"You are defending him." Boothe stared, and finally he sat down hard on the sofa. "You love him still. Oh, Annabel. What am I going to do with you?"

"It doesn't matter," she said. "My life is over. Pierce is wrong. My future doesn't exist."

"No." Boothe stood. "You have committed a grave error of judgment, but affairs of the heart are rarely wise. Your future begins today. I have never dictated to you before, and as much as I comprehend your grief now, I will do what is right for you-as I should have done two years ago."

Annabel was alarmed. "What do you intend?"

"You will marry, my dear, like every other proper woman, and one day you will thank me for it."

Two days later, Annabel stood at the altar in the reception hall of the hotel, which had been festively decorated with flowers and candles for her wedding to Thomas Frank. Her entire family was present, as was the countess and her entourage and most of the hotel's guests. Annabel was numb.

She would do as her father asked, because she did not care about her life anymore and she did not have the strength or the inclination to fight with him. Lizzie had pointed out that Thomas Frank was besotted with her, and she would probably be able to do as she liked once married-that this was, for Annabel, a very good match. Annabel had looked at her, wondering if she were out of her mind. Lizzie had married for love after a brief but stormy courtship. She and Adam remained in love four and a half years later. Who was Lizzie fooling?

Melissa had been more rational. "Papa is right. The time has come for you to settle down and grow up, Annabel. You could have found someone to your liking if you had tried, but you never tried, so now you have no choice."

Annabel did not dare look at the groom now, but she glanced at Missy, who seemed pleased by the turn of events. It struck her then, for the first time in her life, that her sister did not wish her well, but she could not fathom why.

Suddenly Annabel realized that the minister had paused and was staring at her. She began to flush. She had been so immersed in her thoughts-and her misery-that she had not been paying attention to a word he said. Thomas nudged her.

"I do," he whispered.

Oh, God. Annabel froze, unable to speak. She realized now what stage they had reached in the ceremony-just as she realized she could not go through with this.

"She does." Her father stepped forward from where he stood just behind Thomas with her mother and her sisters and brothers-in-law. "Annabel?" He stared commandingly at her.

Annabel opened her mouth. No words came out.

The white-haired minister looked at her, his eyes kind. "My dear, do you, Annabel Boothe, take this man to be your husband? In sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, for better or for worse?"

Annabel wet her lips. A huge silence filled the reception hall.

And a cramp seized her. She gasped.

The minister smiled, apparently misinterpreting the sound for an affirmation, and he turned to Thomas quickly. As quickly, Thomas reached for and took her hand, clearly saying, "I do."

Annabel closed her eyes in disbelief. In another moment they would be man and wife.

"If there be any man present who objects to this union, set forth your objections now, or forever hold your peace," the minister intoned.

The hall was silent.

I object, Annabel thought wildly. I object!

The minister smiled and opened his mouth to pronounce them man and wife.

"I object," Pierce cried, striding down the aisle.

Annabel cried out and turned as the crowd gasped. Her eyes widened and her knees buckled. She could not believe her eyes-she had never wanted to behold anyone more.

He had come-he had come to rescue her.

"I beg your pardon?" the minister asked, bewildered.

Pierce paused beside Annabel. "I object," he said, his rich voice carrying. "Annabel Boothe cannot marry this man."

George came to life. "Arrest him. It's the thief who stole the Rossini ruby!"

And several members of the hotel staff came rushing forward from the very back of the hall, including the manager. The five men grabbed Pierce and immobilized him. But he did not struggle. Finally, his gaze met Annabel's.

She was crying. How she loved him. She had never loved anyone more.

"Get the sheriff," the manager was ordering one of his bellmen. The young bellhop ran off.

"Wait!" Annabel cried.

The bellhop actually faltered and stopped halfway down the aisle, for her tone had been so sharp.

Annabel looked at Pierce. He smiled at her, calm, composed, filled with assurance. She tried to smile back, but her rioting emotions-and her fear for him-made it impossible. She faced her father and their guests. "Mr. Wainscot did not steal the countess's ruby," she said firmly.

"Annabel," George began warningly.

"No." Annabel shook her head. She did not hesitate. He had come to rescue her-and she would rescue him. "He could not have stolen the ruby that night. It was a physical impossibility." She looked at Pierce again.

