She rose from the table, wondering if perhaps the immense house had swallowed up her dinner partners. Certainly there were intriguing hidden doorsthat led to other places besides the kitchen. Ho-Sing had awed her withsconces that moved, revealing dark, beckoning pathways, daring someone todiscover where they ended.

Ho-Sing had also hinted at improprieties related to the secret corridors,midnight rendezvous previous owners had had with women who were not theirwives.

Sheridan wondered if perhaps Nicholas would seek her out through one ofthese tunnels, appearing at the base of her bed, towering, dark, andseductive. A shiver coursed through her at the thought.

What would she do should her fantasy become reality? Would she relent asshe had every time he'd touched her? Or would she finally find the strength topush him away? She decided it best not to probe the question too deeply.

Sheridan roamed the hallway, not eager to return to her cavernous room,where unhappy contemplation seemed to be her only friend, angel and devilriding her shoulders, confusing her at every turn.

Her gaze was drawn to the portraits running the length of the longstaircase. Sheridan drifted over to them, trying to see a bit of Nicholas ineach image and finding characteristics in a hint of a dimple or a glint in aneye or a wicked smile.

Each portrait bore the name of the person whose likeness dwelled within thegilded frame. Nicholas and his brothers, Damien and Gray, were in a row,Nicholas at the end as the youngest. They wore identical smiles that promisedtrouble, the charm of their youthful faces foretelling the handsome men theywould become.

Sheridan paused at the picture of their mother and father. Odd, but shefelt an immediate kinship with Niles Sinclair. Not an attractive man, but onewhose expression whispered of laughter and love. Yet a trace of sadness marredfamiliar green eyes, sadness locked inside ... a sadness Sheridan had glimpsedonce or twice in Nicholas's eyes--his father's eyes.

Now Beatrice Sinclair ... Sheridan shivered and took a step back.Nicholas's mother had eyes that seemed alive, cutting Sheridan to the quick.

No smile rode her lips, no laugh lines creased her eyes, no love emanatedfrom her dour face. What must it have been like to grow up with such a woman?Did she ever bend down to give her children a hug? Tell them how wonderfulthey were? How much she loved them?

Somehow Sheridan doubted it. How could a man like Niles Sinclair, wholooked so full of life and had gifts to share, have married such a woman?

Perhaps Sheridan judged Lady Beatrice too harshly. Really, what could apicture tell her?

Yet as she turned away from the portrait, Sheridan felt the woman's eyesdrilling into her back as if warning her she was not welcome.

Worse, those eyes hinted at a secret... a dark secret, the kind that leftwounds.

"Ah, there, Missy!"

Sheridan's gaze snapped to the speaker. Ho-Sing stood at the top of thelanding wearing a kung fu suit in red, his shiny ebony hair reflecting thegolden hue of the candles glowing down the length of the hallway. His eyesdanced with intelligence, humor, and mischief.

Ho-Sing came down the steps and stopped next to her. "Missy look forlorn."

"I'm fine," Sheridan lied, a lingering remembrance of Lady Beatrice's eyesupon her.

"You miss Boss-man."

"Of course I don't!" she replied a bit too vehemently.

Ho-Sing nodded, but his expression told her he didn't believe her."Boss-man in stable."

Sheridan folded her arms across her chest. "So?"

"So you go see him."

"Ye go see him," she countered, silently cursing the petulant note in hervoice.

"He need you."

Nicholas needed her? If only she could believe Ho-Sing. "Did he ... ask forme?"

Ho-Sing shook his head, and Sheridan's spirits deflated. "Ho-Sing know heneed you. I feel it. Here." He pointed to his heart.

Sheridan had felt such conviction once. She wanted to believe she had obliterated any fanciful thoughts, but she knew she hadn't. "Why is he in thestable?"

"Horses very sick. May die."

During the ride to Silver Hills, Nicholas had spoken freely on manysubjects, becoming more animated the closer they got to their destination. Heand Jules exchanged tales of a bygone youth spent cavorting with wild abandon,days when they would lock Jules in the loft of the barn and stage mock duelsto rescue her from her evil captor.

His demeanor changed when he spoke of his horses, the love he had for hisanimals coming through with every word. And it seemed whenever Sheridan hadconvinced herself she could harden her heart to him, he said something or didsomething that made her love him all the more. He had so many admirablequalities. If only he had a little love to spare for her.

