Sheridan. A completely forgettable woman ... who would stay in his mindforever.

Nicholas had locked himself in his office hours ago after he had acted themadman and thrown everyone out of the room. He could no longer bear theaccusing look in his cousin's eyes ... or Sheridan's beautiful, treacherousface.

No amount of alcohol seemed able to assuage the pain or the rage. Nicholasstill felt bloodlust, a need to confront McDonough and make his point with aright hook to the man's face.

Why had he allowed the man to walk out of his office unscathed? Given himthe chance to breathe another day instead of strangling the bastard with hisown tongue? Nicholas had the opportunity to show Sheridan he was very much thefighting man she'd once claimed he wasn't.

So why hadn't he followed through on his threat?

Nicholas shoved a hand through his hair and pushed away from the fireplace,the answer clear. He couldn't hit a man for doing the same thing he had done.Falling for Sheridan. Believing in the sweet innocence in her eyes and thepromise of untapped passion.

She radiated vitality, a love of life, captivating the senses, making a manwant to seize that essence, possess it, and never let go. She ran as deep asstill waters, but could be as elusive as a shooting star, defying anyone tomake her change.

Nicholas realized he was no better than McDonough and who knows how manycountless other men who had fallen for Sheridan. Not a difficult task.

Nicholas grabbed the scotch off his desk, foregoing the glass and tippingthe bottle to his lips, hoping the alcohol's drugging effects would work itsway upstream, past memories. Past reckless lavender eyes.

Bottle in hand, he stalked to the French doors. Outside, clouds rolled bylike mighty clipper ships. A storm was brewing, but it would never equal thetempest churning inside him.

Nicholas threw the doors wide. A great gust of wind rushed in, shoving himback as if telling him to stay and face whatever came next.

But he couldn't. He had to get out. Merge with the storm.

Perhaps then he could chase away the devil dogging his heels.

Perhaps then he could erase the single question plaguing him.

Why?

"Don't go, Danny."

Sheridan kept her face averted from Jules. If she should turn and see her friend's sadness, the pleading expression, she might break down and lose herresolve to leave, which she couldn't allow to happen.

"I have to." Sheridan tried to put the Delaney strength and fire behindthose three words, but she had used up the extra well of strength God hadgifted her and all Irish with. Her fire she would leave with Nicholas, for hehad taken her spirit as surely as he had taken her heart.

Jules came to stand next to her, snatching away the blouse Sheridan wasfolding. "This is ridiculous. You and Nicky are so blind, so utterly pigheadedI want to scream. He loves you and you love him."

Sheridan hesitated and then forced her head up, meeting Jules's gaze."Sometimes love is not enough. Ye need faith as well." And trust.

But trust was one thing Nicholas didn't know how to give.

He actually believed she carried another man's baby, that she would dosomething so despicable as to foist someone else's child off on him. Sheridanhad not known what to expect from Nicholas, but she had not been prepared foroutright denial and accusation.

"Danny." Jules's eyes bored into Sheridan's, beseeching her to rethink herdecision. "You are carrying Nicholas's baby. How are you going to just walkout the door?"

" 'Tis for the best."

Jules shook her head. "It isn't the best for this child! Don't let foolish pride make you do something you'll regret."

"Pride? Ye think that's why I'm leaving?" Sheridan glanced down at hersmall valise, her meager belongings arranged neatly inside, and knew pride wasthe last reason for her departure.

Unrequited love caused her flight.

"Danny, please. It will be dark soon. Don't go tonight. Wait untiltomorrow, after you and Nicholas have had some time to think."

Sheridan moved away from Jules and went to look out the window. Ominousskies mirrored the gloom inside her. A memory tickled her mind as distantthunder rumbled, but it was banished by despair.

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Nicholas. He woveunsteadily down one of the cobblestone pathways that disappeared under acanopy of trees, a bottle clutched in his hand.

Sheridan laid her palm against the windowpane. Goodbye, my dark angel. Sheclosed her eyes briefly, willing away the dull ache centered in her stomach.Then she took a deep breath and turned to face her friend.

