His words were double edged, reminding her of the pleasure they could havefound in one another's arms' that afternoon and for who knows how manyafternoons to come. But she wouldn't be his plaything. His mistress.

How foolish to think he had a noble bone in his body, that he might haveever thought of her as a woman he could make his wife. How wrong she had been.

She rose on shaky limbs from the settee--bringing hen chest to chest withNicholas. His white shirt clung to his broad shoulders, and the V of bronzedskin it exposed made her want to run her fingers over his warm flesh.

He did not step back or move to the side to allow her to pass. He didn't doanything but stare at her, yet his presence wrapped around her like invisible arms.

"I'll be goin' now," she told him with as much authority as her constrictedlungs would allow.

"I think not." He put his large hand on her shoulder! and shoved her backdown onto the settee.

She gasped in outrage. "Ye'll be keepin' yer manhandlin' to yerself orI'll--"

He bent forward, bringing them face to face, his heat blasting her, hiseyes glinting emerald gems. "Or you'll what?"

Sheridan swallowed. Words would not come. Why couldn't she hate him? Why,when she most wanted to slap him, rake her nails over his skin, did she alsowant to touch him, soothe him... become one with him? What magic spell had hecast over her?

"Just leave me alone," she whispered.

"No," he whispered back, settling his big body on the settee close to her,overwhelming her as he always did. "I waited up for you."

Sheridan tried to ease away from him, but her back was already jammed intothe corner of the settee. As well, Nicholas's booted foot was ever soconveniently placed on the hem of her skirt. Why he thought such a tacticnecessary, she didn't know. He would swoop down upon her like a big, sleekbird of prey before she could move an inch.

"Where did you go?" he demanded.

She raised her chin, matching him glare for glare. "Out." She knew shesounded like a petulant child, but how dare he act so autocratic, as if he wasthe master of her? She didn't owe him any explanations.

His slight smile had the gleam of a dagger's blade. "You're taxing my patience, and I'm not feeling particularly benevolent, if you haven'tnoticed." Then he growled as a fit of scratching came over him.

A twang of something Sheridan might have labeled regret stole off her. Hewas in a great deal of discomfort, that much was evident.

Her momentary bout of compassion fled when he said, "I had to cancel myevening with Jessica because of you."

Sheridan twisted her fingers into her skirt. " Tis sure I am that she'llget over it. Not every woman will die for want of yer company."

The leather creaked and groaned as he shifted his body, sliding toward her,boxing her in even further. "And what about you, Danny? Will you die for wantof my company?"

Her heart said yes. Her mouth said, "I don't even want to breath the sameair as ye, ye big-headed buffoon."

His smile never lapsed as he edged ever nearer, his arm rolling along thetop of the settee. Sheridan nearly leaped out of her skin when he took a longlength of her hair in his hand. "Perhaps a mouth-to-mouth sedative willunruffle your feathers and loosen your tongue," he murmured, closing thedistance.

Before Sheridan's hazy brain could comprehend his meaning, Nicholas's lipswere against hers, hot, demanding, and thought destroying. Outrage diedwithout having ever been voiced as his tongue plunged between her lips, hisbody pressing her down.

The weight of him was a heady delight, his warmth banishing her chill. Hismouth molded her, plundered, sought every last ounce of resistance andannihilated it His silky hair skimmed her neck as his lips trailed a path downher throat. There was no tenderness in his touch, just a primal urge thatmatched hers. No amount of anger could make her deny the hunger Nicholascaused in her.

She tore at his shirt like a wild being, needing to feel the strength ofhim, the solid expanse of his chest, to cling to the bunched muscles of hisshoulders.

Like magic, his fingers worked her buttons free. He took the top of herchemise and tore it down the center, the sound of ripping material blastingthrough the high-ceilinged room and eliciting a gasp from her, which hesmothered with his mouth.

Her nipples tightened painfully. He soothed the ache with his mouth,suckling her, drawing her on passion's rack. She tossed her head and groanedas each taste, each touch drew darts of ecstasy through her body.

She arched her back. He slid his arm beneath her and pulled her closer ashe settled firmly between her legs, his manhood hard and throbbing againsther.

He grasped her ankle, his hand kneading her flesh, moving upward over herknee, skimming her outer thigh, and then cupping her buttocks. He rockedagainst her. She matched him thrust for thrust.

He groaned, his warm breath against her nipple tightening all her muscles,a tempest building inside her that only Nicholas could shelter her from.

She gasped as he pulled her upright, her legs straddling his lap, herchemise hanging in tatters about her, her skirt bunched up to her thighs, hernipples thrusting forward, swollen and aching for him to resume his sweettorture.

