Taking a deep breath, she pivoted on her heel.

"Why don't you stay here?" His words halted her more effectively than hishand.

Stay here? With him? A tiny thrill shot through Sheridan, only to besquelched by reality. Was he asking because he hoped she would lay with himagain? That she would let those drowsy green eyes seduce her, that silky smileentice her?

Never! She had pride, more than her fair share--with an excess of temper tomatch. Unfortunately she had a dearth of common sense. A volatile mix.

She also had a long memory, and the man standing in front of her, moonlightwashing over his features, making him appear hewn from stone, had done thingsand said things she would not soon forget. He'd expressed his feelings for herquite clearly at the jail when he'd made his crude proposition.

She'd made a mistake. It was not her first, and although it was by far herworst, Sheridan doubted it would be her last. It was, however, one life lessonshe wouldn't repeat.

As her mother always said, 'We Delaneys are survivors.' And Sheridan wouldsurvive, even if her heart was breaking.

She'd never let him know he'd hurt her.

"I can't stay."

"Why not?"

"Because I have other sleepin' arrangements."

His jaw hardened. "I'm sure you do," he said tightly. "But this is whereyou were meant to be."

Only a few short hours ago, Sheridan would have thought such a statementprophetic. Now the words were meaningless.

He added, "You came to see Jules, remember? Well, she is staying with me."

Sheridan's stomach twisted into a knot of foreboding. Until that moment,she hadn't connected the pieces, hadn't wondered how their paths had crossedtwice in the same night, hadn't thought about the fact he had told her Juleswas sleeping in his house. She hadn't even wondered about his identity. Thelast thought brought a cold clamminess to her palms.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "And who are ye to Jules?"

"Ah, that's right. I know who you are, but you don't know who I am. We wererather busy, after all."

His meaning was reflected in his eyes, heating Sheridan's cheeks even asshe tried to combat the dart of longing his words evoked.

"Allow me to correct that oversight," he murmured. Without warning, he tookher hand in his and raised it to his lips. "Nicholas Sinclair, cousin toJules, brother to Damien and Gray, and reckless fool to one Irish lass, atyour service."

*Chapter Ten*

Of all the men in all the world, why oh why did it have to be this man whocame to her rescue, this man whose smile had charmed her, this man who hadasked for a kiss as his reward and had stolen her heart instead?

Nicholas Sinclair, her best friend's cousin, and her own dark angel.

His lingering, warm lips sent hot and cold chills skittering overSheridan's flesh as he kissed the back of her hand. As she yanked her fingersfrom his grasp, he quirked an eyebrow at her telling action.

"There must be a mistake," Sheridan said in a shaky voice, wanting to refute the truth.

Her lapse in judgment had suddenly, irrevocably, been compounded. How couldshe look Jules in the eyes? Jules had always been perceptive. Sheridan couldrarely hide anything from her friend. What would Jules think of her should shefind out about Sheridan's actions with her cousin?

Oh, but she must never find out! Ever! Jules would surely hate her if shediscovered the truth.

"What mistake?" he asked. "That I'm Nicholas Sinclair? Or that Jules is staying with me? I assure you, I speak the truth in both matters."

Sheridan turned away. "It can't be," she murmured, voicing her thought.

"What can't be?" He came up behind her. "Are you talking to yourselfagain?"

Sheridan closed her eyes. Why did he continue to prick her with memories ofthat night? And why did he have to stand so close? His nearness suffocatedher, boxed her in, eroded her ability to reason.

She edged around him, careful not to make contact. "I can't stay here."

He folded his arms across his chest, looking incongruous standing next toone of a set of large topiaries flanking the door. "Running away again?"

"I'm not runnin' away," Sheridan denied, hating the small voice that saidshe was doing exactly that.

"No?" He paused, his lips thinning into a grim line. "Is there anotherstallion in the paddock awaiting your return, perhaps?"

Sheridan frowned, not understanding his meaning.

"Oh, come now, my dear. I've had enough of this mongoose and cobra act.Certainly you're not going to play the innocent with me. We both know thetruth."

Nicholas wasn't sure what demon possessed him to want to dent the girl'sarmor, but his barb hit its target. She reeled as if he'd slapped her.

Damn if he didn't feel a twinge of regret. He'd never spoken so coarsely toa woman, but that sweet look of innocence on her face wore on his nerves, andthe spirit reflected in those beautiful eyes and her ever defiant stanceinflamed his senses.

He realized he wanted to hurt her--almost as much as he wanted to kiss her. And that cursed need grated on him like saltpeter in a wound.

Understanding sparked in her eyes, the temper she had once called fierceleaping to life like twin flames, her slim frame vibrating like a harnessedthunderstorm.

A smile suddenly lit her face, which should have given him fair warning.She dashed forward and plucked an object off the ground. Nicholas almost lostan ear when she hurled a weighty rock at his head.

And then another.

And another.

Each rock progressively larger than the last.

"Damn it, Danny!" he swore as a spiky plant whistled past his nose.

Clearly, it was time to take cover.

Nicholas ducked behind the topiary as a hunk of grass, dirt and all,smacked him in the back.

Peering at her from between the leaves, he said, "Why all the anger, mygirl? If you're upset because I fell asleep on you at the inn, I promise itwon't happen again."

Wrong thing to say.

If her eyes could have flung daggers, his body would have been covered withthem.

