"I was just trying to--"

"I know what ye were tryin' to do." She jutted that stubborn jaw forward."You were tryin' to act like a preenin' rooster and save the lassie fromhurtin' her bumblin' self. Well, I need no help from ye and I'll thank ye toremember that," she finished in a huff.

He returned her scowl, conflicted between wringing her supple white neck orpaddling her luscious behind. "Christ, woman. You are the most hardheaded,irritating ..." He gritted his teeth. "You're as--"

"Stiff as Emery's limbs and has her nose so far up in the air iciclescollect on it?" Jules interjected, barely contained amusement in her voice asshe prodded him with his own words.

Nicholas was too focused on Sheridan to reply to his cousin or realize whatJules might think about such an exchange between him and her friend.

"If you want to get yourself killed, by all means, go ahead."

Sheridan poked him in the chest. "Ye're more likely to get yerself killedby jumpin' into the fray unprepared." Her expression clearly reminded him ofanother time he'd jumped into the fray unprepared and been pummeled to withinan inch of his life.

He growled.

She gloated.

"Fine," he ground out. "I'm just a man anyway."

"A hapless man," Jules chimed in, apparently enjoying his discomfit bybringing up everything he'd once unwittingly said about her friend.

From the sudden wide-eyed look on Sheridan's face, it appeared she'd justremembered Jules's presence. He could almost hear her saying she had to learnto curb her tongue.

The quibbling ended and the three of them faced Uncle Finny, who lookedlike Don Quixote in his getup.

"So ye've sided with the enemy, niece? Oh, how ye've broken an old man'sheart."

Sheridan heaved a pent-up sigh. "I've sided with no one, uncle. Do ye notrecall who helped ye with yer armor when ye went to fight against King Henryn?" She walked toward him, unconcerned about the sword faltering in hisunsteady grasp. "Or when I hid you in the larder to save ye from the wrath ofCromwell?"

Her uncle grimaced, making his face appear like a particularly witheredprune. "Bloody puritan," he spat.

"And who plied ye with tea so ye could stay up and write yer poetry aboutsorrowin' maidens, vanished glories, and divine salvation?"

Eyeing her skeptically, her uncle withdrew an item from the pocket of hisworn brown jacket with the patched elbows. It appeared to be a leg from themissing duck carcass. Sticking the limb in his mouth, he tore off a piece ofmeat and said while chewing, " 'Twas ye that did, me girl."

"Aye. 'Twas me."

Reaching him, Sheridan carefully pried the sword from his hand. Herelinquished it with nary a sound, absorbed as he was in his food. Shebalanced the sword in her hand quite expertly, her eyes lifting to Nicholas's,a hint of a smile playing about her lips, telling him clearly that shepictured him carved in small pieces.

With a careful tread, he moved forward and stopped in front of her, thesword inches from his stomach. He held out his hand--and the bloody wench hesitated!

He narrowed his eyes and she cocked a sleek, copper brow. Then, with a softlilting chuckle, she relinquished her weapon.

Nicholas shot her one last glare before shifting his gaze to her uncle."You wouldn't, perchance, have a painting stashed away of an older woman whoresembles me, albeit remotely, would you?"

His question stopped dear disturbed Uncle Finny in mid chew. He proceededto squint one murky eye at Nicholas. "Ye mean the woman with the wiry yellowhair an' her lips pursin' like she'd taken a bite of an unripe persimmon?"

A more accurate description Nicholas himself couldn't have given. "That'sher."

The man patted Nicholas's shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. "I kilt her.She were evil, lad. 'Tis a better world without her."

A soft imprecation came from Sheridan. "What did ye mean ye killed her?"

Uncle Finny shook his head. "Skewered her, I did."

"Oh, uncle, what did ye do?" A sinking feel settled in the pit ofSheridan's stomach.

"I ran me sword through her treacherous heart."

"Are you trying to say that you ran a sword through the portrait of mymother?" Nicholas asked, disbelief ringing clearly in his tone.