The touch of his tongue flicking out to tease her nipple almost caused herto buck right off his lap. He held her firm, his free hand slipping betweentheir bodies, his fingers easily separating the slit in her pantalets andfinding her engorged nub, rubbing it fast and then slow, massaging, flicking,teasing until Sheridan felt the storm culminating inside of her. When hestopped abruptly, she thought she would die.

Nicholas undid his trousers, his long, hard length springing free. BeforeSheridan understood what was happening, he lifted her, impaling her on hisengorged shaft, touching her all the way to her womb. She cried out.

He grabbed the back of her head, taking her lips in a searing kiss. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured, the words touching Sheridan's soul.

He settled his large hands on her waist and showed her the motion. Up,down. Up, down. Oh, God.

She clutched the top of the settee as she moved over him, the feel of himsliding in and out of her pure, blessed torture. She was in control. Shedecided the when, where, and how.

His face was frozen in a mask of pleasure/pain as he closed his eyes andtossed his head back against the settee. Sheridan watched his face, revelingin the responses she could bring with different movements. A demon inside herwanted him to writhe, wanted him to suffer, wanted to prolong the intense,beautiful agony.

His eyes popped open, impaling her as completely as his manhood. His armscoiled around her waist and he stood up. "Wrap your legs around my waist."

Erotic ecstasy ripped through Sheridan, having him so deeply inside her,feeling the strength of his body as he moved toward the wall. He pressed herback against it and plunged into her, rocking her as he took control, holdingher as if she weighed no more than a feather.

The pictures on the wall rattled with every thrust, but he didn't care. Thehouse could have fallen about their ears. Nothing mattered besides the moment.

The friction drove her wild, the heat building once more to a fevered pitchuntil her breath locked in her throat and warm pulses rained down over himwhile his fury stroked inside her. His brow glistened with sweat and his shirtclung to him as he thrust one last time, groaning his release, his warmthmingling with hers.

Sheridan collapsed against his shoulder. Had he not been holding her, shewould have melted into a puddle at his feet. Tenderly, he brushed a kissagainst her forehead. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy the sweet gesturebefore reality stole in to haunt her.

How could she have given in so easily? Allowed a smile and a kiss to tameher anger?

Why did she ask why?

She knew the answer. She loved Nicholas, and only time and distance mightever change that fact. She couldn't mistake passion for love, pleasure for concern.

Gently, he slid out of her and then slowly lowered her feet to the floor.He didn't let her go, though, or move away. Instead he stared down at her, anemotion reflected in his eyes that Sheridan dared not study too closely.Softly, almost reverently, he brushed her hair back.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I don't know what came over me. I've never beenso out of control. So ... unlike myself."

Sheridan didn't want to hear apologies or acknowledge the confusion andcompassion etched on his face or understand the sadness in his eyes--a sadnessthat mirrored her own.

She slid away from him, her back pressed tightly against the wall, her gazeaccusing, condemning ... begging for surcease from the torment he put herthrough.

He reached out for her, and she cringed. "Sheridan ..." Her name was a pleaon his lips.

Her stomach tightened. No! Not the queasiness. Not here. Not now.

Not in front of this man!

She shoved away from the wall, clutching her shirt to her chest with onehand and flinging the door open with the other. She ran into the dimly lithallway and prayed no one would see her, know where she was coming from, orrecognize what she had done. Mock her shame. Scorn the weakness inside herthat had become part of her since setting eyes on Nicholas.

She fled from him.

Red from herself.

Nicholas started after her, but stopped at the bottom of the staircase,watching her disappear from sight like an illusion that existed only in hismind, leaving a lingering hint of flowers and the memory of crimson and lavender blue.

He realized she ran from him, that he had pushed her away again when all hewanted was to hold her close and keep her within his embrace forever.

Why couldn't he let her go? Leave her alone? End this torment for both ofthem? Nothing could come from this madness but heartache.

He had never thought much about the whims of fate that had made him the manhe was, that soul-deep need to find a woman who completed him, fulfilled him,who would be his mate for life. If ever he wanted to toss away his fear ofwhat a faithless woman could do to a man, break the shackles that bound hissoul, he should do so now.

But, dear God, Sheridan frightened him.

What he felt for her was too strong, holding him in thrall, looming,threatening to destroy him should he be foolish enough to give his heart toher--and that's what he wanted to do.

He wouldn't deny it. He'd denied his feelings from the moment he'd openedhis eyes on the dock and seen her gamine face hovering above him, and thatrefusal had taken its toll on him, tearing at him bit by agonizing bit Timeaway. That's what he needed. Time to think. Time to forget.

Time to work Sheridan out of his system.