He was staring, his smile gone, as if he knew exactly what she would say.

Her pulse was deafening her. Annabel wet her lips. Raising her voice, she said, "He was with me the entire night, until well after sunrise. With me-in my bed."

George turned white. Lizzie cried out. Missy gasped. Lucinda slowly crumpled to the floor. John and Adam, apparently paralyzed by Annabel's declaration, failed to catch her. And the crowd began talking wildly.

"It's the truth," Annabel said, aware of her burning cheeks. But she held her head high.

"Annabel," George said harshly, "do you realize what you are saying?"

She looked at her father, wishing desperately he would come to her aid, would understand-would bless them. "Papa, I have spoken the truth. Pierce was with me, he could not have stolen the ruby."

The crowd continued to whisper among themselves. Annabel and her father stared at one another until Annabel turned to Pierce. She finally smiled at him.

He did not smile back. But the look in his eyes was so powerful that she felt her knees buckling all over again.

Suddenly the countess was pressing through the crowd and coming up the aisle. "Pierce Wainscot is my friend," she declared. "He would never steal from me." And she smiled at Annabel.

Annabel stared. And slowly, she smiled back.

The countess turned to George and the manager of the Acadia. "As far as I am concerned, the ruby is a thing of the past," she began.

"Contessa, Contessa!"

Annabel blinked. One of Guilia's companions was running up the aisle, holding something in her hand. Annabel saw the pearl necklace with the Rossini ruby and whirled to face Pierce. He grinned.

"I found this in your chamber when I was preparing your evening clothes for supper tonight," the woman cried.

For one moment, Guilia stared, and then she took the necklace and beamed. "I think there has not been any robbery, after all." And she shrugged, in a very European, elaborate manner.

George said slowly, looking now from Annabel to Pierce and back again, "Apparently not."

"Well." Pierce now spoke up. "If you good men would release me so I might continue?"

He was released. And he now had the attention of everyone: the minister, Thomas, George, the countess, the Boothe family, the entire crowd. "I love this woman," he said. "And I believe that she loves me. Which is why she cannot marry Thomas. I wish to marry her myself." He faced George. "But perhaps I should introduce myself first. My full name is Pierce Wainscot Braxton St. Clare. The Viscount of Kildare." And he bowed.

Annabel was stunned. "You are titled?"

He smiled at her. "Unfortunately, yes. You see, a year ago my older and only brother was killed in a hunting accident."

He was titled. He was aristocracy. In fact, Kildare was in Ireland -he wasn't English at all. Annabel's gaze swung to her father. How could he refuse Pierce now? And suddenly there was joy and elation.

"Wait one moment," George was paying. "Are you by any chance related to the Marquis of Connaught?"

"Julian is my cousin," Pierce replied quite smugly. "My first cousin. I take it you are acquainted with the family of his wife, the Ralstons?"

Even Annabel blinked. "Lisa is a friend of mine," she whispered.

Pierce's smile seemed to widen. "It is such a wee world," he said, lapsing into a hint of Irish brogue.

"I would like a private word with you, sir," George said stiffly.

"Actually, it is 'my lord,' " Pierce said. The two men stepped aside. Annabel had no intention of being left out, and she hurried around the side of the altar where they were speaking in whispers. As she did so, she glimpsed poor Thomas Frank, bewildered and morose, and she felt sorry for him. But he would not have been happy with her as a wife. Within weeks he would have realized that she was far too high-spirited for him.

"Why the hell are you a thief?" George demanded keeping his voice low.

"I suppose there are two explanations," Pierce said calmly. "I have a faulty character-and it has to do with my family."

"Do you care to explain yourself, sir?"

"My father was quite accomplished, actually," Pierce said with an apologetic shrug. "But in reality, I steal for more 'respectable' reasons. I've been retained by the British Museum for the past five years in order to restore the collection of jewels that once belonged to Catherine the Great's nephew. It was stolen twenty-five years ago and the museum wants it back, piece by piece, if necessary. It's been quite an exciting vocation."

Annabel felt herself begin to giggle. But only Pierce heard her, and this time, the look he gave her made her melt inside.