Sheridan shook off her wishful thinking and bid Ho-Sing a quick good-bye.She hastened out of the house and toward the stables.

Barely visible clouds blotted out the moon as she flew across the grasstoward the stable. She had grown up on horses. Most days they had been herbest friends. To hear of a sick horse, one so ill it might die, made her heartache.

The moment Sheridan opened the stable doors, she knew the situation wasdire. Nicholas was trying to coax a beautiful black stud onto its feet. It satdog-like in a pile of hay. Further down, a man Sheridan didn't know walked ablood bay stallion.

"What are you doing here?" Nicholas barked when she stepped into the stall,barely sparing her a glance.

Gone was the pristinely attired gentleman who had escorted her about hishouse earlier. In his place was a man with hair tousled as if raked by athousand fingers, a lock slanting across his brow in reckless abandon.

His white shirt bore stains and a film no amount of cleaning would remove.His once highly polished jockey boots were scuffed and muddy, and his blacktrousers were dusty, a jagged tear at one knee.

"Stand back!" he ordered. "You're liable to be kicked, and I don't need anymore problems right now." Taut lines of worry radiated around his eyes, andhis lips were set in a grim line. Sheridan couldn't help respecting a man whocared so deeply about another living being.

He was a man who would love his child more than life itself.

Sheridan shook off the thought. Now was not the time to question herdecision.

She squared her shoulder and said, "I've come to help."

She thought he would snap at her again. Instead, his features softened, andSheridan caught a hint of sadness in his green eyes--that sadness he sharedwith his father, a hurt that made her want to pull him close and soothewhatever troubled him.

"Do you know anything about horses?"

Sheridan recalled him asking her that same question the night their pathshad intersected, a night she'd never forget no matter what courses their livesmight take, and she gave him the same reassurance she had then. "Enough."

A glimmer of a smile touched his lips. The way his gaze captured and heldhers caused a hot rivulet of desire to ripple through her veins.

"All right, then. I could use the help." His next words startled her. "Doyou know anything about birthing?"

Birthing. Why did it seem an omen that he should ask her such a thing?

Sheridan swallowed. "Ye mean foaling?"

He nodded. "My mare, Wind Dancer, has gone into labor. She wasn't due for another month. I think the smell of sickness has frightened her into earlylabor."

Early labor. Sheridan briefly closed her eyes, willing back the ghostssliding out to haunt her, picturing Jules. Her friend had not surfaced fromher bedroom for most of the day.

When Sheridan had checked on her earlier, Jules' s complexion had beensomewhat pale, her lips pinched. Jules claimed she was fine. Sheridan prayedthat was true.

"Can you handle the mare?" Nicholas asked, pulling Sheridan back to thepresent. "I'll be right here to help."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Foalin' 'tis second nature for we Irish. I'll have the wee stilt-legged thing out of his mother's belly before Uncle Finny canfinish a pint."

Nicholas looked as if he would say something. Instead he nodded and thenbellowed, "Jeremiah!"

Hay rustled as feet pounded toward them. "Yes, sir?"

"Miss Delaney is going to help us with the horses."

Jeremiah blinked at her as if the prospect of having a woman getting herhands dirty in the stable was too unbelievable to comprehend. "She is, sir?"

"She is." Nicholas turned to her. "Jeremiah will get you anything youneed."

Sheridan took a deep breath and stood up. "Well, then, I'll be needin' aspare lantern, small and large towels, tail wraps, somethin' to cover mehands, a sharp knife, a bucket with warm water, needle and thread, rolledcotton, and a pocket watch. Oh, and please make sure there is fresh hay downfor the dam. No shavings."

Jeremiah nodded and dashed off to get her requested items, leaving Sheridanalone and very conscious of Nicholas. He rubbed his horse's side, staring ather. "You know what you're doing. I'm impressed."

"And did ye think I didn't?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't sure." He studied her, his expression contemplative."I'm beginning to realize that there are a lot of things I don't know aboutyou."

Sheridan ached to tell him that if only he'd asked, she would havewillingly imparted whatever he wanted to know.

"It's not too late," he said, his voice soft.

"Not too late for what?"

"To know you."

Sheridan warned herself not to read too much into his words. "What is there to know?"

"Quite a bit, I imagine. A girl like you probably has a thousand tales totell, each more interesting than the last."

Sheridan's back went up. "What do ye mean a girl like me?"

"Spirited, vibrant, brave. A survivor."

