The front doors of Briggeham Manor flew open. "My baby! Where's my baby?" Cordelia Briggeham rushed down the steps and pushed her way through the crowd. She launched herself at Sammie with such force, she nearly propelled them both to the ground. Only Papa's restraining hand kept them upright.

Enveloping Sammie in a bone-jarring, floral-scented hug, Mama moaned, "Oh, my poor, poor child." Thrusting Sammie back a step, she peered into her face. "Are you hurt?"

"No, Mama. I'm fine."

"Thank heavens." She emitted a single chirp and raised her hand to her brow.

Papa stepped forward and whispered in a furious undertone, "Do not even consider swooning here, Mrs. Briggeham, as I swear I'll leave you where you fall. I've had quite enough of your hysterics for one evening."

Mama couldn't have looked more shocked if Papa had claimed to be King George himself. Taking advantage of her temporary speechlessness, Papa raised his voice and said to the crowd, "As you can all see, Samantha is fine. Thank you all for coming, but now if you'll excuse us, we wish to get our daughter into a warm bed."

Calling out good wishes, the neighbors departed for their homes, and the servants returned to their quarters. As they climbed the stone steps leading to the front door, a man on horseback rode up.

"Mr. Briggeham?" he called out.

Papa halted. "Yes?"

"My name is Adam Straton. I'm the magistrate. I understand your daughter was kidnapped by the Bride Thief."

"Indeed she was, sir. But I am happy to report that she has been returned to us, unharmed." He indicated Sammie with a nod of his head.

The magistrate studied Sammie with keen interest. "That is happy news, sir. I've never known the brigand to return one of his victims. You are fortunate."

Sammie bristled at the man's words, but before she could open her mouth to protest, he continued, "I'd like very much to speak to you about your abduction, Miss Briggeham… if you're feeling up to it."

"Certainly, Mr. Straton." She relished the opportunity to disabuse him of his misconceptions. Brigand, indeed!

"Why don't you show Mr. Straton to the drawing room, Charles," Mama suggested in a voice mat brooked no argument. "Samantha and I will join you in a moment. I'd like a private word with her."

"Very well," Papa agreed. "This way, Mr. Straton." They entered the house, closing the door behind them.

The instant they were alone, Mama turned to her. "The truth now, dearheart. Did that man hurt you? In… any way?"

"No, Mama. He was a perfect gentleman, and very kind. And very apologetic for absconding with me in the first place."

"As well he should be, although I must say that I lay the blame for this entire episode at Major Wilshire's feet. He's a horrid, horrid man, darling, and I refuse to allow you to marry him."

Sammie tried to speak, but Mama rushed on. "Now don't try to talk me out of this, Samantha. My mind, and your father's as well, is quite made up. You will not, under any circumstances, wed that cad Major Wilshire. Do you understand?"

Totally at sea, but knowing better than to argue, especially when she wasn't going to wed the Major, Sammie said, "Er, yes, Mama. I understand."

"Excellent. Now I have one more question before we go inside." Mama leaned closer and lowered her voice. "I've read all about this Bride Thief in The Times. They say he wears all black like a highwayman, and a full-head mask as well. Is that true?"

"Indeed it is."

A delicate shiver shook Mama's shoulders. "They also say he is strong and ruthless."

"He's very strong. But not ruthless." An involuntary sigh escaped her. "He's gentle and thoughtful and noble."

"But a thief."

Sammie shook her head. "He does not steal money, Mama. He has plenty of his own. He wants only to help women who are being forced into unwanted marriages to be free to start new lives, because someone he loved was forced to marry a man she loathed."

Mama heaved out a long breath. "As noble as that sounds, darling, the fact remains that you spent several hours in a man's company. Unchaperoned. We must face the fact that you could suffer social ruin."

Sammie didn't know what to say, as she hadn't considered such an outcome to her adventure. While she didn't particularly care how others viewed her, she had no desire to foist scandal upon her family. Heavens, this could indeed present a problem.

She looked at Mama, and dread slithered down her spine at the grim speculation in her eyes. Sammie knew that expression all too well. It was Mama's infamous "there-must-be-a-way-to-turn-this-debacle-to-my-advantage" gleam that invariably preceded her most outrageous schemes. She could almost hear the thoughts whirling through her mother's pretty head.

"You must join your father and Mr. Straton, Sammie. I'll be along in a moment. I need to collect myself."

"Shall I fetch your hartshorn?"

"No, I'm quite all right." She cradled Sammie's cheek in her warm palm. "I simply need a bit more air to gather my wits. You go, and I'll be in shortly."

Sammie kissed her mother's soft cheek, then entered the house, praying that whatever plan Mama might hatch would prove less disastrous than the Major Wilshire scheme.


Alone on the stone steps, Cordelia paced rapidly and prayed for inspiration. How on earth she was going to keep this botched kidnapping from turning into a scandal that could ruin the family, she didn't know. How could she possibly shed a positive light on these events? Her daughter abducted by the most notorious man in England? In his company, unchaperoned, for several hours? Ye gods, her head ached just thinking about it. And the thought of Lydia's reaction sent a chilled shiver through her. What on earth was a mother to do?

Staring off into the distance, where the moonlight caressed the fringe of trees marking the edge of the forest, she wondered about the man who had stolen Sammie.

She pursed her lips. According to Sammie he was gentle, thoughtful, and noble. And possessed plenty of money.

Perhaps he was a kidnapper-but he was clearly a decent kidnapper. And wealthy. Hmmm.

