanked by her daughters and sons-in-law. Arthur, Eversley, and a dozen long-time members of his staff occupied a rear pew.

His gaze roved over the crowd, noting names and faces, then settled on Margaret. She sat in the first pew, staring at her gloved hands clenched in her lap.

His heart twisted with sympathy and concern. She was no doubt thinking of her own wedding to that bastard Darvin. He considered going to her, but decided to give her some time with her private thoughts. Perhaps being here, in this church, was a good way for her to exorcise the demons haunting her.

He continued to hopefully scan the guests, but not one member of Samantha's family entered the church. Releasing the drape, he consulted his watch fob. Twenty-three minutes until the ceremony began.

Would Samantha show up?

Adam Straton walked toward the church, his heart pounding with conflicting emotions, his mind whirling. Last night, after observing Arthur Timstone head to the main house, he'd searched the Wesley stables. Noting that the building seemed longer on the outside than on the inside, he concentrated his efforts on the rear of the structure. Ten minutes later he located a cleverly hidden door. Pulling it open, he found himself in a spacious stall with a window fitted into the ceiling rather than the wall. Holding his low-lit lantern aloft, triumph pulsed through him. In the far corner stood the magnificent black horse.

There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Lord Wesley was the Bride Thief, but he needed more proof. He had no intention of arresting the man only to have him released due to a lack of evidence. And with any luck, that evidence would be presented to him within the hour. He slipped his timepiece from his waistcoat pocket, noting the time with satisfaction. His most trusted man, Farnsworth, was right now searching the earl's home. With Wesley Manor all but deserted while most of the staff attended the wedding, Farnsworth would hopefully locate the necessary evidence.