Sheridan squeezed her eyes shut and wondered when the nightmare would end.Her first day with Jules and already her family had begun to wreak havoc onNicholas' s home and possessions. And that was after the man had bailed herand her uncle out of jail.

She looked askance and noted the incredulous expression on his face.Surprisingly, he didn't appear upset, but mildly amused. His composure madeher wonder if she had judged him too harshly when he'd come to the jail.

He had been summoned from the comfort of his home late in the evening,after having been accosted by Aunt Aggie--and Sheridan didn't doubt for amoment that her aunt had put on quite a show.

Add to that the very real possibility he might have been asleep when heraunt arrived--or perhaps otherwise occupied--which inevitably made Sheridanwonder what he might have been occupied doing.

'Tis none of yer business.

But that didn't mean the thought disappeared. It was altogether possible hehad ... a lady friend. Several, in fact. Yet that thought hadn't crossed hermind when he'd patted the spot beside him on the bed at the inn.

"Come, uncle." Sheridan plucked the candelabra from his grip and shoved ittoward Nicholas without looking at him, her mind focused on how she wouldrepair the damage to his mother's picture.

"Where ar-re we goin', lass?"

"We have to pick up our things from the hotel." Hovel would have been abetter term for the establishment.

"Oh, aye. Puir Scally will be missin' ye. Ye know how much he looves ye,lass."

"Scally?"

The irritated rasp of their host brought Sheridan's head up. A slight ticworked in Nicholas's jaw, his gaze direct and penetrating.

"Who's Scally?"

Sheridan would have told him had his tone not been so demanding andbelligerent. "I guess ye'll have to wait and see now, won't ye?"

He didn't appear to appreciate that answer, if the glower directed her waywas any indication. "I'm not a particularly patient man, my girl. And"--heleaned forward-- "whatever patience I may have possessed was wrung dryrecently. Now," he said with steely determination, "your uncle will have somebreakfast and you and I will retrieve your belongings." Glancing over hisshoulder, he said to Jules, "Will you see to our guest, puss?"

"I will."

"Now wait one--" Sheridan's words were stillborn as Nicholas gripped herupper arm and tugged her away.

"There's no need to thank me."

"Thank ye!" she fumed. "Why I'll--"

Hauling her closer to his side, he whispered in her ear, "I'd watch yourtongue, my girl. We have an audience."

She glared.

He shook his head. "Don't you think it's time to bury the hatchet?" heasked as they descended the stairs.

"Oh, aye. I'll bury it all right. In yer head!"

How had he known she'd say that?

"Emery, please have the coach brought around," Nicholas instructed.

Emery, dozing off in the chair, snorted a few times, blinked, and thenrattled his head like a person in the throes of a seizure. Nicholas swore heheard the man's small fossilized brain clanging as he attempted to clear thehundred-year-old cobwebs in the large hollow that was his skull.

Slapping a skeletal hand to his back, Emery cracked every vertebraedescending his decrepit spine.

"What was that, sir?" he croaked. "You found a roach on the ground? I'llhave it cleaned up in a lick."

Rising tike an ancient piece of licorice, Emery began to scuttle off at arate of speed that would take him two days and nights to reach thehousekeeper's quarters.

Nicholas sighed. "Never mind. I'll take Kdansk."

"You're going to a dance?" Emery's querulous, watery eyes fixed onNicholas. "Isn't it too early?" Before Nicholas could throw an internal boutof histrionics, Emery dismissed him, turning his gaze to Sheridan. "You lookvery pretty, miss. The master's a lucky man to have you at his side."

Nicholas gazed down at Sheridan, expecting to see the daggers of femininewrath she liked to throw his way directed at poor, witless Emery. But damn himif the woman wasn't smiling at his butler. Smiling!

She must have felt his stunned regard because when she looked up at him,the fulminating glare returned to her eyes. She flicked a glance at his handwrapped around her arm. "Ye'll stop yer manhandlin' or I'll scream the housedown."

God, she was something when she was riled. "Go ahead. Something tells methe house isn't going to remain standing long with its current occupantsanyway."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Nicholas regretted them. Hecursed himself roundly when he saw the touch of hurt flash briefly in her eyesbefore being cloaked.

