Jacquie D’Alessandro - The Bride Thief

He checked through the drawers, but found nothing. Crouching down, he ran his hands lightly over the glossy wood. Underneath one of the legs, his fingers encountered a round knob. Scarcely daring to breathe, he twisted it. A faint click sounded and he was able to push aside a panel on the bottom. Something soft fell into his palm.

Sliding out his hand, he gazed at a black silk mask.

Triumph pulsed through him. This was just the evidence the magistrate needed. All Farnsworth had to do was deliver it to him.

Eric stood at the altar and watched Samantha walk slowly down the aisle, her hand resting on her beaming father's sleeve. While the quiet hum of the crowd filled the church, her gaze remained steady on his, her spectacles magnifying the love shining from her eyes.

Love hit him like a punch in the heart, radiating warmth through his entire system. She joined him at the altar, a shy smile trembling on her lush lips, her gaze brimming with the same emotions swarming through him.

Fifteen minutes later, after they repeated the vows that joined them for life, the vicar blessed them, his rotund face wreathed with pride. Eric turned to his wife-his- wife -and a surge of happiness nearly knocked him off his feet. He brushed a chaste kiss against her upturned lips, and need overwhelmed his senses. He had to touch her, kiss her deeply. Now. Away from prying eyes. Tucking her hand through his elbow, he propelled her down the aisle. He practically ran through the vestibule, then outside, pulling her around the corner, into the shadows.

"Good heavens, Eric," she said in a breathless voice.

He yanked her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. A tiny sound of pleasure rumbled in her throat, and she parted her lips. His tongue slid into her welcoming honey-flavored warmth, his entire body humming with satisfaction. And nearly inconceivable happiness.

Sammie slid her arms around his waist, eagerly accepting the onslaught of his kiss… a kiss rilled with love and promise and deep passion. When he finally lifted his head, she clung to him limply and vaguely wondered where she'd placed her missing knees. She slowly opened her eyes and saw nothing but white. As she blinked rapidly to clear her vision, she felt her spectacles being removed. As soon as he'd slid them off, she saw him. Her husband . And the heat blazing from her husband's loving gaze seared through her like an inferno. Several seconds of silence passed, then a wry smile touched one corner of his mouth.

"I'm afraid we fogged up your spectacles."

"I thought I was seeing clouds. As if I'd died and gone to heaven."

"Heaven. Yes, that's what you feel like." He traced her bottom lip with his fingertip, the tickling sensation curling her toes inside her slippers. The sound of voices reached them as guests exited the church. He smiled down at her, warming her like the sun. "Come, my charming countess. Let us accept the best wishes and congratulations of our guests."

"Indeed, before they discover us kissing behind the bushes." Inclining her head in what she hoped was a countess-like fashion, she slipped her hand through his arm. Laughter rumbled in his throat, and they rounded the corner, prepared to face their guests.

Adam exited the church, squinting against the sun's sudden glare. He looked at the crowd gathering around the bride and groom, and he craned his neck higher, hoping for a glimpse of Margaret. As if the mere thought of Margaret conjured her up, he noticed her standing beneath the shade of the huge oak in the churchyard. She stood alone, head bent, hands clasped in front of her. Drawn to her like iron to a magnet, he veered away from the throng and approached her.

"Good morning, Lady Darvin," he said, stepping beneath the oak's umbrella of shade.

She turned toward him, and he stilled at her utterly bleak expression and the tortured look in her eyes.

Driven by deep concern, he dismissed propriety. Reaching out, he gently grasped her upper arm, then maneuvered himself so his back blocked her from any curious glances that might be cast their way. "What is wrong?"

She seemed to look right through him, her thoughts clearly far away. "The wedding ceremony… I was just remembering. I tried so hard not to, but sitting in that church…" A shudder ran through her. "I have not been inside it since my own wedding day."

He instantly recalled that day in vivid detail. He'd sat on his bed, sick with loss, staring at the clock, knowing with each passing minute the woman he loved was exchanging vows with another man. When the church bells had chimed in the distance, signifying the end of the ceremony, he'd opened a bottle of whiskey and proceeded for the first time in his life to get deliberately, blindly drunk. He'd stayed drunk for two days, then spent another two days suffering the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. After that, he'd simply… lived, believing she was happy.

One look at her stricken face disabused him of that notion. She looked so… haunted. So distraught. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but there was no mistaking them as the happy sort women often shed at weddings.

Was there something more to her unhappiness than he'd previously thought? Was there more involved than missing her home and her brother? More than the fact that she hadn't had children? Releasing her arm, he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

Dabbing her wet eyes, she said, "Thank you. And forgive me. This is a happy day, yet here I am sniffling. I'm afraid I allowed my memories to distress me."

Her words disturbed him, and a sick uneasiness slithered down his spine. "Your husband…" He hesitated, not certain how to phrase what he wanted to ask her. "Was he… unkind?"

A humorless sound erupted from her lips, and she averted her gaze. Even as his mind told him not to, he grasped her gloved hand and gently squeezed her fingers.

She turned back to him, and he was taken aback by the fire burning in her eyes. "Unkind?" she repeated in an awful voice he didn't recognize. "Yes, he was unkind."

As suddenly as her anger appeared, it vanished, as if doused by cold water, to be replaced by a broken, lost expression. Tremors shook her and she squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear rolled down her pale cheek, silently landing on his white shirt cuff. He watched the droplet soak into the linen.

Hell and damnation, that bastard had hurt her. Hurt her mind and spirit. God Almighty, had he hurt her body as well? A red haze veiled his vision, and violence such as he'd never felt before gripped him.

A sense of unreality overwhelmed him. The news of her marriage to Darvin had nearly brought him to his knees, but he'd accepted the inevitable with stoic resignation. As much as he loved her, he'd known he could never so much as court, let alone marry her. He had nothing to offer an earl's daughter.

Except love. And kindness. Her words raced through his mind. I used to spend time on the cliffs, looking out at the sea, wondering how it would feel to jump …

Nausea gripped him at the thought of Darvin mistreating her. To the point where she'd contemplated suicide. God in heaven. If only he'd known-

What would you have done ? he asked himself. What could you have done ? But he knew without question. He knew in his soul that he-a man who dedicated his life to upholding the law-would have killed the bastard. And why the hell hadn't her brother done so?

She opened her eyes and looked at him. His feelings must have shown, for a look of unmistakable tenderness filled her gaze, stealing his breath. "I appreciate your outrage on my behalf. You were always such a stalwart friend. There was nothing you could have done."