"I've thought about this, Jules, and I won't change my mind. Pleaseunderstand."

Tears rimming her eyes, Jules nodded, her expression resigned. She heldopen her arms. Sheridan didn't hesitate. She flew into her friend's embraceand let Jules comfort her, allowing her despair to spill forth, to let downher guard as she had never done with anyone before.

Except Nicholas.

"Oh, Jules. I'll miss ye so."

"And I'll miss you, Danny," Jules murmured in a choked voice. "I shallnever forgive Nicholas for what he's done."

Sheridan pulled back and stared into green eyes so like Nicholas's. "Don'tdo that, Jules. Don't take yer love from him. He needs ye."

"You need me."

"He needs ye more. His pain goes deeper than mine. His heart has old woundsthat have never healed."

"But--"

"Ye told me once about this caring, sensitive boy ye grew up with, who feltthings more profoundly than anyone ye knew. He was yer champion, someone whofought for those who couldn't fight for themselves. Well, that caring andsensitive boy is still inside Nicholas, hidden underneath a hard shell. Yeknow it as well as I."

A single tear rolled down Jules's cheek. "You've given him so muchunderstanding when he has given you none."

"But he's given me something far greater." Sheridan laid a hand on herstill flat stomach.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come," Jules called out in a hollow voice.

Emery entered and bellowed, "The coach you requested has been broughtround, Your Grace!"

"Thank you, Emery."

"You wish to spank me, Your Grace?" Emery's sunken, wrinkled cheeksflushed. "Nobody's spanked me since I was nigh on a lad of twenty-five. Iremember the night well." His expression grew reminiscent. "I was at a littletavern in Spitalfields when a robust barmaid came up to me and--"

Chuckling low, Jules crossed over to Emery, hoisted the arm clutching hishorn and spoke into it. "Thank you, Emery. That will be all."

Emery bobbed his head. "Yes, Your Grace." He turned to go, but stopped."Oh, I almost forgot. Miss Delaney's aunt has collapsed on the coach seat. Ibelieve she's ailing again."

Some things never change, Sheridan thought. But at that moment, she wasglad to have one constant in her life, something solid to keep the darkness atbay.

Emery frowned and scratched his balding pate. "There was a message shewanted me to relay to the young miss, but it didn't make much sense."

"What was the message?" Jules prompted.

I "She said she wants to be carried with her snake girls andher harmony seeds braced in her tight hand." "What?" Jules exclaimed glancingat Sheridan over her shoulder. Sheridan smiled. How she would miss Emery. "Ithink he said that my aunt wants to be buried with her fake pearls and herrosary beads placed in her right hand."

"Indeed." Emery nodded and shuffled out the door. Knob in hand, he leveledrheumy gray eyes at Sheridan. "You'll be sorely missed," he murmured. "Englandwon't be the same without you. Godspeed, miss ... Godspeed."

Sheridan's smile faded and she blinked back tears, her emotions having runthe gamut in the last few minutes. Emery's words, however, brought everythinghome with finality.

It was time to go.

Nicholas stumbled into his office the same way he had departed, through theFrench doors, floating in on a cloud of alcohol fumes, having achieved a stateof comfortably numb, where a knife to the heart felt more like an amusingtickle than a deadly blow.

With blurry eyes, he regarded his humble domain, weaving unsteadily on hisfeet. "The churl has returned to his churldom," he said to the silentlymocking room. "Let all bow before his stupidity."

"Okay, boss-man. I bow." A head appeared over the top of a high-backedchair, startling Nicholas, who would have fallen were he not alreadyunbalanced.

Ho-Sing leaped to his feet and bent deeply at the waist. "You big timestupid, Boss-man. Emperor of stupid. High priest of stupid. Number one--"

Nicholas held up a hand to forestall Ho-Sing. "I get the picture."

Nicholas stalked to the chair behind his desk and slid into it, hisbackbone feeling as if it had been made from rubber. Only the desk kept himfrom spilling onto the floor.

"Boss-man soused."

