She shook her head. "I don't understand."

Nicholas would never hurt her by telling her he didn't feel he could trusther, that he was afraid her deep-rooted passion would lead her to other men.One man could never satisfy her. And he had to be the only one.

"Can't you see what Jules would think should I trifle with her best friend?I don't want to ruin your friendship."

"Jules wouldn't..."

"She would, Danny." Seeing a chair, Nicholas took her hand. Sitting down,he pulled her reluctant form onto his lap. "Jules is a wonderful person, butshe can also be fierce in her beliefs. Like you. That's probably why you twoare so aptly suited. But there are some things she would never accept. Ourrelationship is one of them. Her understanding goes only so far."

Sheridan wanted to refute Nicholas's words. She couldn't believe Jules would end their friendship if she and Nicholas married. She had thought herfriend would be happy about it.

There are some things she would never accept.

Like an Irish peasant as her cousin's wife?

Her understanding goes only so far.

And it seemed the line was drawn at Sheridan.

The pain of discovery hurt worse than any other discrimination Sheridan hadever felt. Her heart screamed for her to deny Nicholas's words. Her braindemanded she accept it.

It was a silly girl's dream to believe Jules's friendship automaticallymeant nothing stood between them. The fact remained that Jules was English andtitled, Sheridan poor and Irish. They had overcome the barrier that would makethem natural enemies, if enemies could ever be considered natural.

But becoming family in the true sense of the word was a high wall thatcould not be scaled.

She could not blame Jules. Sheridan knew she expected too much of herfriend. Jules had already given far more than any other person Sheridan knew.

"I understand," she said, holding her head high, forcing the tears back.

We are survivors, we Delaneys, she could hear her mother say.

But when will we ever be saved? a small voice asked.

Sheridan summoned her strength. "We better finish packing." She tried torise from Nicholas's lap, but his arm snaked about her waist, tugging herback. "What are ye doing?" she demanded, her anger rallying forth to help her.She drew her outrage about her like a cloak.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted us to be friends."

Sheridan knew she was being petty, but she couldn't be his friend. Shecouldn't. She wanted to be more than that, but that was an admission wildhorses couldn't drag from her.

Praying her hand would not tremble, she held it out to him. "Friends."

He stared at her proffered hand and then took it between both of his largehands. "Friends."

*Chapter Fourteen*

Friendship would be the death of Nicholas.

What insanity had made him think he could possibly be Sheridan's friend andnothing more? That he could smile and make nice and smell the hint of hyacinthin the air whenever she flitted past him and continue to look at the worldwith rose-colored eyes?

For two weeks, her nearness had vexed him and her family's antics had begunto color his hair prematurely gray.

The first few days had been the worst. Sheridan had been politely distant.They tap danced around each other, saying all the right things, deftlyskirting each other's perimeter and making sure their shadows didn't eventouch.

Torture.

Her laughter drew him to her time and again, even if she clammed up onceshe caught sight of him.

One day he stood outside Sheridan's bedroom door listening to her and Julesgiggling and carrying on, the conversation muted. He'd pressed his ear to theportal. They were trying on clothes.

When Nicholas heard Jules say, "Oh my, any man who saw you in that clingingsheath would die," he almost did, the vision enough to accelerate hisheartbeat.

He'd shut his eyes to block out the image. When he opened them, Ho-Singstood beside him, arms clasped behind his back, an eyebrow raised, whichclearly said, Boss-man very bad. Translated further, it said, Moraldegenerate.

After that, Nicholas had done his best to stay away, either sequesteringhimself in his office or going to the steam room at his club and losinghimself in the fog.

And while he'd been losing himself in the fog, Sheridan had becomeacquainted with his groundskeeper, namely a strapping Scottish lad named IanMcDonough.

Something jabbed Nicholas in his palm. He glanced down to find he'd brokenhis pencil in half. He threw it across his desk and abruptly rose from hischair. He needed to concentrate on more important things, like his upcomingevening with Jessica.

Things had been progressing quite nicely with the girl--better than he hadexpected, in fact. If she was a bit chilly, that was only natural. And if hisblood didn't run hot every time he saw her that, too, was not out of theordinary. He should feel proud a girl of her caliber and moral fiber wouldeven be seen with him. Proud, if not bored.

A ruckus outside his door brought Nicholas back to the present, one voicein particular capturing his attention.

Sheridan.

Nicholas heaved a sigh. "Ah, another day in Bedlam. I might as well gocrazy so I can be less conspicuous."

He swung the door open and came face to face with the grinning maw of awildly flapping myna bird.

"Hello, jerk-face," the benighted thing squawked. It flew past Nicholas andinto the office, but not before leaving a gooey-white gift on his newlypolished boots.

In the space of three seconds, Nicholas had gone from quietly brooding to asteaming cauldron of rage. "I'll throttle your scrawny feathered neck andserve you for dinner, you bloody gutterworm!"

Scally cackled and landed on top of the papers on Nicholas's desk, scrapinghis claws against the sheets and causing little tears.

"Damn it!" Nicholas swore. The charred paper from his brother was on thetop and he still hadn't read it.

The bird was history. His little blue-black carcass would be roasting overthe cook's hot coals that very evening.

Nicholas pivoted on his heel, glee in his face as he began to stalk thebird. He'd barely taken two steps when something-- someone, rather--slammedinto his back, sending him flying headlong to the floor.

"Oh, my!" an all-too-familiar voice exclaimed.

With several muffled curses, Nicholas rolled to his back and glared at theperpetrator. Sheridan's eyes were wide, her hand over her mouth.

