Nicholas sniffed the air. "Ah, yes, you must get back to that all-importantham sandwich." He made a face. "Domestic ham at that, topped off with a wedgeof overly ripened cheese." He shook his head. "Pyrosis in the making." Arather frightening term for an ailment physicians referred to as heartburn.

The man squinted one eye skeptically at him, probably wondering if heshould be concerned. Then he harrumphed, obviously concluding pyrosis,whatever it might be, was the last thing he need worry about dying from withso many felons looking for an opportunity to slip some ground glass betweentwo slices of bread and serve it with an arsenic cocktail.

Once more, Nicholas found himself ignored, which only increased his desireto irritate the clod.

He gestured to his surroundings. "What do you call the shade of gray on thewalls? Kiss of death?"

Focusing that same skeptical look on Nicholas, the man muttered, "Acomedian, I see," and continued to shuffle through his papers even though hewasn't looking at them. "As if we don't get enough of those in here."

In that moment, Nicholas made a startling observation. Awash in the dimlight that cast a pall over everything it touched, the man could pass for abald Pontius Pilate. If he washed his hands, he'd be a dead ringer.

At last, Pontius quit shuffling, held up one of his papers, and peered atNicholas with obvious dislike. "Yeah, we got a Sheridan Delaney. Who are you?"

"Is that really pertinent, or just your insatiable curiosity asking?"

The constable shook his head in slow lawman fashion. "And here I thoughtthe girl was a pip. You two deserve one another."

Nicholas sincerely doubted it. "What has she done?"

"Destroyed a fruit stand."

"And how does one destroy a fruit stand? Take a machete to it?"

"One runs into it, is what one does."

Nicholas would have been amused by the man's first, albeit meager, attemptat drollery if the information he imparted hadn't been so intriguing.

The girl ran into a fruit stand? How the hell did she do that? Trip overher kid slippers?

This only confirmed his early suspicion that Jules's friend was a nit.Someone should write a letter to the Bainbridge Academy and inquire if thecurriculum included destruction instead of deportment.

"How much to get her out?"

"One hundred pounds."

"What? You're insane. All the fruit in London wouldn't cost that much."

Pontius shrugged. "I don't make the rules. I just enforce 'em."

"I shiver to think what might happen if you did make the rules," Nicholasgrumbled in disgust. "What else?"

"Well, there's also a fine for disturbing the peace."

This was really too much. "To what peace are you referring?" His sarcasmgarnered him no reply. "How much?"

"Fifteen pounds."

Muttering, Nicholas drove a hand into his pocket and retrieved his moneyclip. Peeling off the required amount, he slapped it down on top of the desk.

"That ain't the whole of it." A bucktoothed grin split Pontius's face andNicholas wondered how the man's head would look on top of a pike. "Twenty-fivepounds for resisting arrest."

"Resisting--" Four-letter words choked in his throat. "Anything else?" heground out.

"Just a ten-pound processing fee."

Insane laughter welled up inside of Nicholas, but went unvented. "And what,pray tell, does the processing fee consist of?"

"It consists of me telling you all the fines."

Nicholas's hand shook with the desire to yank the man's spine out throughhis throat, but he was in no mood to find himself sequestered in the same jailcell with Jules' s fruit-destroying friend. He might just wring her scrawnyBoston neck.

With complete ill grace, Nicholas handed over the remaining money.

"Nice doin' business with you."

"Go peddle your cheese," Nicholas grumbled, walking toward the front doorto cool his ire before confronting the chit.

The man called to his counterpart, "Bring out the wildcat, Jake."

Nicholas frowned. Wildcat? What did the man mean by that?

He had little time to ponder that question before a female voice raised inanger echoed down the corridor, spewing words he couldn't understand, but wereamusing in their ferocity.

"Here you go, and good riddance."

"I'll give ye good riddance, ye fatheaded louse!"

Nicholas froze in place. That voice. That accent. It couldn't be.

With leaden feet, he rotated on his heels. Stunning violet eyes clashedwith his, sending his heart racing, only to harden a moment later as heremembered the craving this girl had filled him with and the empty bed he'dfound come morning.

"Hello, Danny."

*Chapter Nine*

Sheridan's heart lodged in her throat as she came face to face with her darkangel. She had begun to believe she had conjured him up, creating an image inher mind spun together with the threads of her hopes and dreams. But here hewas, tall, handsome, and marvelously real.

While marking time in the gloomy confines of her cell, refusing to allowthe menacing guard outside her door or the scurrying rodents inside to scare her, this man's face had sustained her strength. She had prayed he would save her.

And he had.

Sheridan didn't stop to wonder how he had found her. Their destinies wereinterwoven. How she knew it to be so, she couldn't say.

Perhaps the awareness stemmed from the powers of the druid blood runningthrough her veins, the ancient lure and legend of the special breed of peoplefrom whom she descended, the belief that once every lifetime forces merged,drawing soul mates together, creating a bond so pure, so completely blessedthat nothing could tear it asunder.