Nicholas cracked open one drowsy eyelid. "Y'r power of deduction astoundsme, Ho"--he hiccuped--"Sing. What's next, I wonder? Levitation?"

"Boss-man very funny." Ho-Sing bobbed his head, a smile on his lips, whilehis eyes said, I question your sanity.

"Here, have a drink. It'll broaden y'r mind." Nicholas lifted the scotchbottle and shook it. Empty. Not enough left for a thirsty ant.

"Ho-Sing like clear head."

"Suit yourself."

Penetrating black eyes observed Nicholas. "Boss-man drink to douse torchfor Missy."

As usual, Ho-Sing's provocative statement spiraled out of the darknesswithout warning, hitting Nicholas squarely between the eyes.

Nicholas narrowed his gaze, not liking the new direction the conversationhad taken. "Everyone needs a pastime, Ho-Sing. Mine's death. This is my chancefor an afterlife."

Ho-Sing raised an ebony eyebrow, his expression saying he'd like to sit onNicholas's chest and pummel him with both fists.

Instead Ho-Sing locked his hands behind his back, looking very sage andcerebral. "Ho-Sing mother say women like bread. You leave them alone, you getrise. You leave too long, you get mushy dough."

"How prophetic," Nicholas mumbled, knowing he'd be rolling his eyes if theyweren't already spinning. "Now if y' don't mind?" He glanced pointedly at thedoor. "There's something to be said about solitude."

Ho-Sing ignored him. "Boss-man want to know what else Ho-Sing's mothersay?"

"Not particularly."

Clearly, Ho-Sing's question had been rhetorical. "She say a fool's tonguelong enough to cut own throat."

Ho-Sing's mother must have been Confucius in disguise. "And do y' know whatI say? Brevity is the soul of wit."

"No-no. That's Shakespeare."

A well-read manservant.

"Then let me put it in Sinclair terminology: Be brief and be gone. I haveto save my energy for my hangover-- or for my liver to pickle, whichever comesfirst." Nicholas's head pounded like a thousand tiny Philistines had pitchedcamp inside.

Why he drank the entire bottle of scotch when a simple clubbing over thehead would have sufficed, he'd never know.

"Ok, Boss-man. Missy gone."

The last two words snapped Nicholas's head up. "What! Gone? What are youtalking about? Where'd she go? When? Details, man, details!"

"You say be brief. I brief."

"Not that bloody brief!"

"Ho-Sing not mind reader."

"Ho-Sing not going to be alive much longer if he doesn't start explaining.Now, where did Sheridan go?"

"Home." Ho-Sing shook his head. "Boss-man break her heart. Very bad thing.Should be ashamed."

Nicholas gritted his teeth, wondering why everyone felt inclined to givehim opinions he hadn't asked for. "When did she leave?"

"When you gone. Very sad. Ho-Sing's heart weep."

Nicholas cursed under his breath, disgust, anger, and another emotionriding him knowing Sheridan had left him.

Left him. She didn't leave him. He had wanted her to go. She had beentrouble from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her, stirring up a maelstromof emotions better left buried.

"Boss-man's heart weep, too," Ho-Sing added. "He just too much donkey's assto admit it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Do know. Ho-Sing very wise."

Nicholas rose from his chair and scoffed, "Good riddance to her, I say.Maybe now things will return to normal."

Ho-Sing nodded. "Yes-yes. Normal. Boss-man go back to wandering big emptyhouse with long face, losing card games, and snapping at innocent manservant.Boss-man grow old and wrinkled. Women run from grumpy withered man who try topinch supple young backsides. Finally, Boss-man drift from room to roomtalking to himself like Ho-Sing's great uncle Chung Lee, regretting the day helet sweet Missy go. Then he die alone and bards write sad stories about him, minstrals sing about his stupidity--the emperor of stupidity." Ho-Sing bowed.

Nicholas glared at the top of Ho-Sing's head. "Why am I the villain here? Ididn't run out on her at Puddlebys. I didn't beat her into the bushes. Ididn't throw a shoe at her. I didn't give her poisonous flowers."