"That can be fixed," she said tightly, trying to yank her arm out of hisgrip.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Ye did."

"I didn't."

"Ye did."

"Damn it! I didn't!" Nicholas fired back, his ire beginning to rise once more.

Seeing an audience gathering, he marched her out the door and toward hiswaiting stallion. The woman was the most exasperating hundred pounds of femalehe knew, but she was also the most exciting.

His stallion, posted in front of the house after an early morning ridethrough Hyde Park, whickered when he saw Nicholas coming.

Sheridan pivoted on her heel, brandishing a mulish expression. "And justhow do ye think ye're goin' to get all my family's things on this horse, may Iask? Carry them on yer head, perhaps?"

"I'm sure you'd like to see that. But such a feat won't be necessary. I'llhire a hackney when we get to your hotel and we can load your belongings intoit. Satisfied?"

She harrumphed and presented him with her back-- and quite a lovely back itwas, slender, delicate, shapely.

And so rigid her spine would slap him in the face should she bend over.

He cupped his hands together to give her a leg up. She ignored him andhoisted herself into the saddle of a horse a good seventeen hands high with afluidness of motion that communicated skill and long familiarity.

She arranged her skirt and then stared down at him with a triumphant,how-do-you-like-that expression. "And where is yer horse?"

"You're sitting your pretty fanny on him."

"So ye intend to walk then, do ye?" she asked, ever belligerent.

"No. I intend to ride." Nicholas grasped the pommel, swinging himself upbehind her. "With you."

Anger sizzled up her spine and would have launched him from the saddle hadhis chin been over her head. She tried to turn around, most likely either totake a swing at him or to incinerate him with one of her fire-spewing glares.

He wrapped an arm tightly about her waist and pulled her close, tellinghimself he did so only with the intention of remaining unscathed.

She bristled like a porcupine, a hint of a memory sliding through his brainas he pictured that same pique directed at him while they were ensconced in aroom above Puddlebys. But the image was fleeting and frustrating.

He expected her to demand he remove his arm from her person. To hisamazement, she didn't utter a sound. The girl was a stunning contradiction interms, and he couldn't help being intrigued.

He gave Kdansk a nudge behind the girth and they started down the street.Nicholas contemplated picking up the pace, but was in no hurry to end thesweet torment of having Danny's body tucked closely to his, to smell the hintof hyacinth that seemed to belong to her alone waft from her hair.

He had to resist the urge to bury his face in her thick, silky locks. A fewstrands swept over his face like an elusive reprieve to a man facingexecution.

A companionable silence descended, and he tested the boundaries of his goodfortune, his free hand tentatively exploring her waist.

He found the indentation of her belly button, an outie. No surprise. Thegirl was too contrary to have anything contained. Gently, he probed the smallmound without trying to appear he was doing so.

He thought her barriers were crumbling and the old Sinclair charm wasworking its magic when she said, "If ye don't want to find yerself calledLefty, I'd remove yer fingers from me belly button."

Silently, he chuckled. "Oh? Is that your belly button? I thought it was anodd-shaped, bloodsucking bug."

"If yer lookin' for blood," she said tightly, "I'd be happy to oblige ye."The girl was a pip to the steel marrow of her bones.

"Can't we call a truce? As the Good Book says, vengeance is best left tothe Lord."

Where he came up with that statement, Nicholas wasn't sure, considering heand the Lord knew each other only in passing and the Good Book was not on hispreferred reading list.

Where, exactly, would he put such a thing anyway? His tomes were arrangedalphabetically, which would place the Bible between his dog-eared childhoodpictorial on female anatomy and Craps: Do Loaded Dice Count?

He imagined the quote stemmed from a latent recollection from one of thereligious zealots who used to follow his brother Damien around, warning him torepent from his life of degradation and sin.

Clearly unimpressed by Nicholas's magnanimous, and frankly charming, offerSheridan retorted in her usual bold and brassy way, "As I told ye before, I'drather bury the hatchet in yer head--"

"Don't you mean in my bonny head?" he interposed.