Nicholas snorted so loud he was surprised he didn't propel the wing chairacross from him to the other side of the room. "Are we speaking of the sameWilliam? The one who held the stable master by his ankles over a snake pitbecause he smiled at you?"

"He did no such thing!" She sounded as authoritative as a little general."There was no snake pit."

"Does your husband know how roundly you defend him?"

"I should hope so! Although ..." Her smile slipped.

"Although?"

"He wasn't too happy that I came to town in my condition. I daresay we hada bit of a row before I left."

"Nevertheless, here you are. Something tells me you're still getting yourway, terror."

She gave him a hint of a pout--enough to fell any man. "He told me if I wasset on coming to town that he would come with me. But he had the estatebusiness to catch up on and parliamentary issues demanding his attention, so Itold him to stay. Would you believe the man growled at me? Growled! Goodness,I was only trying to be a considerate wife. Did the big oaf actually think Ididn't want him to come?"

Nicholas could just picture it. William standing there, glaring from hissix-foot-five height while his tiny wife shook her finger at him and stampedher elfin foot, determined to get her way. And of course, William hadeventually caved in like a flan in a cupboard.

How Nicholas would have loved to be there to witness it! Well, at least heknew who would lay down the rules in his house when he finally clamped theball and chain around his ankle. No bit of fluff was going to dictate to him,by God.

"Something tells me your husband will show up before we know it. Now, what about this friend of yours?"

Jules's spirits perked up at the reminder. "Her name is Sheridan Delaney.She's a friend from Boston."

"Ah, from the hallowed days of the Bainbridge Academy, an institution thatwas supposed to teach you how to be a proper lady. What happened with that, Iwonder?"

Her look told him that pregnant women had less patience than theirnon-enceinte counterparts. "As I mentioned in my missive, Sheridan is comingto visit. She should be arriving any day. You'll love her."

"I will certainly try." He winked.

She swatted him. "Oh, stop it, will you?"

He laid his hand over his heart. "I promise to behave." He put his otherhand behind his back and crossed his fingers. "Besides, if the girl is fromBoston society, she's probably as stiff as Emery's limbs and has her nose sofar up in the air icicles collect on it. We have plenty of that type righthere, so I have no doubt I can contain myself."

Nicholas wondered at the expression on his cousin's face. If he didn't knowbetter, he might think she was silently laughing.

"Well," she said in a somewhat strangled voice, "since that's the case, Iguess you won't mind if we stay here."

"Stay here? You and she?"

"You won't even notice us--especially since you'll be containing yourself."There was that look again.

"You know I adore you, puss, but why would you want to stay here?" And howcould he act the carefree bachelor with two women around? "What about yourhouse?"

She grimaced. "Mother Thornton has commandeered it for the Season."

Nicholas needed no more answer than that. Mother Thornton hadn't been too pleased when her one and only son, whom she adored to the point of smothering,had married one of those wicked Sinclairs. Jules was a force in her own right,but her dour mother-in-law would certainly put a damper on her time with herfriend.

"All right, puss. Bring your friend here. I'll try to behave myself, butyou know how trouble seems to follow me around."

A smile that made a frisson of foreboding slither down his spine tilted upthe corners of his cousin's lips. "You're not the only one."

*Chapter Three*

"You shouldn't be walkin' alone at this time of the night, sir ... and inyour condition."

Nicholas's response to his driver's comment was a symbolic gesture ofdisregard that he hadn't used since childhood, requiring the use of tongue andlips, which often sprinkled an unwitting person standing too close withmoisture unrelated to rain.

His driver was that unwitting person.

"Are you tryin' to stay, er, say, that I'm intoxtipated, Nash?"

Odd, Nicholas thought. His jaw moved but his tongue lay like a dead pieceof mackerel in his mouth, his words flowing as smoothly as molasses on an icepatch. Even to his own ears it sounded as if he gargled marbles.

"Intoxtipated, sir?"

"I mean inoculated." Something that could have been a laugh but soundedmore like a grunting snort came out of Nicholas's mouth. "Hmm. Incubated?" Hestumbled from his coach, trying to get his sea legs beneath him even though hestood on solid ground. "Oh, hell. Looped, soused, three sheets to the wind."

"Yes, sir. That you are."

"I take umbrage, Nash. I'm merely ... er ..." He scratched his chin. "Whatwas I saying?"

Nash put his arm beneath Nicholas when he pitched forward. "You were sayingit's best if you go home and get some sleep." Nash turned him toward the coach.