"I didn't see ye there," she said instead of apologizing, which inevitably raised Nicholas's ire to a new high, his insides churning like a cat who hadswallowed a sour mouse.

"Of course not," he muttered, dusting himself off and rising to his feet."That would require keeping your eyes open."

Once straightened to his full irritated height, Nicholas was about to lether have it, looking for any outlet to relieve the tension that had beencoiling inside him, when another body came skittering around the door, hittingSheridan, which sent her tumbling forward ... right into Nicholas's arms.

"Oh, I didna see ye there, Danny lass," came the booming voice of one IanMcDonough. "Are ye all right?"

Sheridan didn't hear the question. Instead she concentrated on Nicholas'sstrong arms wrapped about her and the feel of having him so close. Hertraitorous body wanted to melt into his.

It had been fourteen days, six hours, and twenty-three minutes since he'dlast held her. But it wasn't as if she had been counting the seconds oranything.

She had moped for the first few days after his offer of friendship, butwith Delaney blood running through her veins, moping was not a state she couldstay in long.

She had come from a noble line of fighting Irish, and she wasn't about tochange a glorious history. She would fight, but she hadn't made up her mind ifshe'd fight against him--or for him.

The only thing she knew for sure was that he'd be sorry he'd ever toyedwith her emotions, even if he hadn't done it purposefully.

His polite, congenial attitude grated on her nerves, making her want todrub him but good. Since she couldn't, not without reason, she had settled forseeking out trouble to get his attention.

Trouble was her middle name, after all.

"May I ask what the bloody hell that bird is doing flying around thehouse?"

The sound of tightly leashed anger in Nicholas's voice caused Sheridan toglance up at him--always a mistake. She couldn't think straight when shedelved into those green eyes.

Ian saved her from explaining. " Tis my fault, sir. I wanted tae see thetalkin' bird, so I opened the cage."

An unholy half grin lifted the corner of Nicholas's mouth. "And you werebitten by the feathered Lord of Hades, right?"

Ian shook his head, confusion etched on his brow. "Nay, sir. Scally wasquite well behaved."

Nicholas's grin evaporated into a frown. "Behaved? Compared to what? TheMarquis de Sade?"

The bird tittered and shook his back tail feathers as it sauntered all over Nicholas's lovely burled wood desk, wreaking havoc with impunity.

"Stop that, you benighted shuttlecock!"

"Shove off, swab," Scally retorted, dancing along toward a lit cigar in anashtray. Sheridan watched in wide-eyed shock as Scally put his beak down andknocked the ashtray off the desk.

"Oh, that's it!" Nicholas bellowed. "You're d-e-a-d!" He lunged after thebird, grasping air as he sprawled over the top of his desk.

"Nicholas! Don't!" Sheridan pleaded, but he didn't hear her. He trailedafter Scally, almost getting the bird once but coming away with only afeather. He climbed on top of his desk and she panicked. He would surely breakhis neck. "Don't be a hardheaded duffer! Come down from there!"

Scally, unappreciative of her attempt to save his life, swooped right pastNicholas's nose. Nicholas thrust a hand out, leaning a little too far forward.He teetered on the edge of the desk, trying to right himself.

Sheridan's breath locked in her throat. She thought Nicholas had caught hisbalance, but he placed his foot on top of round glass paperweight and toppledoff the desk, hitting the floor with a resounding crash.

"Oh, sweet Lord!" she gasped, rushing to his side.

His eyes were closed, a pained expression on his face. She leaned over him,her hair pooling on his chest as she cupped his cheeks. "Nicholas? Nicholas,are ye all right?" She lightly slapped his cheek.

He growled low and cracked open an eyelid. "Stuffed and mounted. By allthat's holy, I swear I'll see that blighted animal on a plaque in my trophyroom."

Sheridan had to fight the urge to smile. "Ye don't have a trophy room."

"Oh, but I will after this. Mark my words." A grimace of pain crossed hisfeatures as he rose to his elbows. "Where is the little Philistine? There's a pot with his name on it. And I have no doubt the bird from hell will be thebest brisket I've ever had. Twenty pounds--no, fifty pounds--to whoevercatches the bloody thing."

"I've got him, sir," Ian said.

A fierce scowl marred Nicholas's face. "Got him?"

Sheridan glanced over her shoulder and nearly choked. Scally perched quitepeaceably on Ian's shoulders. She couldn't let Nicholas see that. His reactionwould be more explosive than fireworks on the Fourth of July.

He went to sit up. Sheridan practically threw herself against him.

"What in God's name?"

"Ye're hurt. Lie still." Sheridan pressed her hands firmly against hisshoulders and tossed over her shoulder, "Ian, can ye find Ho-Sing and send himto me?"

"But--"

"We'll take that walk later."

"That's not--"

"Ho-Sing, please."

She breathed a sigh of relief when Ian tromped away, praying Scally's beakwould remain shut and that he would return to his cage without furtherincident.

She should have known better.

"In your eye, blue-nose!" Scally's words filtered down the hallway.

Leave it to Scally to get in one last jibe.

"What the hell was that about?" Nicholas demanded.

A bittersweet memory seared Sheridan with longing as she stared down athim. He had looked just this way that night on the docks, all glorious greeneyes, wildly tangled ebony hair--and in pain. How could a man be so batteredand still look so incredibly wonderful?

" 'Twas only a joke."

"I'm not talking about the feathered Satan."

Sheridan realized with a start that she held him down. Her palms againsthis shoulders suddenly burned with heat. She drew back, but he captured herwrists.