In the Light of Day Page 9

  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. .

  "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 w
ith 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.

  Lizzie's gaze was glued to her face. "Except that what?" she whispered, her eyes wide and mirroring something close to horror.

  Annabel wet her lips. "I seduced him."

  "You what?"

  "I seduced Braxton, Lizzie, it was not the other way around. Because I wanted to be ruined, so I would not have to marry Harold Talbot or some other idiot like him." Annabel stared. She could not quite believe that she had told her sister the truth, no matter how, much she loved her and how close they were.

  Lizzie gaped at her.

  Annabel shrugged, tears filling her own eyes. "Something is wrong with me, isn't it? As Missy keeps saying? Reckless, that's what they say. Reckless, impulsive, headstrong."

  Lizzie was crying again, but quietly. She hugged Annabel hard. And when she pulled away, she said, "You are different, there is no question of that, but there is nothing wrong with you." Her gaze was searching. "I hope you are telling the truth. But I cannot think of why you would lie about something like that in order to protect him. Oh, Annabel!"

  "I am telling the truth. He is not a cad." Annabel smiled and sighed. "I wish he were, for then this would be so very easy." For then she would not be in love with him.

  "But he is here," Lizzie said after a pause. "Braxton is here, and you were with him at the beach. Annabel, what are you doing? Please, just this once, stop and think! You must stay away from him."

  "I have been thinking. The truth is, all I have done since he arrived yesterday was to think. Will you keep my secret?" Annabel asked. "Will you keep our secret? Please?"

  Lizzie did not speak at first. "I could never betray you, you know that."

  Annabel hugged her in relief. And when she opened her eyes, she saw Melissa standing behind them, staring at them with wide eyes.

  Chapter nine

  Annabel stared at her sister. Melissa smiled and came forward. "I was about to take a walk and I saw the two of you standing here," she said. "Are you about to stroll? May I join you?"

  Her relief knew no bounds. It did not seem as if Melissa had overheard their conversation. Unfortunately, though, Annabel did not completely trust her sister—she had eavesdropped far too many times. She regarded her closely. "Actually, Lizzie merely wanted to speak with me-—about my walk earlier this morning on the beach."

  If Melissa knew that the subject of their conversation was Braxton, or that Annabel had met him on the beach, she gave no sign. "Oh. Well, I do not want to walk alone. Lizzie, will you join me?"

  Lizzie shook her head. "Actually, I have a horrid headache and I must lie down." Not looking at Annabel, she lifted her skirts and hurried toward the hotel entrance. Both sisters watched her go.

  "What is wrong with her?" Melissa turned wide eyes upon Annabel. "She is so upset. What have you said, or, what have you done now?"

  Annabel smiled and said calmly, "We had a very private conversation, and I think I shall go to my rooms now, too."

  Melissa did not reply, but this time, from the look in her eyes, Annabel had the awful feeling that she knew everything.

  From across the dining room, Braxton smiled at her.

  Annabel's nerves had been on edge ever since she had come down to supper, both wishing that he would be there, and wishing that he would not be so foolish. Now her heart went wild. She looked away, feeling her cheeks burning. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw that Lizzie had noticed the entire intimate exchange.

  Annabel quickly looked at Melissa. But if she had noticed, she gave no sign. She was enjoying her prime rib.

  Annabel swallowed, the hair on her arms still raised, and cautiously looked his way. He dined with the countess, what nerve! Did he intend to rob her this evening?

  And would he make love to her in order to do so?

  Annabel thought about their conversation on the beach that morning. It was unforgettable, like the man himself. But she would be an idiot to believe anything that he had said about his feelings for her.

  "You have no appetite, Annabel. In fact, you seem upset," Melissa remarked, laying down her knife and fork, having finished most of her course.

  Annabel's food was untouched. "I'm afraid I spoiled my appetite this afternoon with a box of chocolates," Annabel lied, her gaze straying of its own volition toward Braxton again.

