He had changed his appearance. But the stranger was Pierce Braxton, the man who had abducted Annabel on her wedding day.

"I think you should sit down," Adam told Lizzie after they had finished breakfast and were alone in their rooms.

"You are scaring me! You behaved so oddly all through the meal. What is wrong?" Lizzie cried, gripping his arms.

Adam led her to an overstuffed chintz chair and pushed her gently down. "Darling, prepare yourself. I have recalled how I know that gentleman who joined the Rossini party last evening."

Lizzie blinked. "What? Oh, you mean Mr. Wainscot? Adam, that is hardly of importance-"

"I last saw him at Annabel's wedding, Lizzie," Adam said softly. "He has changed his hair, done something to his nose. But it is Braxton."

Lizzie turned starkly white. "You mean-"

"Yes. It is that damn thief himself."

He was walking through the lobby when Annabel saw him. Although he was clad as a respectable valet, Annabel would have known him anywhere. Her eyes widened and she froze, then she ran after him, grabbing his elbow from behind. "Louie!"

He whirled. And glanced all around them before holding her gaze with his own. "The guvnor told me you had met 'im, Miz Boothe, but by Gawd, we can't be seen together." His silver front tooth flashed.

Annabel's heart continued to pound. "I want to talk with you. I have to talk with you." She could hear how low and strained her voice sounded. But she was tense. How could she not be? She was caught in a terrible dilemma, harboring affection for a man whom she should hate and even wreck vengeance upon. Instead, she was obsessed with him once again, or perhaps she had never stopped being obsessed by him, not in two achingly long years. Perhaps she had only deluded herself into thinking she was over him after he had abandoned her and she had returned home.

In the interim since her aborted wedding, she had buried herself in one pursuit or another, keeping herself so occupied that she could not dwell on the past, feel the pain of the present, or think of the future. So she could not think. But his appearance had changed all of that.

There was no denying it, and no way to convince herself to feel differently about him: she was drawn to him against all common sense, against her very will; somehow, in some way, her heart was irrevocably attached to him. And now Braxton was here, and he was in danger and she was terrified for his safety. "Louie, come with me," she said firmly. She felt as if she were on a path of self-destruction, but she could no more stop herself than she could halt a locomotive flying down the Union tracks.

He shook his head, but she took his arm and began propelling him through the lobby and out the front door. When they were outside, and standing some distance from the two stone urns guarding the hotel entrance, Louie shook her off. "Are you still a madwoman?" he cried.

Annabel folded her arms and stared. How fortunate that Louie was once again aiding Braxton. "When is the robbery to take place? And how is he going to pull it off?" '

Louie gaped at her. When he had recovered his surprise, he said, low, with a frantic glance around to see if anyone was watching them, "I don't know wot yer talkin' about!"

"Ha! Of course you do! Pierce already admitted his plans to me. He will get caught, Louie, this time he will be caught. I have such a bad feeling about this!" And it was true. Ever since that morning she had been sick at heart, thinking of the robbery that would soon occur. This time, she had a horrid feeling that he would not get safely away. She could even envision him being led away by the local sheriff in leg irons and handcuffs.

"We must stop him, Louie, from doing this." Annabel heard her own voice crack.

Louie stared. "You thinkin' of tellin' gents 'ere who 'e is?"

She flushed. "I can't do that, even though I should. Louie, talk him out of this. Either that, or let me help." The moment she had spoken, she was stunned by her own words.

"No one can change 'is mind when it's made up," Louie said matter-of-factly. "An' 'e would never let you 'elp us, by Gawd."

Annabel stared. She had no doubt that Braxton intended to rob the countess, and that Louie was right, his mind could not be changed. What if she could help, somehow, to insure that he did get safely away?

Annabel bit her lip. Something was wrong with her. She was now planning to help the very man who had betrayed her and broken her heart!

"Guess you still care about 'im, now don't you?" Louie was saying slyly.

Annabel stiffened. "He does not deserve to rot in jail for the rest of his life. And he certainly helped me avoid marriage to that mealy-mouthed Harold Talbot."

"That 'e did," Louie said with a grin and a wink.

"I want to help," Annabel said, suddenly meaning it. And her blood raced. Her skin tingled. Her mouth became absolutely dry. She was breathless, recalling their getaway on the day of her wedding. Perhaps she was too much like Braxton, and that was the source of her fatal attraction..

"Never," Louie said firmly.

"Annabel!"

It was Lizzie, and Annabel turned, to see her sister waving at her from the hotel's wide front steps. She faced Louie again. "Go! Quickly! And do not say a word to Braxton about this or I'll wring your neck!"

Louie hurried off. Annabel inhaled deeply, composing herself before facing her sister as she crossed the shell-covered drive. Annabel managed a bright smile. "I thought you were going to take a nap."

Lizzie looked gravely from Annabel to Louie's departing form. Her brow was creased with worry. "Who is that?" she asked, her tone unusually sharp.

Annabel stiffened. "A servant. I was asking directions-to town."

"Were you planning on walking the five miles from here to there, Annabel?" Lizzie asked, her tone high with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

Annabel stared. Lizzie was not given to mockery, and not only was she wounded, she was alarmed.

"Don't lie to me!" Lizzie cried angrily. "And you have been lying to me, haven't you?" Suddenly tears were spilling down her cheeks.

"Don't cry," Annabel said, aghast.

Lizzie sobbed into a linen handkerchief. Annabel watched, feeling horrible, and filled with an equally dark inkling about what this was about.

Lizzie stopped, and sniffing, she looked up. "Braxton is here, and you met him at the beach this morning."

Annabel's heart dropped like a boulder to her feet. For one moment, she could not breathe or speak. Then, through stiff lips, she managed, "That is absurd."

"Don't lie to me!" Lizzie shouted. "Adam recognized him."

Annabel began breathing harshly. She felt dizzy, faint. "I was as surprised as you. Please, Lizzie, don't say anything, please!" And Annabel gripped her hands.

"You are in love with him! I can see it in your eyes! Oh, God!" And tears fell from Lizzie's eyes again.

"I am not," Annabel tried, aware of how pathetic her lie was. "Lizzie, he does not deserve to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Surely you can agree with that."

Lizzie wiped her eyes. "He is a thief! He stole Mama's necklace. And he ruined you. He is guilty of at least two crimes. He should be incarcerated and you know it, Annabel. How can you say otherwise? How?"

Annabel was shaking. "Lizzie, he is a thief, but he is not a bad person. He never hurt me. Actually, he is a gentleman."

"A gentleman! How can you defend him after all that he has done?",

Annabel wet her lips, her pulse pounding. She was desperate. For the hour of Braxton's doom seemed to be at hand. "I have never really* told you, or anyone, the truth. But listen to me now. He did not want to abduct me. He tried to leave me in some barn on the West Side of Manhattan, but I refused. Lizzie, I refused. And he would not have touched me, except that…" She faltered, afraid to continue.