"Home?" The impulse to stiffen his spine in indignation shot throughNicholas, but all his body did was sway from side to side. "The night's stillyoung, an' I feel jolly good."

"Jolly, aye, but something tells me the 'good' part will be up for debatecome the morn."

"Nonsense ... er?"

"Nash."

"Ah, yes. Nash!" Nicholas slapped him on the back. "You're a fine fellowand a--what are y' doing down there?"

Nash picked himself up off the ground, eased his shoulders back, andgrimaced in pain. "The coach is this way, sir."

Nicholas canted his head over his shoulder. "Indeed it is, and quite apretty coach, too. Black's always been one of my favorite colors, y' know." Ina voice intended to be hushed--but wasn't--he added, "Don't tell anybody,though. It's a secret. Ssh." He pressed a finger to his lips.

"I won't tell." Nash placed a hand beneath Nicholas's elbow and turned himaround. "Let's go home now."

"What is it with you and home?" Nicholas plucked his arm from his driver'sgrip and swung around. Then he breathed deeply. "Ah, there's nothing like thesmell of the sea, the salt tang, the hint of earth." He sniffed. "Hmm, what'sthat other aroma?"

"Dead fish," Nash muttered.

Nicholas quirked a brow, or at least thought he did. His forehead, like therest of his body, had achieved the physical state of numb. "Y're a gloomy Gus,Nash ... or is it a gloomy Nash, Gus?" He puzzled for a second and thenpromptly forgot the question. "Y're as much fun as an impacted tooth, and Imust say y're bringing my spirits down. I'm supposed to be happy. I'm gettingmarried, y'know."

Nash's pronounced Adam's apple bobbed, reminding Nicholas of one of hisugly but effective fishing floats. "Married, sir? When?"

"Someday. Probably before y' know it. Definitely in this lifetime." Heshrugged. "I think."

"Congratulations." Nash scratched the side of his head. "I think."

"Thank you, my man. I've got the woman all picked up, er, out."

"Oh? And who is the lucky miss, sir?"

"Lady Jessica..." Nicholas paused, frowning. "Hell, forgot her last name.Something to do with an ass."

Nash made a choking sound. "An ass, sir?"

"Backside, man. Rear flanks. Ah, that's it!"

"Rear flanks?"

Nicholas snorted, and Nash backed out of spittle range. "No, man! Reardon.Jessica Reardon. I've done all sorts of research on her, an' I think she'llwork out just fine as the next Misses...." He frowned.

"Sinclair," Nash graciously filled in. "You researched her, sir?"

" 'Course. Have to make sure I know what I'm getting, don't I?" Weavingunsteadily on his feet, Nicholas leaned forward and added in a man-to-manwhisper, "Need a malleable creature who knows her place an'll do as she'stold. No surprises for me. No suh." Then he used Nash to steady himself andflung his unruly hair off his forehead. It promptly fell back.

"Well, I'm off. Must find my allistrious, er, elustinous ..." Hmm. Perhapshe had drunk too much. He held up his hand in front of his face, uncurled twofingers but counted four. Interesting. "I've got to find my brother. Must tellhim the news."

"Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from doing this tonight, sir?"Clearly Nash did not embrace the idea.

"Not a thing. I'm a man who knows his mind, in command of my own destiny, asolitary ship sailing into a glorious sunset on a voyage of exploration--andall that rot." With that overblown proclamation, Nicholas headed off.

"You're sailing in the wrong direction, sir," Nash pointed out. "Your brother's ship is at the other end of the dock."

Pivoting on his heel in a splendid display of balance, Nicholas glared athis driver. "Know-it-all," he grumbled and then headed down the dock in searchof his brother's ship, The Lucky Lady, much to his driver's dismay.

Nearly a week had passed since Nicholas's encounter with Jules and hissubsequent discovery that he had relented mentally to allowing her and herfriend to stay with him before he'd actually relented verbally. Meaning, thatshe'd asked his permission merely as a matter of form. Whether he agreed ornot, it would be done Jules's way. Thus, in came her luggage, and out went hisbachelor's abode.

Worse, there were flowers.

Flowers in a man's house! It defied convention.

The bright-colored, sweet-smelling weeds began popping up in everyconceivable location.

As if that wasn't bad enough, his servants promptly forgot who paid theirwages, choosing to follow Lady Jules's instructions instead of his, to histeeth-gnashing annoyance. He was an outcast in his own house. Hell, a man'shome should be his castle.

"Not if there's a bloody woman in it," he groused.

