The Dashing Thief of Her Dreams Read online

“Most certainly. You know how I adore fanciful stories of that nature,” Bridget was proud of herself for controlling her enthusiasm for the book. Had she been talking to her dearest friend, Lady Heather Edgewood, she could have gone on for hours about how remarkable the writing was, the way the author had written the story so engagingly, the incredible passion that was ignited between Scarlett and Pirate Tomlinson... but her sister didn’t share her adoration for such stories.

  “I do,” Deborah said. “I know that mother passed on her great imagination to you and largely forgot to give any to me,” she joked, “but I do not understand what it is you see in these stories. You’ve told me time and time again that it is-”

  “That I wished I could live a life that was as dangerous, daring and exciting as that book!” Bridget smiled widely as she let herself get carried away by her passions momentarily. Deborah, however, rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, but why?” Deborah pressed her. She saw how her sister, in spite of the warm spencer she still had on, was rubbing her arms to try to stay warm in the damp day. Deborah took off her green shawl and wrapped it tightly around Bridget, who nodded to her in thanks. Bridget was consistently astounded by her sister’s ability to maintain an appropriate temperature, no matter the weather. “It is dreadfully cold today. As I was saying, the events that take place in these stories are so far beyond the realm of possibilities that they’re simply absurd. Scarlett would never abandon her father and his inn to go and live on a boat with a pirate! She’d likely die of scurvy or sea weariness, and her father would have to go into the poorhouse because he had no one to help him run the inn.” Deborah crossed her arms in front of her, as though her point was the final one to be made in the discussion and there would be no further discussion. Bridget sighed.

  “Running away to spend the rest of your life with the man you love, is that really so far beyond the realm of possibilities? ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio-” Bridget intended to continue her quote from Shakespeare, but her sister waved her off.

  “Don’t start making yourself into a Hamlet, dear sister, or I’ll pull this carriage over and you can go join Ophelia in the stream.” The sisters chuckled at the thought of Bridget having to traverse the muddy roads to go anywhere today.

  “I suppose I see your point,” Bridget relented. “But I believe that if I were given a chance to have the magical kind of life that Scarlett had, I would seize it in a moment. I intend to get the most out of life that I can, and the best way to do that is to seek adventure!” Bridget looked to her sister excitedly, but Deborah sighed and looked out of the window on her side of the carriage.

  “If you were given the chance to life the kind of life that Scarlett did,” Deborah began, “you’d recoil in horror at the conditions on the boat, scream in fear at the kind of men you’d have to share your living space with, and be ill at the thought of having to rob someone of their riches, as pirates do.” Bridget did her best not to let what Deborah was saying bother her, but it was becoming difficult not to.

  “No I wouldn’t,” Bridget protested. “I’d be the most feared female pirate... pirate-ess that the West Indies has ever seen!” Bridget mimed holding a sword in her hand and slashed it through the air in front of her sister. Deborah didn’t see her at first, but when she felt the carriage rocking even more than usual, she turned to Bridget, took hold of her arm and stopped her.

  “Now you’re speaking of going to the West Indies, are you?” Deborah looked very unimpressed. “And how would you, someone who faints when it becomes too warm here in Surrey in the summer, deal with the extreme, exhausting heat of the West Indies?” Bridget opened her mouth to protest, but couldn’t think of anything to say in response. She did think that she wouldn’t enjoy the heat that many of her adventures would take her on. Suddenly, she thought of something.

  “I would become accustomed to it in no time,” Bridget said proudly. “I only feel faint at the beginning of summer; by midsummer, I thrive in the warm conditions. See?” Deborah continued to look as though she did not believe what her sister was saying.

  “Well then, dear sister, you can consider me quite convinced,” Deborah said, putting up her hands in surrender. “You may run off with the next pirate who comes into town seeking a well-to-do wife. In fact, I believe I heard a rumor there’s a pirate ship docking in Southampton tomorrow!” Bridget knew that her sister was only teasing her, but it truthfully did hurt that hardly anyone she knew shared her love for dreaming of adventures. At first, she hadn’t wanted to admit the true reason why she loved these stories so, but she knew that if she didn’t, Deborah would continue to think she was a child.

  “I give in, Deborah,” Bridget began. Her sister turned to her and looked interested for the first time during the whole carriage ride. “I will reveal to you the real reason why these stories are so near and dear to my heart, beyond the fact that they’re similar to what mother used to read to us. It is because when I marry, I wish to find a man who enjoys adventures and all of the exciting things that life has to offer. Too many men in town are contented with the day to day here in Surrey. I want a man who isn’t afraid to... seek out new lands in the hopes of seeing something he never imagined possible. I want a man of adventure to sweep me off my feet!” There was silence in the carriage for a few moments as Deborah looked blankly at her sister. Then, finally...Deborah laughed.

