Annabel harrumphed. "Why are you trying to placate me?"

"Perhaps because J care," he said.

Annabel stumbled. He caught her arm. She pushed him away. "Don't bother," she cried.

He shrugged. "She is not bright. Beauty without brains is hardly attractive. And she simpers, by God." He shook his head.

For one more moment, Annabel stared, almost ready to believe him. And then she recalled how he had been fawning over her all night long. "Uh-huh." She knew

she was being coarse, but could not help herself. She continued down the path. He strode alongside her.

And then it struck her, hard, so hard that she halted in mid-stride, facing him in amazement. "If you are not interested in her as a paramour, you must be interested in her as a thief!"

He did not blink. "You always were astute."

He was not even denying it! And all Annabel could think of was that he would get caught, this time, in the act of burglary. "Are you mad? Why do you do it? Surely by now you have stolen enough to live like a king for the rest of your life."

He smiled slowly. "I have."

She stared, shaking her head in disbelief. "Then why, Braxton, why put yourself in danger, again and again?"

"You know why." He was smiling, his gaze direct. "And my name," he said softly, "is St. Clare."

And her heart turned over, but hardly with revulsion. "The thrill. It is the danger which motivates you, thrills you."

"Yes," he said, "it is because of the thrill."

For one more moment Annabel held his gaze, and then she looked away, remembering how exciting that day had been when they had eluded the police after he had robbed her father's safe. Her pulse raced. He would never quit his habit, he was addicted, no less so than some poor wretch addicted to opium. But she understood.

"It's not safe for you here," she finally said. "Someone is bound to recognize you, especially if you rob the countess. Perhaps even someone from my family."

"Perhaps I will be long gone by the time that happens," he said smugly.

She looked at him. He returned her regard. "I think you care, more than you will ever admit," he said after a long pause. "You are afraid for my safety."

"No. No." Annabel shook her head adamantly, knowing he was right, but refusing to accept it. "I don't think we should be meeting like this," she said.

He chuckled. "Why not?" And he caught her hand. "Why not, Annabel?" His smile was gone.

His touch undid her. Desire she had no wish to ever entertain consumed her, but because Lizzie had been right, because she loved this man, she pulled her hand away. If she succumbed to his charm, he would love her and leave her again. He had killed her once. She could not survive a second time. "I am going swimming. Go back to the countess and plan your next escapade."

"Perhaps I will swim, too. With you."

Annabel stared, horrified. And then she enunciated every word as clearly as she could. "Go away," she said.

"I cannot seem to resist you," he said without hesitation. "I could not resist you then, and I cannot seem to resist you now." He was grim. "For better," he said, "or for worse."

Annabel stared. It had become crystal clear to her where this chance encounter was leading. She lifted her skirts and ran.

Chapter Eight

"Adam, Annabel is not in her room."

Adam laid a reassuring hand on his wife's small shoulder. "Why don't I take Evan for a walk and we will see if we can find her? I thought I saw her leaving the hotel earlier, although I am not sure."

Lizzie stood with her husband and her son just outside of the dining room, which was mostly empty at this time of the day, for the hotel guests preferred taking toast and coffee or cocoa in their rooms. "It would be just like Annabel to go walking at such an early hour!" Lizzie cried. She wrung her hands. "I am worried about her. Something is going on. I know her. She is hiding something from me," Lizzie said, frowning.

"Darling, I do not want you to worry about anything other than having an enjoyable vacation and taking plenty of rest." Adam kissed her mouth lightly and hoisted his son up onto his shoulders. "Remember, you are bearing our second son."

Lizzie smiled. "I am with our first daughter, dear."

He grinned. "We shall see." He left his wife after he had seated her in the dining room, Evan on his shoulders. "If you see Annabel, Evan, let me know."

"Anbel, Papa," Evan replied happily, clutching his father's head.

But Adam was no longer smiling. He was positive that he had glimpsed Annabel hurrying across the back lawns half an hour ago, when he had casually glanced out of the window of his dressing room. He believed his wife to be correct. Annabel was hiding something, and because he had grown very fond of her in the past five years, he was as concerned as his wife.

He strode across the back lawns, which were damp from yesterday's rain and the morning dew, with Evan in his arms. Ahead, emerging from the brush, he espied a tall gentleman, coming in his direction.

Adam did not slow his pace. The gentleman, clad casually in tan slacks and a tweed hacking coat, was close enough for Adam to recognize him as the fellow who had so enamored the Countess Rossini last night. They nodded to one another as they came abreast. Last night they had not been introduced.

"Good morning," Adam said, carefully extending one hand, the other firmly upon his son's ankle. "Adam Tarrington."

"Wainscot," the gentleman replied, his blue eyes unwavering.

"Have you by chance seen an attractive blond lady strolling these grounds?"

"No, I have not. Sorry I cannot help you." Wainscot smiled at Adam and his son and continued on.

But Adam did not move. He turned to stare after him, consumed with an odd feeling. Last night he had also felt perplexed. He knew this man, he was almost certain of it. Yet he could not place him, and did not recall his name as one he had already known.

"Papa? Anbel, Anbel!" Evan shouted with glee.

Adam shoved his thoughts aside just in time to see Annabel trudging up the same sandy path, barefoot, her skirts wet. Her shoes and stockings were dangling from one hand. Had she been swimming? He smiled reluctantly, shaking his head. Annabel would never change.

No, I have not. Sorry I cannot help you.

Adam froze, his smile gone. The stranger's words echoed in his mind. How could he have not seen her? Adam had taken this path several times; it led to the inlet, and that section of beach was small. It was impossible that they had not seen one another.

Suddenly he was angry, imagining the stranger spying upon Annabel while she swam. He hurried forward. "Annabel! We have been wondering where you were."

She faltered, seeming paler than usual. "I… I… decided to walk on the beach."

She was lying. He had not a doubt. And suddenly another scenario occurred to him. He stiffened. Had she just had a rendezvous with the gentleman he had so recently spoken to?

She was a grown woman. In all likelihood, she would never settle down and wed. It was not his place to judge, much less interfere. "Are you all right?" he asked carefully.

"I am fine," she said, far too brightly.

He studied her, but saw no sign of tears. He became certain that she had been involved in a tryst. "Will you join us for breakfast?" he asked. But now he was more perplexed than before. He could not shake the stranger's gray-haired image from his mind. He was more convinced than ever that he knew him, but from where? And why was it so damn important-and so damn disturbing?

"I would love to," Annabel said with obvious relief.

Lizzie was right. She was hiding something. An affair with the stranger?

"You are staring at me," Annabel said, fidgeting.

And then it struck him. He felt his eyes widen as he froze in shock.