The last straw had been when Jules slapped his hand as he tried to samplethe dinner fare, telling him he was no better than a naughty child. He glared.She glared. And at that point he decided it was time to assert his status as a man.

Ergo, he slunk out of the house like a chastised dog who had left aunwelcome present on a priceless hand-crafted rug.

One would think he'd protest, put his foot down ... or at the very leastwhine. But had he? No.

"Coward." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his feet sloughing alongthe docks, like a child in the throes of a pout.

One would also think he'd change his mind about settling down. But insteadof the prospect weighing upon him like a block of granite in fifty feet ofwater, his spirits were buoyed. His wife wouldn't get away with pulling thesame antics as his cousin. His bride would be a different story. He'd be apampered husband.

"Darn right." He nodded, agreeing with himself, clearly the only one whowould. "Any wife of mine will behave. If I wanna pick at dinner, I'll pick,and if I wanna leave a wet towel plopped on top of the bed and dirty clothingstrewn around the room, I bloody well will, and if I wanna stalk about in thebuff and sing bawdy songs, so be it. No female is going to--"

Nicholas stopped in his tracks as the sound of music registered in themurky depths of his brain, ending his one-sided rambling. A fiddle rang out ajaunty tune and hands clapped in time. He narrowed his eyes, searching for thesource. When he found it, his breath caught in his throat at the sight thatgreeted him.

Illuminated by the golden glow of a single lamplight, a girl danced on thedeck of a ship, her waist-length copper hair swinging with her movements, herlithe body mesmerizing him. Her skirt was lifted to her knees as legs thatseemed to go on forever moved in perfect time with each note of the jig.

Nicholas blinked, sure his mind played tricks on him. But no. She was real.

God, she was glorious, her rhythm precise and innocently sensual, a banquetfor the senses. Every eye on the deck was riveted to her, most of them men,Nicholas noted with some irritation. His vision tunneled, blocking out allelse but her.

His need to see his brother became a distant memory as Nicholas watched thegirl, his body reacting with an explosive--and heretofore unfelt--lust.

The music ended. A resounding cheer ascended into the air, claps andwhistles, voices begging for another dance. Her laughter rang like thesweetest chime, tightening his groin in agony.

Smiling, she shook her head, her hair shimmering like molten fire as shedeclined their request. Groans of disappointment followed, the men looking downcast as some of them shuffled away.

Nicholas couldn't take his eyes from her. She fanned herself with her handand tossed that wild mane of hair off her shoulders. Then she wrapped herfingers around the thick strands and lifted it from her nape, stretching thematerial of her blouse tautly across her full breasts and showing the elegantlines of a neck meant to be nuzzled. His gut clenched.

She shook out her skirt and moved to the edge of the deck, lightly placingher hands on the railing as she gazed out into the night, the wind teasing herhair. There was something vital about her, a love of life that vibrated acrossthe distance.

She glanced over her shoulder. He held his breath, thinking she intended togo belowdecks with the others. Then her gaze shifted to the gangplank and shenibbled her lower lip. She darted another quick glimpse around and then headedswiftly for the ramp. Nicholas watched her as if he dwelt within a dream,damned only to observe instead of participate.

She hesitated at the bottom of the footway, perhaps realizing it was lateand the docks were dark.

Then she turned in his direction. She gasped as their gazes locked, a flashof fear registering on her face. Yet the moment of fright came and went assomething far more elemental took its place.

Here was a girl who didn't mask her emotions, who did everything as boldlyas she danced and would demand nothing less in return.

From the corner of his eye, Nicholas sensed a movement, a dark shadow atthe top of the gangplank. Then a burly figure started down the ramp, hisfootsteps muted by the surf pounding against the hull of the ship. The girldid not hear him coming. Her gaze was intent on Nicholas.

His brain hazy, Nicholas tried to call out a warning, but he was too late.The crewman grabbed her from behind. She tried to scream, but his hand clampedover her mouth.

Nicholas didn't know when he moved, but in the next moment, he closed thedistance between them and slammed into the hulking crewman.

Alcohol slowed Nicholas's fists. Iron knuckles said hello to his face. A booted foot gave the same greeting to his ribs. Pain backpedaled against theliquor. The dim recesses of his mind registered the girl's outraged cry,followed by a stream of creative epithets strung together in the lilt of anangel.

Glass splintered, a heavy grunt followed, and finally a whoosh of air as abody collapsed at his feet.

Then the girl knelt beside him. "Are ye all right?"

She had an accent he couldn't place because not all the cogs functioned inhis brain and his ribs protested as if Nash had parked the coach on top ofhim.