  “Do you think you’re going to find a man like that anywhere near home?” Deborah asked between chuckles. “Or rather, anywhere in England? Our men don’t want adventure or to seek excitement in life; they want to find a respectable wife, settle down and have many children. Anything beyond that is merely...” Deborah was about to finish her sentence when she looked at her sister’s eyes.

  They were beginning to fill with tears. Deborah desperately wanted to finish expressing her sentiment, but she knew that if she continued, she would only upset Bridget more. “I did not mean to upset you, dear sister. I was merely trying to keep your head here on earth with us instead of up in the clouds as it usually is.” Bridget nodded and brushed away her sister’s attempt at an apology with her hand.

  “I well understand what you were attempting to do,” Bridget explained, “and I am sorry that I allowed my emotions to overcome me. The problem is... the thought of ‘settling down’ with a man who is as boring as you describe him to be... is pure torture.” Deborah very nearly scoffed at her sister’s tendency towards the dramatic, but she instead chose to be understanding.

  Bridget may have been her younger sister, and she may have been a thorn in her side many a time, but she was also her closest friend and confidante. She didn’t want to make her feel any worse than she already had.

  “My darling, I know that you shall find a man who is the perfect combination of stable and adventurous,” Deborah said, putting her arm around Bridget and pulling her in close. Bridget leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder and dried her tears with the handkerchief she had kept tucked up her sleeve. “He shall be handsome, daring, courageous, and adventurous in all of the right ways. But, I am also certain that he shall provide you with the style of life that you have become accustomed to living so that you do not have to suffer any of the less enjoyable aspects of an ‘adventurous’ life.” Deborah kissed the top of her sister’s head. “And should he not be or do any of those things, he will have me to answer to - understood?” This brought a laugh out of Bridget, and Deborah was relieved to hear it.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Bridget relented. “I shall find a man who is a wonderful combination of all of those characteristics. But until that time...” Bridget pulled a few pieces of parchment from her reticule and held them up for her sister to see. Deborah seemed confused by the paper, so Bridget finished, “I shall enchant you with the tales of the great Georgina and her handsome highwayman, Walter!” Deborah looked unimpressed initially, but then she smiled at her sister.

  “Fine, fine. We have only a short distance more to go to the estate, so I will al
low you to read me a passage of your fanciful story.” Bridget looked delighted and launched into her reading of chapter one of a story she had written the day before.

  Chapter 3

  That night Bridget lay awake in her luxurious bed, unable to rest. She wasn’t sure what was keeping her mind so entertained: the day had not brought such excitement that it should have warranted such a restless night. Regardless, she found herself staring at the fabric roof of her four-poster bed; her mind unwilling to allow rest to come.

  After a time, Bridget decided she should give up and get up from her bed. When she pulled back the covers, however, she was hit with the chill of the room. She took an extra blanket from the wooden chest at the end of her bad and wrapped it around herself; there was no need to suffer through a sleepless night that was plagued by the cold. She slipped her feet into the dainty slippers that lay on the floor at the side of her bed and walked to look out of her large window.

  When she gazed out at the lawn that stretched out before her, she felt herself flooded with calm. There was something about the way the moon was glowing tonight, combined with the rain that now fell softly upon the grass, which made Bridget feel very reassured. Watching the storm come to a close felt like discovering a fever had broken and relief was on the way. She put one of her hands up to the glass, held it there for a moment, then pulled it away.

  Her handprint remained on the misty glass, and she imagined her lover’s hand suddenly appearing on the glass as well. She chuckled to herself at that thought, however: she would be very surprised if anyone were to touch the outside of her window, for her bedroom was on the second floor of their estate.

  Now feeling far calmer, Bridget walked back towards her bed. She was certain now that the moment she laid her head on the pillow, she would drift off into a pleasant sleep. However, as she stood on the rug that lay right beside her bed, Bridget thought she heard something hit the floor in the hallway.

  She looked towards her bedroom door, more curious than frightened. She was unsure of the time, but knew that there wouldn’t be many servants walking the halls this late at night. When she heard no more coming from the hallway she shook her head, believing the noise to have been something she had made up.

  As soon as she got under the covers again, however, Bridget heard heavy footsteps hurrying past her door. By now, her curiosity was piqued, and she knew that she wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

  Bridget pulled back the covers and rose from the bed. She stood on the rug, frozen, for quite some time. She was listening to hear if the footsteps continued or ceased entirely. She thought perhaps they could have belonged to her father. He was a large enough man that his footfalls would have made that sound, but he wasn’t one for getting out of bed at this late hour. Lord Alymer was a heavy sleeper and once he was resting, it was nearly impossible to rouse him from his slumber. Could it have been Lady Deborah?

  Again, Bridget doubted that because her sister was not as heavy-footed as the person who had just walked past her door. Lady Deborah was also not one to come out of her room in the night, for she was rather afraid of the dark. What stuck in Bridget’s mind was that something had to be amiss, and she was the only one in the house who could deal with it. If she wanted a life of adventure and daring then she had to be brave herself, didn’t she?

