"Annabel? Dear, please, where are you?" Lucinda Boothe cried from somewhere just outside of the library in the corridor.
It was not the champagne bottle. Pierce felt the object slide down his thigh. He glanced down just in time to watch the magnificent triple-tiered pearl and diamond necklace slipping along his black pants leg to the floor.
"What is that!" Annabel cried, her gaze on the glittering necklace as well.
"Annabel?" Lucinda Boothe sounded as if she were in the doorway-or very close to it.
Pierce met Annabel's accusing blue gaze, smiled, and grabbed her. With one strong arm he clamped her to his torso. "Do not scream," he said calmly. "Or I will break your neck."
She froze. For a brief instant, her disbelieving gaze held his. "You wouldn't!" she gasped.
"Do not test me," he returned, bending to retrieve the necklace. And as he did so, she shifted, bent, and tried to jam her elbow right in his groin.
Pierce realized what she was doing before she could succeed and he managed to elude her and prevent a very mi ions injury, indeed. He jerked her up hard against him again. And this time, he used his free hand to point a revolver at the base of her skull. "Miss Boothe. That was hardly ladylike. I suggest you cooperate. You are a very beautiful woman. I like beautiful women. I do not want to hurt you, but I have no desire to find myself in jail."
"Then you should not be a thief," she spat, very flushed and struggling wildly now. "You won't shoot me. You are no cold-blooded killer, sir!"
"Do not bet your life upon it," he said coolly.
"Annabel!" Lucinda Boothe screamed.
Pierce turned, hugging Annabel to his body, and he smiled at Lucinda Boothe, who stood just inside the library doorway. The plump blond lady was in the midst of losing all her coloring. "Madam, I suggest that you stand still. I will not hurt your daughter."
"I am fine, Mama," Annabel said stoically. "He has stolen your jewels," she added, twisting to fling a grave look at him over her shoulder.
Lucinda Boothe stared at them soundlessly, then slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
"Mama!" Annabel cried. "She needs her salts. She is always fainting."
"Thank God for small things," Pierce said, hustling his hostage past the unconscious woman, out of the library and down the hall. He did not falter, in spite of the fact that two servants were in the foyer and they halted in their tracks, their eyes widening, their mouths forming O's.
"Help!" Annabel shrieked abruptly.
"Do not move," Pierce countermanded the staff, jerking on her. The servants remained frozen like statues. Annabel refused to move her feet so he dragged her across the foyer. His glance could not help but take in the ballroom. Heads were turning/ Gasps were heard. Four hundred guests were becoming cognizant of the abduction of the bride.
Pierce himself could hardly believe what was happening. He propelled the now-silent Annabel and himself to the threshold of the foyer.
"Braxton!" Boothe cried from behind him in shock and disbelief.
Pierce halted, facing Annabel's father. "I will not hurt her. Do not move."
Boothe was incredulous, but anger quickly overcame him. "You son of a bitch! Release my daughter!" he shouted from the entrance to the ballroom.
A young man had come up beside him, as blond and blue-eyed as Annabel, clad in a tailcoat with a red carnation pinned to his lapel. "Oh, God!" he cried. "He is stealing my bride! Someone do something!" A dozen guests crowded behind him and Boothe now.
"As long as nobody moves, she will be returned to you no worse for wear," he said, briefly pointing the revolver at the crowd. Collectively they gasped.
Pierce replaced the muzzle of the pistol to Annabel's skull and dragged her out of the house.
"You will regret this," she cried, but now she was running with him of her own volition.
"I am sure that I will," he said. But he was not thinking about the bride. He had never signaled Louie from the second floor as had been the plan, but the backup plan had called for Louie to have the Packard waiting for a getaway in thirty minutes should Pierce fail to signal. He was certain that thirty-five minutes or so had elapsed, but the Packard was nowhere to be seen. Had Pierce had the luxury, he would have been in a state of severe disbelief. Louie had never let him down before.
"Damn it, Louie!" he said, hurrying with Annabel toward the drive.
"Who is Louie?" she gasped, tripping now over her skirts as he increased their pace.
Pierce had no intention of answering her, because the father of the bride, the groom, and at least a hundred guests were crowding the front door of the mansion, watching him as he fled with Annabel. And then, just past several parked coaches and waiting grooms, he saw the Packard. "Louie!" he roared.
And Louie saw him. The Packard had been idling, now it came to life, rolling. forward. Pierce ran to it, Annabel clamped to his side. When he reached the motorcar, he released her, pushing her away. She fell onto her hands and knees in the drive as he vaulted into the passenger seat. "Go!" he said, as Louie shifted gears. And he turned to look at her. Sweat was trickling into his eyes.
She was rising. Grass, dirt, and gravel now stained her wedding dress, and her blue eyes were wide. She faced him, and their gazes locked. The tiara she wore, which held her veil in place, was slipping.
Pierce was sorry that he had ruined her wedding. But since she was so reluctant to wed, maybe he had done her a favor. He couldn't help feeling an odd regret. There was nothing unfortunate about Annabel Boothe and she deserved a real man, not that milksop he had seen in the foyer.
And the Packard jerked, backfired, and stalled.
"Damn it." Pierce turned to Louie, incredulous.
Louie was leaping out, to crank up the engine again.
Pierce jumped into the driver's seat and shifted. Half a dozen gentlemen were running from the house toward him, including Boothe and the groom. Murder was justifiably upon their minds. And Annabel just stood there, a few feet from the motorcar, as if she had turned into a statue herself, watching them running toward her in her spoiled and stained wedding dress.
The engine roared to life.
"Get in!" Pierce shouted at Louie.
Louie was already racing for the passenger door, but Annabel had turned and seemed to be doing the exact same thing. Pierce could not believe his eyes as the two of them collided. "Christ. Get in, Louie!" he roared.
They separated, Louie tripping on Annabel's voluminous skirts. Pierce watched the pack of men coming closer-they were twenty yards away. And then a flurry of white landed in the seat beside him, followed by his driver, who leapt upon Annabel. As she shoved Louie to the floor, Pierce slammed down the gas pedal, gritting his teeth, filled with anger, the veil flying in his face. He brushed the transparent material out of his eyes as the Packard leapt forward, spitting out stones from beneath its tires.
This was unbelievable.
The Packard sped wildly around the circular drive. A horse reared, backing up in terror, pushing its coach into another carriage.
Gripping the steering wheel with two hands, his gaze glued on the straightaway and Fifth Avenue, beyond that, Pierce saw, from the corner of his eye, Louie righting himself in the same seat as the bride. And then they were shooting through the wide-open front gates. Tires screeched as he turned the Packard so hard to the left that two wheels briefly lost contact with the ground.
Annabel was huffing and puffing and pushing her veil out of her face and eyes. She did not look at him. Her cheeks were very red.
But Louie did, absolute amazement on his face, along with an obvious question.