"What is it?" His tone was sharp.

"Oh, God. I should have told you this before." She looked up. "Adam and Lizzie know who you are, Pierce. Adam recognized you and told my sister."

Pierce stared.

Annabel rubbed her temple. "She agreed not to say anything, but I do not think she can keep her silence once this theft is discovered. And Adam, why, I am certain he will come forward." Pierce cursed.

Annabel had never heard him use an epithet before, and oddly, it seemed incredibly out of character. "We are blown," he said grimly to Louie. "And we must leave right now."

Annabel started.

"An' how are we going to do that?" Louie said. "The staff’ll be up in another two hours, we won't even be out of town by then."

Pierce was grim. His gaze found Annabel.

And ridiculously, she felt as if this were her own fault. "You knew the risks," she said defensively.

"I knew the risks," he agreed.

"There wasn't time to tell you sooner," she said. Thinking about why there hadn't been time-because they had been in bed together.

"They're going to catch us," Louie said, pacing. "Even if we make the next train out, when they finger us, they'll be stoppin' the train to arrest us."

"Actually, I am in agreement with you, Louie."

The situation was horrid, and getting worse with every moment. "I will beg them not to say a word," Annabel cried.

"Adam Tarrington has too much integrity. He will point his finger at me the moment Guilia cries theft."

Annabel was of the exact same opinion. "So what will you do?"

"I will run. And with a little luck, Louie and I shall escape."

She was frozen. His words echoed. Unable to restrain herself, filled with dread, she asked, "And what about me?"

He hesitated. "History seems to be repeating itself, does it not?"

She told herself she would not allow even a single tear to fall. "I am an accomplice."

Pierce gave her an odd look and Louie snorted in disbelief.

He wasn't even going to suggest that she run away with him. Annabel could not move. She loved him, dear God, she did, but he did not return her feelings, or not to the same degree. So, once again, he would abandon her, and in doing so, kill her heart another time.

"Annabel."

She looked up.

"It would never work."

She inhaled. "Why not?"

His jaw flexed. "The risk of being caught is high now. I cannot let you take that risk, Annabel."

"You are taking that risk," she said, her tone oddly fragile.

"I am. But I am different from you. You belong here, with these people, with your family, your own kind."

And tears filled her eyes. Her own kind. The kind who preferred the drudgery and predictability of marriage and society fetes, the kind who loved nothing more than to point and whisper, judge and condemn. Poor, poor Annabel Boo the. Why couldn't he see that he was her kind? Not those other, horrid, gossiping folk?

They were one of a kind! How blind could he be?

"Annabel. One day you will fall in love with some proper but brilliant fellow, and you will marry. I am certain of it." He knelt before her. "I know you do not understand. But you are young, and one day you will thank me for what I have done."

Annabel laughed, without mirth, through her tears. I am in love, she thought miserably, but did not verbalize her thoughts.

"Let's go, me lord," Louie cried. "Afore we got no chance at all." -Pierce took her hands in his. "I will never forget you."

Annabel could not speak.

He stood. Their gazes held. Then he walked out of the room with Louie, betraying her almost exactly as he had done two years ago. But this time, Annabel knew she would never forgive him, and that she would never see him again.

Chapter Eleven

The banging on her door was terrific. Annabel had cried herself to sleep. Now she opened one eye and saw the sunlight streaming into her room. It was mid-morning.

"Annabel! Open this door immediately!" Lizzie cried, pounding on her door again.

Lizzie was the last person Annabel wished to see. She sat up slowly, and was overwhelmed with grief again. The tears fell and she could not stop them. She flopped back on the bed, this time rolling onto her stomach and sobbing into her pillow.

"Annabel! Annabel! Are you in there?" The knob rattled wildly.

Suddenly angry, Annabel threw her pillow aside and stood, striding to the door. She swung it open. "I am sleeping," she cried. "Go away!"

Lizzie gasped. "You are crying? Oh-what has he done now?"

And at her sister's open display of genuine sympathy, Annabel collapsed into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Lizzie held her. Eventually, Annabel pulled away and walked back to the bed, sinking down tiredly upon it. Lizzie closed the door, locking it, and came to sit down beside her. "Thé countess was robbed. An extraordinarily valuable ruby, worth a king's ransom, they say, was taken from the safe in the manager's office last night."

Annabel looked at her. Recalling the theft caused the tears to fall again. She had never cried so much in her life-not even the last time. She had never felt so heavy, so lifeless, so exhausted.

"It was Braxton, wasn't it? Has he run away already?" Lizzie asked.

Annabel wiped her running eyes with the back of her hand. "Yes, it was Braxton, and he is gone. And actually, the burglary took place at three-thirty this morning, not last night."

Lizzie blinked. "How would you know that?" But now she was staring at Annabel's black dress. "And why are you wearing a housemaid's uniform?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Lizzie stood, her color shocking in its pallor. "Oh, dear Lord. Oh, please, please, tell me you did not get so involved with him that… I cannot even think it."

Annabel did not bother to reply. She was too despondent. She choked on another sob.

"Oh, Annabel, he is such a horrid man, do not cry this way over him." Lizzie hugged her hard.

Annabel did not reply. A part of her was still ready to defend him, but she refused to do so, by damn. She would never defend him again. But she heard herself ask, "Adam? Is he going to the authorities?"

"How can he? We have discussed it at length. He and I should have come forward with the truth about Braxton immediately, but we did not, and he is a wanted felon, Annabel. And where would such a confession leave you? Why, it would make you seem to be his accomplice!"

Annabel could not laugh, not even mirthlessly. "I am his accomplice," she muttered.

Lizzie moaned. "Do not say another word! Do not tell me another thing! Please, do not!"

Annabel looked at her sister, who was extremely distraught, and fell back onto the bed, reaching for the pillow, which she placed over her head.

She could not even hate Braxton. All she could do was grieve. She had loved him and lost him a second time.

"Annabel." Lizzie's tone was firm. "Adam has already wired Papa. I imagine that he will arrive tomorrow."

Annabel sat up, eyes wide. "You're going to tell him, aren't you? You're going to tell him everything."

"Yes," Lizzie said. "For your own sake."

Her father arrived late the following day. Annabel had not stepped out of her room since Braxton had left. But she had learned from the housemaid assigned to her floor that the local police were sweeping the area for him, suspecting him of the theft because of his abrupt departure in the middle of the night. As yet, no one seemed to have connected Wainscot with Braxton. In spite of herself, Annabel was relieved.

Her father had only just checked in, but Annabel was already summoned to his suite by a porter. She took one glance at herself in the mirror over her bureau and winced-she was a terrible sight, her eyes and nose swollen and red, her face pallid and white. Summoning up her courage, she left her room and went to his suite on the fifth floor. Anxiety filled her. She could not imagine what he was going to do to her now. He would probably disinherit her and throw her out of the house. That did not scare her as much as facing his wrath did. Finally, fearfully, she knocked.