He watched her closely, shaking and dropping the match. "Since when did you become a smoker?" he asked.
"Oh, sometime after the abduction," she said tartly, between puffs.
"There was hardly an abduction," he returned, his tone as pleasant as hers was not.
"That is not what society says." She waved the cigarette airily.
"And since when have you ever cared what others think? It is a part of your vast and unique charm, Annabel."
For an instant she believed that he was sincere, then she caught herself and blew smoke as directly as she could at his face.
He waved it away with his hand. "It's quite early in the morning for a stroll. Much less a smoke."
"I rise at six," she retorted. "And I have come down to the beach for a swim." That wasn't true, but Annabel was beyond analyzing herself. She wanted to do battle, and badly.
He grinned. "The ladies are not allowed to swim before two," he said mildly. "But then, I imagine you already know that."
"I do." She puffed harder than before.
"Does the kindly Thomas Frank know about this habit of yours?" There was laughter in his tone. "I don't imagine he would allow his wife to smoke."
Her eyes widened. "I beg your pardon. Nothing has changed in two years. I am hardly interested in marriage."
He stared, remaining silent.
Annabel felt herself blushing. He was clever, and he probably knew that no one would have her even if she did wish to wed. "I would certainly never marry that old man, kind or not."
"I know," he said.
Her heart turned over, numerous times. "You know nothing. And you followed me," she said sharply, unnerved.
"Yes, I did."
"What's wrong?" She was snide. "Did the countess throw you out of her bed before breakfast could be served?"
His gaze was searching. "Your jealousy is showing." "I am not jealous," she flashed, throwing down the cigarette.
He eyed her, then ground out her smoking butt with his heel. "You could have fooled me, Annabel." "It is Miss Boothe to you."
"Actually, I am flattered, that after all this time, you still care enough to be jealous of another woman."
"I do not care at all!" she cried, turning her back on him and starting rapidly down the path.
He fell into step beside her. "Well, in truth, I have not been in the countess's bed, although I doubt you would believe me."
"I don't."
"You also have nothing to be jealous of." Annabel snorted.
When he did not reply, merely kept pace with her, she had to look at him. If only he were ugly. "She is probably one of Europe 's reigning beauties."
"Probably," he agreed.
Annabel wished he had denied it, "so her stride quickened. She could see the two of them entwined. It more than upset her-it infuriated her and it hurt her. What was wrong with her? How could she still care?
"Ten years ago," Pierce said, his tone conversational, "I would have enjoyed the attentions of a woman like Guilia Rossini, but call me jaded if you will, she offers little for a man like myself now."
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.