  Bridget took her candle from her bedside, lit it, and grabbed her night coat. She tiptoed towards her door very quietly, still trying to hear if there were any other noises that followed the footsteps. When she heard nothing, she grasped the handle of the door and very gently pulled on it. Immediately, the door squeaked as it always did, and Bridget froze.

  She knew she needed to get the door past a certain point and then it would be silent. But there was no way she would be able to get to that point without her door continuing to creak. It was a calculated risk, but Bridget decided to take it. She figured that whoever or whatever was in the house would think the creak was just a sound the house made. As slowly and as gently as she could, Bridget eased the door open and cringed as it continued to make its loud squeak. Finally, the door was silent, and Bridget felt her heartrate returning to normal.

  When she’d made it out into the hallway, Bridget saw that all of their objects were in their usual positions. Her father’s bookcase was undisturbed, the flowers Bridget had brought indoors the previous afternoon still sat in their vase, and Deborah’s cherished statue of a cherub that Bridget thought was positively terrifying still stood by the end of the hallway. Bridget was unsure which direction the footsteps had gone in, and so was unsure of which direction to head down the hall. She decided to go away from the terrifying cherub, and make her way down the stairs to the kitchen.

  Thankfully, the kitchen stairs were unlike her bedroom door, and when she stepped on them they did not creak. She cautiously peered around the corner into the room as she rounded the last corner, but saw that the kitchen was in the exact state it had been left in after the staff had finished the dinner clean up. There were, however, noises coming from the dining room.

  Bridget’s pulse began to quicken, and she could feel the hand that held the candle beginning to shake. She put the candle in the other hand in the hopes that it would steady her, but it did not. She was so frightened by what might be in the dining room and that she was here, in the dark, all alone, in her nightdress. She thought about running back up the stairs and alerting her father (somehow, although it would take a great deal of noise and bother to wake him up) to the noise. She thought about ignoring the whole situation and taking to her bed to pretend that she knew nothing of what was happening. But then Bridget was suddenly struck by a thought: what would Scarlett George do?

  Bridget thought back to the heroine of the pirate romance novel that she had heard that afternoon. If she were in this situation, she wouldn’t do any of the cowardly things that Bridget had considered doing. Instead she would take her candle, walk straight into the dining room, and confront whoever or whatever was in there. And so, inspired by her fanciful novels once again, Bridget summoned her courage and walked across the kitchen.

  She paused just before the doorway to the dining room, her fear getting the better of her momentarily. She assured herself that there was probably a perfectly logical explanation for the noises she was hearing, and the moment she looked into the dining room, she would be greatly relieved and could return to bed. And so, Bridget took in a deep breath, held it, and took a step forwards.

  Unfortunately, Bridget was not at all relieved at what she saw. A dark figure was shoving items from their dining room into a bag in the corner of the room. The intruder didn’t hear Bridget until she let out a small gasp, at which point they whirled around and stared at her. Bridget could do nothing but stand there, frozen in the darkness with her candle in front of her. She could not believe what her eyes were telling her.

  The figure was most certainly a man, but beyond that Bridget couldn’t tell much about him. He was dressed all in black, and wore a black mask that obscured the majority of his face. The only thing that Bridget could tell about the intruder was that he had the most brilliant turquoise eyes that Bridget had ever seen. She couldn’t truly admire them, however, because she was so frightened. However, instead of expressing fear or shock at being discovered, the figure simply laughed.

  His mouth broke into a wide grin and with one arm, he hitched the bag he was holding onto one of his shoulders and he put his other hand on his waist. The shadowy figure was now posing exactly like many of the daring heroes in Bridget’s stories. The figure’s resemblance to the men in Bridget’s stories was so uncanny that she convinced herself she had to be dreaming. As soon as the figure left her alone, she thought, she would pinch herself and wake up.

  “I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone tonight, let alone... you,” the figure said in a sultry voice. In spite of the curious situation that she was currently in, Bridget found herself mildly attracted to the man who was standing before her. She knew it was utterly prep
osterous, but she couldn’t help it. “But for now, I must take my leave of you. Rest well, madam.” The figure gave Bridget an elaborate bow and pushed himself easily through an open window in the dining room. Bridget waited a few moments to ensure that he was truly gone. When he was, Bridget nearly collapsed.

  She placed a hand to her chest and put the candle down on the table. She hadn’t realised how shallow her breathing had become when she had been in the presence of the stranger, but her lungs were suddenly very grateful for the air she was taking in.

  Her heard was positively racing, and her hands shook with a force she had never felt before. At the same time, however, Bridget noted another sensation in her body. At first, she couldn’t believe it, and then she refused to believe it. Finally, however, Bridget could no longer ignore it, and allowed it to overwhelm her. Bridget was feeling utterly thrilled by the encounter she had just had.