She couldn't help but wonder if he was married.

Chapter Four

From the London Times:

The Notorious Bride Thief has struck again, absconding with a young woman from the village of Tunbridge Wells in the county of Kent. This time, however, the Thief actually returned the young lady after realizing he'd kidnapped her in error. The woman, who was thankfully unharmed during her ordeal, showed great fortitude when questioned by the authorities. She was unable to provide a description of the Thief, as he wore his full head mask, but she did reveal that his voice was low-pitched and raspy, and that he is a superior horseman.

In related news, a group of fathers of previous kidnap victims have banded together, dubbing themselves the Bride Thief Posse. They have upped the price of the reward for the Thief's capture to an incredible five thousand pounds! Every man in England will be in pursuit of such a fortune, and no stone will be left unturned to bring the Bride Thief to justice.

"There you are, Lord Wesley!"

Lydia Nordfield's high-pitched voice scraped over Eric's eardrums, and he forced himself not to wince. Cursing the night shadows that obviously hadn't concealed him as well as he'd thought, he emerged from the darkened corner of the terrace and made his way across the stone surface toward his hostess. He couldn't help but marvel at Mrs. Nordfield's extraordinary eyesight, although he suspected that not even the most daunting circumstances, such as utter darkness, could prevent her from spotting a member of the nobility.

He stopped in front of her, making a formal bow. "You were looking for me, Mrs. Nordfield?"

"Yes, my lord. We barely spoke when you arrived."

"Ah, you need not fear I took offense. I understand the demands of hosting an elegant soiree such as this." He waved his hand in an arc, encompassing her manor home and the perfectly manicured gardens. "You've outdone yourself."

She all but preened like a peacock-a resemblance made all the more pronounced by the colorful feathers fanning from her turban. "After our conversation last week, I simply had to host a soiree for Miss Briggeham." She leaned closer to him, her feathers brushing his sleeve. "As you suggested, Miss Briggeham's botched abduction is the most titillating on dit we've heard in years, especially after the article in The Times!"

"Indeed, madam. By hostessing this soiree in her honor, you are the toast of Tunbridge Wells."

Even the shadowy light could not disguise the avarice that flashed in her eyes. "Yes, just as you'd predicted. And while other parties have been thrown for Miss Briggeham, no one else was able to lure you to their homes. Of course, no other hostess has a daughter as lovely as my Daphne."

She slipped her gloved hand through his elbow, her fingers clenching his arm like steel talons. "And, naturally, ensuring that poor Samantha's kidnapping was thrown into a positive light is the least I can do for her. After all, her mother and I have been the best of Mends for years."

She heaved a melodramatic sigh, then continued, "I do hope the gel enjoys her popularity, as it will, naturally, be only fleeting."

Eric cocked a brow. "Fleeting? What makes you say that?"

"After the bloom of interest in Samantha's adventure fades, she'll go back to being what she's always been, the poor dear."

"And what is that?"

She leaned closer still, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. " 'Tis no secret, my lord, that the gel is… unusual. Why, she collects toads and insects in the forest! 'Twas shocking enough when she was a child, but it is behavior nothing short of unseemly for a woman of her advanced age. And rather than at least trying to learn to play the pianoforte and dance steps, she spends her time with her odd brother in his odd shed, where they perform scientific experiments that can only be described as…"

"Odd?" he suggested, unable to keep an edge from his tone.

"Exactly! And while I'm not one to gossip, I recently heard that Samantha swims in the lake on their property!" A shudder wriggled through her body. "Of course I would never say a word against her, but I cannot imagine what poor Cordelia must suffer because of her daughter's… predilections."

An image of Miss Briggeham frolicking in the lake flashed in his mind, her gown clinging to her soft feminine curves. Or did she perhaps shuck her gown and wear only a chemise… or less? Heat rippled through him at the provocative thought. "Perhaps her mother finds Miss Briggeham's… predilections endearing. And interesting."

"Nonsense, although Cordelia does try to make everyone think she does." Leaning back, she beamed a sharp-toothed smile at him. "Thank goodness my Daphne is a perfect lady. Such a delightful young woman. So accomplished musically, and her singing voice rivals the angels. And a talented artist as well. You must tour the gallery while you're here."

"It would be my pleasure."

Her fingers tightened on his arm. "And you won't forget your promise to dance with Daphne."

"I am a man of my word," Eric said, knowing full well his indication that he would dance with her daughter was half the reason Mrs. Nordfield had hosted this party.

"Excellent." She cast her gaze toward the French windows, then cocked her head to the side. "It sounds as if the musicians are starting a quadrille. I shall help you locate Daphne-"

"You go ahead," Eric interrupted, offering her his most charming smile. "I wish to enjoy a cigar before returning to the festivities, and I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your other guests any longer."

Clearly torn by the pull of her hostess duties, she slid her hand from his arm with obvious reluctance. "Yes, I suppose I must return." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I shall tell Daphne to expect your invitation to dance, my lord."

"I pray she will consent to do me the honor, madam."

Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like she'd crawl through flames for the opportunity, Mrs. Nordfield dipped her head and curtsied, then crossed the stone terrace to re-enter the house.

The instant she disappeared through the French windows, Eric stepped back into the shadows, brushing away the wrinkles his hostess's clinging fingers had wrought upon his jacket. Although he was well used to dealing with marriage-minded mamas like Lydia Nordfield, for some reason he found her manner particularly annoying. Her condescending comments regarding Miss Briggeham had grated on his nerves.