"Why ye rotten, arrogant, bloated, English cod-monger!" She scrambled forsomething else to toss.

Well, what could he expect? He had thrown down the gauntlet, and she hadpicked it up and walloped him with it.

Seeing an opportunity for a rear attack with her back to him, Nicholaslunged for her, but she sidestepped at the last moment. He landed in a pricklygreen shrub, the branches scraping his naked chest.

His attacker muffled a snicker, but it quickly turned into gales oflaughter at his bloody expense. Damn, but it was a beautiful sound.

Rolling over, he groaned. "You think this is funny, do you?"

She nodded, her smile infectious. "As I said before, 'tis not much of afightin' man ye are."

Nicholas gritted his teeth. "When I put you over my knee and redden yourluscious backside, we will see who's laughing then."

"You'd never catch me."

Like a whip, he reached out and snagged the hem of her skirt. "Oh no?"

That wiped the smile from her face. "Ye wouldn't dare."

"I would dare," he returned, his words leaving no doubt as to hissincerity.

The clearing of a throat interrupted their mutual glaring.

Sheridan swung around to see a reed-thin Chinese man standing in the opendoorway, staring at her curiously. His hair was black as polished onyx, butslivers of moonlight painted it with streaks of silver.

He had his mane pulled back and plaited. When he shook his head, clearlyamused by the goings-on, Sheridan could see a hint of a red ribbon securingthe end of his long braid. Intelligence shone from his piercing, almond-shapedebony eyes.

The jacket of his black silk outfit had a curved front flap fastening tothe right with loop and toggle closures; wide sleeves ended with turned-backwhite inner facing His pants were loose and gathered at the bottom. On hisfeet, he wore brocade slippers of black with a hint of red shaped in thedesign of a dragon.

"Ah, Ho-Sing," Nicholas said. "As usual, you have arrived in time towitness my humiliation."

Ho-Sing nodded. "True, true. Very funny."

"Not if you're on the receiving end."

"What you do on ground, Boss-man?"

"I'm practicing the manly art of self-collapse."

Her antagonist's endearingly disgruntled tone brought Sheridan's gaze backto him. Nicholas wiped dirt from his arms and chest, making her wish shehadn't looked. He glanced up and caught her gaping. A slow half grin curvedhis full lips.

"Ah, to be in England now that war has broken out," he murmured, holdingher gaze, clearly telling Sheridan that battle lines had been drawn and heintended to be the victor.

"Missy throw rock like she mean to kill you, Boss-man."

"That's because she did mean to kill me, Ho-Sing." Laughter danced in thehint of a dimple. "Missy have fierce temper."

Sheridan narrowed her eyes. How dare he make light of her anger! "Missywon't be missin' ye next time," she vowed.

Nicholas heaved an exaggerated sigh. "See what I mean, Ho-Sing? All I didwas offer the girl a warm bed, and she clobbers me."

The little man chuckled. "Ho-Sing want to know which warm bed."

That changed her tormentor's tune. "If Ho-Sing doesn't want to eat onlyrice cakes for the rest of his life, Ho-Sing will refrain from comment."

"Ho-Sing filled with remorse." He bowed his head, but not before winkingmischievously at Sheridan. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Nicholas looked skeptical. "Hmm. Somehow Boss-man doesn't think so, but I'mtoo beat up to argue."

Ho-Sing's head snapped up. "All fine and dandy now? Ho-Sing take Missy toroom?"

Sheridan schooled her features and straightened her shoulders as hernemesis regarded her. She tried to dredge up the hate she should feel for him.But one thing she had refused to acknowledge earlier kept nagging at her,unwilling to be relegated to the back of her mind.

He had not been the sole cause of her hurt.

Sheridan knew she could not blame him entirely for her downfall. She had been a willing participant.

Nicholas gave her a hesitant smile. "I promise your room won't even be onthe same side of the hallway as mine. I'll put you in the room next to Jules.Will that make you happy?"

No, Sheridan thought. She wouldn't be happy unless he stayed somewhereelse. How could she possibly put him from her mind if she was forced to seehim all the time? It wouldn't work. But what excuse would she give Jules fornot staying?

Ho-Sing said, "I place patch-eyed man at end of hallway." He lowered hisvoice. "I think he smoke the loco root."

Ho-Sing's words captured Sheridan's attention. "Patch-eyed man?" Itcouldn't be.

Nicholas strolled toward her, his green eyes piercing and dark. Sheridanordered her feet to stand firm. "Had you not clobbered me, I would have toldyou that your uncle is upstairs sound asleep."

"My uncle ... is here?"

"Indeed he is. And let me say the man's quite a character. He reminds me ofthe west wind; he can't be kept out or kept quiet. On the ride, he regaled mewith a story about the Cattle Raid of Cooley. He claimed he was--"

"Maeve, Queen of Connaught?"

Nicholas smiled. "Yes. He mentioned something about capturing a famous bulland someone named Cuchulain."

"That's Uncle Finny, all right."

"Interesting family you have," he murmured, a hint of amusement in his tonethat Sheridan didn't appreciate.

"I don't understand. How did ye know me uncle was in the gaol?"

His eyes skimmed over her hair. Tenderly, he brushed wisps away from herface, pausing briefly to capture a few strands. Sheridan tried to ignore thewarmth swirling in her stomach, and the jolt that sluiced through her when hisgaze moved to her lips and then her eyes.