Jacquie D’Alessandro - The Bride Thief

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "But enough about me. Please tell me more about this absconding with the brides. You may regard it as helping, but surely the families of these women view your actions as kidnapping."

"Aye, that they do."

"And I imagine the magistrate would like to find you."

"Indeed, he'd like to see me with a noose decorating my neck."

Sammie leaned forward, fascinated in spite of herself. "Then why do you do this? What can you possibly gain from placing yourself in such danger?"

Silence met her question for the space of several heartbeats. Then his husky rasp floated across the room, his tone harsher than before. "Someone I loved was forced to marry a man she loathed. I failed to save her. So I try to help others like her. A woman should have the right to choose not to marry a man she finds distasteful." He paused, then added so softly she had to strain her ears to hear, "My gain is the gratitude shining from the women's eyes. Each one loosens, just a bit, the knot of guilt that binds me for not being able to help the one I loved."

"Oh, my," Sammie said, expelling a long, pent-up breath. "How incredibly… noble. And romantic. To risk your life, and for so worthy a cause." A shiver that had nothing to do with fear trembled down her back. "Heaven knows I'd have been grateful for your help, had I in fact needed it."

"Yet ye didn't need my assistance, which places me in the awkward position of having to return ye."

"Yes, I suppose it does." Sammie stared across the room at him, her heart slapping against her ribs so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. Oh, how she wished she could see him better, for here was a man who clearly embodied all the qualities of her secret fantasies-all the dreams burrowed deep in her plain, socially inept, bookwormish soul.

He was big, and strong, and she just knew his mask hid a fascinating face-one filled with purpose and character. He was dashing, brave, swashbuckling, and noble.

He was a hero .

It was as if he'd materialized from her imagination and stepped from the pages of her personal journal, the only place she dared reveal her innermost, secret desires. Desires sparked by impossible dreams that a man such as this would ever find a woman such as her worthy of his attention, would sweep her off her feet and bring her to magical places.

A heartfelt sigh escaped her-the sort of dreamy, useless, impractical feminine sigh she rarely indulged in. She had to know more… about him and this exciting, danger-fraught life he led. Setting the poker on the wooden floor, she rose, crossed the room, then sat next to him.

She stared at his mask and their gazes met through the narrow slits. A tingle washed over her, and she wished she could discern the color of his eyes. All she could tell in the muted firelight was that they were dark. And fathomless.

"Are you ever afraid?" she asked, trying not to sound too breathless.

"Aye, lass. Every time I don this costume." He leaned closer to her and her breath stalled. "I've no desire to die, especially not at the hands of the hangman."

He smelled wonderful. Like leather and horses and… adventure. "Do you carry a weapon?" she asked.

"A knife in my boot. Nothing more. I cannot abide the feel of a pistol in my hand."

She fancied pain flashed in his eyes, but she couldn't be certain. "Tell me, where would you have sent me?" she asked. "America or the Continent?"

"Where would ye have wanted to go, lass?"

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes drifting shut at mere thought of choosing. Longing rushed through her like a raging river, forcing a crack in the dam behind which she hid her innermost desires. "There are so many places I yearn to see."

"If ye could travel anywhere, where would ye go?"

"Italy. No, Greece. No, Austria." Opening her eyes, she laughed. "I believe it is fortunate I do not require your services, sir, for I'd not be able to decide where you should send me."

His gaze seemed to bore into hers, and her laughter trailed off. The weight of his intense stare chilled and heated her at the same time. "Is something amiss?" she asked.

"Ye should do that more often, Miss Briggeham."

"What? Be horribly indecisive?"

"No. Laugh as ye just did. It… transforms ye."

She wasn't certain that he meant his words as a compliment, but still, delivered in that velvety rasp, they enveloped her like a coating of warm honey.

"Tell me," he whispered, "if ye had to choose just one place, where would it be?"

For some odd reason, her heart beat in slow, hard thumps. "Italy," she whispered back. "I've always dreamed of seeing Rome, Florence, Venice, Naples… and every city in between. To explore the ruins of Pompeü, trek through the Colosseum, visit the Uffizi, view the works of Bernini and Michelangelo, swim in the warm waters of the Adriatic…" her voice trailed off into a vaporous sigh.

"Explore?" he repeated. "Trek? Swim ?"

Heat scorched her cheeks and embarrassed confusion washed through her as she realized that with her unguarded words, she'd inadvertently told this stranger things she'd only ever shared with Hubert.

Humiliation prickled her skin. Was he laughing at her? She squinted at him, trying to see his eyes, fearing the certain derision she'd read there. But to her surprise, his steady gaze revealed no amusement. Only a deep intensity that oddly unsettled her and rippled flutters through her.

Anxious to break the uncomfortable silence, she remarked, "I assume no one knows your true identity."

He hesitated for a moment, then said," 'Twould cost me my life if anyone knew."

"Yes, I suppose it would." A rush of sympathy washed through her. " 'Tis a lonely life you've chosen, sir, in pursuit of your noble cause."

He nodded slowly, as if considering her words. "Yes, it is. But it's a small price to pay."

"Oh, but it's not. I… I'm often lonely myself. I know the emptiness that can accompany it."

"Surely ye have friends."

"A few." A humorless sound escaped her. "Actually, a very few. But I have my family. My younger brother and I are particularly close. Still, sometimes, it would be nice…"

"Yes?"

She shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "To have someone else besides a young boy who understands you." She studied her wrinkled gown for several seconds, then raised her gaze to his. "I hope some day you'll find someone or something to ease your guilt and loneliness, sir."

He studied her for several seconds, then, slowly reaching out, he ran a single gloved fingertip gently down her cheek. "As do I, lass."

Sammie's breath caught at the brief touch that whispered over her skin like a soft breeze. Unable to move, she simply stared at him, confused by the unprecedented warmth pulsing through her. Before she could examine the feeling more closely, he rose to his feet in one fluid motion and held his hand down to her. "Come. The rain has stopped. 'Tis time I brought ye home."

Home? Sammie stared at his outstretched hand and mentally shook herself from her dreamlike stupor. Yes, of course. Home. Where she belonged. Where her family-

Good heavens, her family! They must be frantic with worry. Surely Cyril had reported her disappearance by now. Her stomach churned with guilt when she realized that she'd been so caught up with her masked abductor, she'd forgotten how concerned Mama, Papa, and Hubert must be.

"Yes," she said, placing her hand in his and allowing him to assist her to her feet. "I must go home." She wanted to go home. So why did this hollow feeling of regret wash through her?

Without another word, they left the cabin. He gave her a hand up, then swung into the saddle behind her, cradling her between his hard thighs. One muscular arm held her close against his chest. Warmth from his body seeped into her, but in spite of that heat, a legion of chills skittered down her spine.