  The countess leaned against him, regaling him with some tale or another. Her blond escort, Sir Linville, was openly annoyed. Braxton appeared completely at ease— and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

  Melissa turned and stared at the Rossini party. "How fascinated you are by the countess," she said. "Or is it that handsome Englishman she seems so enamored of?"

  Annabel could hardly breathe. "A rich Italian widow hardly fascinates me." She forced herself to eat.

  "I am fascinated by the countess," Lizzie interjected a bit too quickly. "Imagine being that beautiful, and having so many men falling all over themselves for your attention!" She shot Annabel a warning look. Her cheeks were highly flushed.

  "You are that beautiful, and your hardly need more than one man falling all over himself for your attention," Adam said. "And that man is myself."

  Lizzie smiled at her husband. He smiled back at her. Annabel watched them, wondering what it would be like to be so cherished by a wonderful man—and to cherish him in return. She did not dare look at Braxton again. But she had to face her innermost feelings. She wanted Braxton to be that enamored of her, the way Adam was of Lizzie, so much so that he would hardly glance at another woman.

  She reminded herself that he was going to burglarize the countess, and then he would be on his way. If he was not caught, that is.

  And if he did escape, then she would never see him again.

  And suddenly Annabel felt as if she were on the vast precipice of life. The future loomed before her, a huge and dark void. Alone, she thought. She would forever be alone.

  Unless she took her destiny into her own hands.

  She lurked in the shadows at the end of the hall. It was close to two in the morning, and the last of the hotel's festive-minded guests had gone to bed—except for the countess and Braxton.

  Annabel had been hiding on the hotel's top floor for over two hours, waiting for them to retire. She heard the elevator whirring and stiffened, crouching down low. She was rewarded when the elevator's brass door opened and Braxton escorted the countess out. She was exquisite in a red lace evening gown, but she was also tipsy, and clinging firmly to his arm.

  Annabel bit her lip hard, tears stinging her eyes, thinking how easy it would be for him to seduce her now, let her fall asleep, and make off with her jewels. Her heart hurt.

  The countess was laughing huskily at something he had said. She could not seem to find her keys in her beaded purse, and she swayed a bit on her black satin high-heeled shoes.

  "Allow me," he said with a smile. In a moment he had found her keys and opened the door to her suite.

  She smiled at him, poised to enter her apartments.

&nb
sp; "Good night, Guilia," he said.

  Annabel's eyes widened in shock.

  "Pierce? Surely you wish to come in?" The countess was as surprised as Annabel.

  He smiled again and tilted up her chin. "My darling lady, I have no wish to be dangled upon your strings like the other men you collect."

  Her eyes widened, and then she smiled, rubbing his chest beneath his black dinner jacket. "Do I dangle men?" she purred.

  "You do."

  "Perhaps it would be so very enjoyable for both of us," she whispered, staring up at him.

  "I imagine so, but in truth, Linville is smitten with you, Guilia, and you would be foolish to throw such a gentleman away. His intentions, I believe, are honorable. Unlike mine," he added wryly.

  She stared. "You amaze me."

  He laughed, kissed her lips lightly. "Good night."

  "Good night, Pierce," she said.

  Annabel continued to watch them, no longer shocked but elated. The countess disappeared behind her closed door. Pierce turned and sauntered down the hall, back

  toward the elevator. He seemed to be in exceedingly good spirits.

  As was Annabel. She grinned to herself, and a chuckle escaped her.

  Pierce froze in mid-stride.

  Annabel shrank back against the wall.

  He turned. And he saw her immediately.

  His expression was comical. His eyes went wide.

  There was no point in hiding anymore, so Annabel straightened, her heart pounding like a damnable drum. Her color, she knew, was high. He strode forward. "Well, well," he said, his gaze taking in her appearance. "So you have gained employment in the hotel as a housemaid?"

  Annabel thought she blushed again. She was wearing a black dress with a white apron, borrowed from the laundry room. "This is a disguise."

  He folded his arms and chuckled.

  "How are you going to rob her if you do not sleep with her?" Annabel asked very directly.

  His smile vanished. "That idea is highly repugnant. How little you think of me."

  "But you have to get inside her apartments, and she has locked the door."