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.
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..