In the morning he would leave for Silver Hills.

But as Nicholas mounted the stairs to seek his bed and toss fitfully foryet another night, a small voice he recognized as his own told him Sheridanwas already a part of his system, and neither time nor distance would erasethat truth.

*Chapter Seventeen*

"Going with me? What do you mean you're going with me?"

Nicholas gaped at his cousin, who stood in the middle of the foyer, trunksto the left and right of her, a feathered hat perched on her coifed head, anda matching pelisse draped over her shoulders. Her stomach appeared to haveripened even further overnight.

Jules's eyes were clear and focused steadily on him, demanding--in typicalJules fashion--that he refute the fact that he had been about to slink awayinto the early morning mist with nothing more than a hastily written note tolet her know he had departed. But Ho-Sing, his soon-to-be-ex-manservant, hadsnitched on him.

"You didn't expect us to stay here, did you?"

At the mention of the word "us," Nicholas glanced up the stairs. Sheridanstood at the top of the landing, her face pale, dark smudges beneath her eyesas if she hadn't slept, which would make two of them. Still, she lookedutterly lovely and completely beyond his reach.

"I haven't been to Silver Hills in ages," Jules went on. "I want to showDanny where I spent some of the most wonderful days of my life."

"But I--"

"I imagine you felt it unnecessary to extend a formal invitation, as we arekin.

"Well, I--"

Jules held up her hand. "There's no need to explain. As you can see, we arepacked and ready to go."

Nicholas raked a hand through his hair. Clearly his cousin didn't intend toloan him a cup of air with which to argue. If she wasn't so, well, pregnant,he might have had more leverage, but whenever he looked at her, fragile,helpless-- round --he liquefied into two hundred pounds of aspic.

"Do you think you should be traveling in your condition?" he asked,genuinely concerned about her welfare. William would bend him into a horseshoeif Nicholas should let anything happen to Jules.

"I'm fine," she declared, a little too quickly. "Besides, we are only goingto Kent. Hardly a long trip."

"What about William? His last missive to me said he was coming to London, intent on being your shadow until the baby was born."

"I've already taken care of that. I wrote William this morning and told himto come to Silver Hills instead." Jules waddled up to him, looping her armthrough his and smiling. "It will be like old times."

Nicholas grimaced. If memory served, he had been the brunt of much grief inthe old times.

And nothing had changed in the present day.

Nicholas heaved a sigh, envisioning Silver Hills, the oasis, Shangri-la,and sovereign new state where he reigned supreme, fading into the distance,Uncle Finny's words ringing in his ears. Keep low, lad ... keep low.

As she watched the scenery roll by her window, Sheridan began to revive, topull herself from the dark despair that had dogged her through the night andwell into the morning, her mind replaying each moment in Nicholas's arms.

She shivered and hugged herself tight as the memories pervaded. A cooltouch of air against her skin felt like the whisper of his lips. The rays ofthe sun slanting through the coach window enveloped her like Nicholas'swarmth. She could feel his hands upon her as if the two of them were stillentwined in each other's arms.

How she had wanted to protest when Jules told her they would be leaving forSilver Hills that morning with Nicholas. How Sheridan longed to confide in herfriend, to tell Jules she couldn't go, couldn't be near Nicholas. She hadwanted to bare her heart and soul to Jules.

But she didn't. She couldn't burden her friend, not in Jules' s condition,not when Sheridan had to be the strong one.

Not when she would soon be a mother herself.

Sheridan closed her eyes, a wave of fresh nausea stealing over her. All thesymptoms fit. She was pregnant. Perhaps she had known the truth all along, hermind refusing to acknowledge what her heart already knew.

Nicholas's baby.

The very idea of having his child thrilled her even as it frightened her.If she couldn't have Nicholas, she could at least have a small, wonderful partof him.

But how was she to raise this child alone? Protect it in a world that scorned her kind and would revile her plight? Her decision would leave herchild fatherless. A bastard.

For she could not tell Nicholas of her condition. He would believe it his duty to marry her, and as much as she dreamed of being his wife, she wantedhim to propose out of love, and love alone. Not because he felt honor bound.

Yet the other part of her, the part that said to deny Nicholas his childwould be to deny her child a father, protested, clawed at the very fiber ofher beliefs.

Didn't every child have the right to be loved by both parents? To have apiece of his mother and father? To know their heritage? What would she tellher son or daughter when they asked about their father?

Sheridan knew Nicholas loved children. How would he feel should he ever discover he had missed out on his child's life? Would he condemn Sheridan? Hate her forever? He might not be able to give her his love, but she couldn'tbear his scorn.

"Here we are."