Jacquie D’Alessandro - The Bride Thief

His gaze slid over her, taking in her disheveled appearance. Her bonnet hung from her neck by its ribbons. Dark hair surrounded her face in wild disarray, several strands sticking straight upward in a way that reminded him of devil's horns-not a happy comparison under the circumstances. Her eyes appeared huge in her face-a plain, pale face that currently bore an expression of clear displeasure. Definitely not a look he was accustomed to seeing on the faces of the women he rescued.

"Are ye not Samantha Briggeham?" he asked.

She glared at him and squeezed her lips together.

Damn stubborn woman. He leaned closer to her and ignored the twinge of guilt when her eyes flickered with fright. "Answer the question. Are ye Samantha Briggeham?"

She nodded stiffly. "I am."

Confusion assailed him. He had the right woman. Bloody hell, had Arthur's information been incorrect? If so, Eric had made a terrible error. Forcing himself to remain calm, he studied her carefully. "I understood your father had arranged for ye to marry the Major."

She watched him through wary eyes. "Indeed he had, but as I'd never heard of a more unappealing, not to mention idiotic, plan in my entire life, I unarranged what my well-meaning but ill-advised father arranged."

Eric's unease tripled. "I beg your pardon?"

"I visited Major Wilshire this evening and explained that, while I hold him in high esteem, I have no wish to marry him."

"And he agreed?"

She averted her gaze, and a crimson blush stole over her cheeks. " Er, yes. Eventually."

Eric's hands fisted in his gloves at her clearly embarrassed reaction. Damn it, had the Major attempted to take liberties with her? "Eventually?"

She squinted up at him for several seconds, then shrugged. "Not that it's any of your concern, but even after explaining in the politest of ways that I didn't want to marry him, I'm afraid the Major was still rather… insistent."

By God, the reprobate clearly had touched her. Feeling totally out of his element, Eric raised his hands to rake his fingers through his hair, only to encounter his masked head.

She cleared her throat. "Fortunately for me, however, no sooner had the Major finished his long-winded 'you-most-certainly-will-marry-me, the-arrangements-have-already-been-made' speech, then Isadore appeared. He quite saved the day."

A breath he hadn't even realized he held, escaped Eric. "Isadore? He's your coachman?"

"No. Cyril is my coachman. Isadore is my toad."

Eric knew that if his mask wasn't so tight, his jaw would have dropped. "Your toad saved the day?"

"Yes. Isadore likes to nestle in my reticule and accompany me on coach rides. I'd quite forgotten about him until he hopped out and landed right on one of the Major's highly polished Hessians. Heavens, never have I witnessed such a fuss. Anyone would have thought he'd been stripped of his rank the way he carried on. Amazing how a man who claims such acts of military bravery could harbor such fear and aversion to a toad." She shook her head. "Of course, seeing as he objected so strenuously to Isadore, I thought it best to warn him about Cuthbert and Warfinkle."

Bemused, Eric asked, "More toads?"

"No. A mouse and a garden snake. Both perfectly harmless, but Major Wilshire turned quite pale, especially when I hinted that I housed them in my bedchamber."

Half-amused, half-horrified, Eric asked, "Do you?"

There was no mistaking the sheepishness in the myopic glance she sent him. "No, but then I only hinted that I did. Surely I cannot be held accountable for any incorrect assumptions the Major may make, do you not agree?"

"Indeed. What happened next?"

"Well, as I chased Isadore about the room, in a fashion the Major later described as 'appalling and unladylike,' I deemed it only fair to share with him some of my other hobbies."

"Such as?"

"Singing. I raised my voice in what I thought was a particularly well-done rendition of 'Barbara Allen,' but I'm afraid the Major found my voice less than adequate. I believe 'dreadful' is the word he muttered under his breath. He appeared quite alarmed when I informed him that I sing every day, for at least several hours.

"And he grew even more alarmed when I told him about my plans to convert his drawing room into a laboratory. Really, he raised an incredible fuss, even after I assured him that the few times my experiments had resulted in fires, the flames had been doused very quickly and with almost no damage at all."

Bloody hell, the chit was a menace. But undeniably clever. "Dare I wonder what came next?"

"Isadore, who was proving quite impossible to catch, saw fit to jump onto the Major's lap. Goodness, I never would have suspected the Major possessed such… agility. By the time I captured Isadore and restored him to my reticule, then coaxed the Major down from the pianoforte, the gentleman was quite willing to concede that we would not suit." Her expression turned fierce. "I was returning from his house, intent upon telling my parents of the dissolution of my betrothal, when you so rudely absconded with me. Perhaps now you would care to explain yourself ?"

Momentarily robbed of speech, Eric's mind raced with the unholy mess he'd landed himself in. He rose to his feet and stared down at her. Unmistakable apprehension flickered in her eyes, and she scooted farther into the corner, an action that annoyed him further.

"Stop looking at me as if I'm a bloody murderer about to hack ye to pieces," he uttered in a husky growl. "I told ye, I won't hurt ye. I was trying to help ye. I'm the man they call the Bride Thief."

"So you've said, and in a tone that suggests I should know you, but I'm afraid I don't."

Eric stared at her, completely nonplussed. Surely he'd misheard her. "Ye've never heard of the Bride Thief?"

"I'm afraid not, but apparently you must be he." She looked him up and down twice, and his skin actually heated under her scathing stare. "I cannot say I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Saints above, lass. Don't ye ever read a newspaper?"

"Certainly. I read all the articles pertaining to nature and scientific matters."

"And the Society pages?"

"I do not waste my time reading such drivel." Her distasteful expression clearly stated that she found him sadly lacking if his name could be found only in the Society columns.

Sheer disbelief rendered him speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth. How could she not know about the Bride Thief? Did the chit dwell in a dungeon? Not a day went by when the Bride Thief wasn't discussed in London's clubs, at Almack's, in country pubs, and written about in every publication in the kingdom.

Yet Miss Samantha Briggeham had never heard of him.

Well, bloody hell.

If he wasn't so confounded by the realization, he would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation-and at his own conceit. Clearly he wasn't quite as notorious as he'd believed.

His amusement quickly vanished, however, when he realized the gravity of his error. Miss Briggeham was not being forced into marriage. He'd nabbed a woman who did not need his assistance. And now the Bride Thief would have to do something he'd never done before.

Return a woman he'd rescued.

A woman who was squinting toward the fire poker with a gleam in her eye that indicated she'd like to see it wrapped around his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment and silently cursed his rotten luck.

Damn it all, sometimes being England's Most Notorious Man was a bloody pain in the arse.

"What do you mean you're not marrying my daughter?"

Cordelia Briggeham stood in her drawing room and stared at Major Wilshire in her most imperious manner, somehow resisting the urge to beat the arrogant soldier with her lace fan.