That was not the description Sheridan expected. His sweet words took thewind from her sails. " 'Tis not so very brave I am."

"You are to me."

Sheridan knew a desperate moment when she wanted to confide in Nicholas,tell him about the life growing inside her. Tell him he was going to be afather. But this was not the right place, the right time.

Yet where was the right place? And when was the right time? There seemed tobe no clear answer. Perhaps after the horses had been restored to health shecould find a quiet moment with Nicholas. She would tell him she didn't expectmarriage, nor would she accept any proposal he might feel obligated to make.She would marry for love ... and love alone.

Nicholas might desire her, but he did not love her.

"So tell me about yourself," he said. "What did you dream of when you werea little girl?"

Dreams. Sheridan had more than her share. The strength of those dreams hadkept her going, the belief that some day she'd reach the heights she aspired to. Yet her dreams were not particularly grand in scale.

She didn't require wealth to be happy. She didn't want materialpossessions. She wasn't one for parties and ball gowns and jewelry.

She desired simple things. A cottage nestled in the hills of Ireland,perhaps a wee gurgling stream nearby, cool and inviting for her bairns tofrolic in--and she wanted lots of bairns, freckled-faced boys and rosy-cheekedgirls who called her Mum.

She would gather them close in front of the fire, like her mum had donewith Sheridan and her siblings, and tell them tales about the land of eternalyouth, where no one grows old and all wishes are granted.

She would tuck her children snug in bed, kiss each on the forehead, andsigh as she closed their bedroom door, happy to have made it through anotherday with the little rapscallions.

Then the night would belong to her and her husband.

Tall, his gaze penetrating, his body silhouetted by the firelight, turninghim into a golden god, her husband would open his arms wide, beckoning her.Sheridan would lift her skirts and fly into his loving embrace, knowing thathome existed wherever he was.

Together, they would move to the window, watching the last pink rays of thesun melt behind the horizon, an array of beautiful, sleek-coated horsesdotting the landscape ... their horses, their land. Their home.

"Sheridan?"

Sheridan shook her head, stunned to find she had drifted off to anotherplace. She glanced up to find Nicholas regarding her with concerned eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded because words would not come. He looked as if he wanted to question her further, but Jeremiah returned with her supplies, saving her fromhaving to delve into dreams whose misty corners she feared to tread.

Huge brown eyes blinked at Sheridan when she entered Wind Dancer's stall.The mare's sleek mahogany coat glimmered in the light of a single lantern, herbelly extended, her udders full, telling Sheridan the mare's time was near.

Sheridan propped the supplies in a corner. Whenever possible, it was bestto let the horse foal on her own.

Still, Sheridan was concerned about the amount of time the birth wastaking.

" 'Tis all right, girl," Sheridan murmured, kneeling at the mare's head,moving carefully, not wanting to frighten Wind Dancer. "Ye are a sweet lassnow, aren't ye?" She stroked the mare's neck. "And ye are about to become amother. Oh 'tis a wondrous thing."

The horse's abdomen constricted. Sheridan shifted, laying her hands againstWind Dancer's taut belly. "All right now, girl. Ye must keep yer strength upto push yer babe into the world."

The birthing started slowly, the mare's placental sac breaking, fluidsaturating the hay. Sheridan cleaned it away and put down fresh hay.

The sac appeared next. Wind Dancer's contractions became more fierce as shetried to push a seventy- to ninety-pound foal through a small birth canal.

Several times Sheridan prepared herself to assist, concerned about thedifficulty the young mare was having. Each time, Wind Dancer showed herstrength and rallied forth.

The process seemed to take hours, but finally two tiny hooves appeared,then the nose, the birthing membranes clinging to the foal's wet skin.Sheridan cut some of the membranes away from its nose to allow it some air.

A sudden loud whinny from Narcissus startled Wind Dancer. Her head flailedand a back leg jutted out, clipping Sheridan in the side and heaving heragainst the wall.

Sheridan groaned and clutched her side, her mind racing with thoughts ofher baby and what such a blow might do to the small life growing inside her.She squeezed her eyes closed and forced the negative thought from her mind.She was strong and healthy. She would be fine.

She waited for the pain to subside, knowing the mare hadn't meant to hurt her. Wind Dancer was nervous. Her foal was large, making it a difficult birth.As well, Sheridan doubted her presence helped much. She was a stranger to the mare.