Smiling, Sheridan stepped toward him. Unsmiling, he stepped away. Theaction rocked her back on her heels. She gazed into those eyes that hadhaunted her dreams, and the look reflected in them cut her like razor-edgedglass.

He was angry. No, furious. Why?

Could it have something to do with the fines he'd had to pay and thelateness of the hour? Certainly that could test any man's patience. Yet hisanger seemed directed at her alone.

"It seems ye've come to me rescue again."

Self-mockery shone in his eyes. "And here they say no good deed goesunpunished."

The barb struck her cleanly and deeply. She wanted to ask him what waswrong, but not here, not with all eyes upon them.

Swallowing the pain, she moved toward him. A flicker of something warmflashed in his eyes, but ice quickly replaced it, making his gaze as cold as abog hole on a frosty night. Sheridan trembled, but did not stop walking untilshe stood directly in front of him.

He studied her face, his gaze sweeping over her hair, her eyes, her nose,and stopping at her mouth. Unconsciously, she licked her lips.

"Ever the seductress, I see." A muscle worked in his jaw. "When I'mfinished with my business here, I'd be more than willing to oblige you." Heleaned forward, his voice dropping to a husky grumble. "You left me hungry formore, my dear. It seems I have an ache only you can assuage."

His callous words fell like a lash across her back even as his nearness made her weak with need.

Sheridan lifted her hand to slap him. Like a viper, his fingers coiledabout her wrist. "You got away with that once," he growled. "It's anexperience I don't wish to repeat."

He pushed past her then, his angry stride carrying him to the officer atthe desk. "This is not the girl I came for."

His words rang in her ears.

This is not the girl I came for.

What did he mean? He had not come to save her, to take her out of thiswretched place and into the light? His presence and hers were merely ...coincidence? The coldness in his eyes told its own story.

With sudden, painful clarity, the grim truth struck Sheridan. Her darkangel was sober, and she had been nothing more than a night of pleasure. Whatan utter fool she had been to believe her fanciful daydream.

Did your lover leave without paying you?

Tart.

Whore.

"Whaddya mean that's not the girl?" the officer snapped. "You asked forSheridan Delaney, didn't you?"

"I did."

The man pointed. "Well, that's her."

A thousand thoughts tumbled through Nicholas's head, the least of which wasthe fact that, if the smug bastard was correct, he had made love to hiscousin's best friend.

And heaven help him, he wanted to do so again.

Danny. Short for Sheridan.

He swung around on his heel to face her.

She was gone.

Sheridan ran down the dark street, heedless of where she was going. Sheonly knew she had to escape, flee from the memories. Flee from the truth.

Tears streamed down her face, and she cursed herself for the weakness thatmade her shed even one tear for the emerald-eyed sassenach--for believing hewas the one.

Her breath rasped through her lungs, her limbs weak from lack ofsustenance, her heart heavy with foolish dreams. She ached for her mother andlonged for forgetful-ness.

A vision of poor Uncle Finny still locked away made Sheridan stop heraimless flight. She couldn't leave him, couldn't allow the pain throbbinginside her to make her forget about her loved ones. Her family. People whoneeded her.

Who cared for her.

She had to find her way to Jules's home. Her friend would know what to do.That's why Sheridan had sent Aunt Aggie to fetch her.

Sheridan realized how stupid she'd been to believe she could fix theproblem on her own, but she hadn't wanted to show up on her friend's doorstepwith burdens. In the end, she had failed--in so many ways.

Now she had no other choice.

One candle, burned down almost to the nub, glowed in the foyer as Nicholasranged the parquet floor. Only the sound of his booted feet clickingrestlessly back and forth disturbed the dismal silence.

Damn, he'd had the girl in his grasp, but like an Irish mist, she hadeluded him again.

The knowledge burned his gut.

The mysterious Sheridan Delaney. What were the chances they would meet insuch an improbable fashion not once, but twice?

Two souls entwined.

How he was growing to hate those three words.

He kicked a chair and sent it spinning on its side across the recentlywaxed floor.

Damn, he'd been duped. Why hadn't Jules fessed up that her friend wasIrish? Why had she let him believe he dealt with some Boston socialite?

It wasn't that he cared if the chit was Irish and not a socialite. Those things didn't matter to him. What galled him was that he'd been taken offguard, hoisted with his own petard, so to speak, and he hated the feeling.

Now Nicholas truly understood his cousin's cloaked remarks and sly smiles.Married or not, Jules was still a minx.

What was he going to tell her when she awoke? That her friend was nowamongst the missing because he had lost control of his emotions? And without adoubt, he had some very strong emotions regarding Sheridan Delaney.

Perhaps that explained his anger when he'd seen her. Innocent, angelic,disheveled. Magnificent. His joy at having found her eclipsed rationalthought.

Yet the joy twisted into rage when Nicholas remembered she'd run off withanother man before her spot on the bed had grown cold.