Nicholas attempted to sit up. A tiny hand at his shoulder held him down."Lie still. Ye're hurt."

He peered up at her and felt an unseen foot give him another kick in thegut. Here was a work of art.

He searched for something urbane to say. What came out was, "Did I saveyou?"

She laughed, a sound so sweet four nightingales promptly vowed never tosing again. "Oh, aye. Ye saved me, all right. How kind of ye to let the manbeat on ye so I could clout him over the head with an empty wine bottle. Yeare a clever one indeed."

Nicholas eyed her impish face and smiled. "That was my plan all along."

Lord, she was even more stunning up close. Her features looked crafted froma sculptor's hands: a delicate, gently tipped nose, high cheekbones, astubborn jaw, full lips, and eyes of a most unusual shade, lavender blue, thecolor of the wisteria growing in abundance around his family's estate, SilverHills.

Fascinated, he watched her unbutton the top of her white blouse and reach ahand inside. His mouth dried quicker than a puddle in the sun and his tongue rasped like sandpaper over scorched lips. She produced a small, square pieceof linen. Leaning forward, she dabbed the corner of his mouth.

"Ye're bleeding." Her soft breath smelled like peppermint candy, andNicholas knew the strongest urge to take a taste. Gently, she brushed the hairfrom his face. "In my country, they say when a person saves yer life, ye arepart of that person forever. Two souls entwined."

Two souls entwined. Nicholas liked the thought "Do you know what they sayhere in mother England?"

Innocent curiosity lurked in those uncanny eyes." What do they say?"

"They say when a person saves your life, you owe that person a token ofgratitude--whatever he or she desires."

She studied him for a moment, her gaze drifting over his hair, his jaw, histhroat, and then directly into his eyes. "And what is it ye desire?" shemurmured.

A long, curly lock of her hair dangled close to him. His fingers itched tofeel it, to know if it was as smooth and soft as he imagined.

Nicholas grasped the silken length and tugged her gently forward. "A kissis what I desire."

He had expected outrage, perhaps an outright denial followed by a stingingslap that would knock his jaw out of alignment. Yet intrigue lit her eyes asher gaze moved to his mouth.

"Then 'tis a kiss ye shall have."

Before he had a moment to be amazed at his good fortune, her eyelidsfluttered down and she pressed petal soft lips against his, her breaststeasing his chest, making him want to crush her to him.

He groaned as her mouth moved to the corner of his lip, gently touching thecut, soothing it, taking away the sting. Still her kiss was chaste, her lipsbarely parted, as if she greeted a relative--an old, ugly one. Unacceptable.

He turned, bringing her lips firmly in contact with his.

He cupped the back of her head, allowing no escape as his tongue slippedsmoothly between her lips to invade the soft inside of her mouth. A jolt wentthrough her and promptly through him.

She broke away, but he didn't let her go far. "Nay," she whispered, but herprotest was weak.

Nicholas lifted slightly, wanting to explore the fullness of her lower lip.He heard the slight intake of her breath. Inwardly, he smiled. Yet he wonderedabout the surprise reflected in her eyes.

Certainly she'd been kissed before. The way she danced had been sensual,beckoning, and she had kissed him without any maidenly airs or hesitation. Hershow of innocence was intoxicating, and when her tongue tentatively touchedhis, sweat broke out on his forehead.

At his feet, the crewman groaned. The man was going to be in pain when heawoke so Nicholas lulled him back to sleep with a booted heel to the side ofhis head, accomplished without losing contact with his nightingale.

His arm encircled her waist, hauling her closer as his mouth plunderedhers, inviting her tongue to join the age-old mating dance.

Her silken hair fell about them, wrapping them in a world of their own anddrugging him far more effectively than any alcohol ever could.

She pulled away, and all he wanted was to pull her back. Her lavender eyeswere glazed, her mouth swollen from his kiss. Time seemed suspended as shestared into his eyes. His fingers toyed with her hair, a bountiful mass ofcurls as wild and unfettered as the woman.

She took a breath and moved away. "Y-ye're h-hurt," she stammered, clearlyas affected by the kiss as he was.

Nicholas wouldn't relinquish the length of her hair still wrapped about hishand. "So come back and ease my suffering."

For a moment, it looked as if she contemplated the idea. The tip of hertongue slowly glided over her supple bottom lip. A fond memory of his tonguedoing the same thing, perhaps? He wondered if she recognized what she did--orwhat it did to him.

She stopped abruptly and shook her head. "Ye promised to behave," she saidunder her breath.

"Excuse me?"

She blinked those long, thick lashes. "What?"

"You said something about behaving." He hoped to God she wasn't talkingabout him. At that moment, behaving seemed as possible as swallowing his owntongue.

" 'Twas myself I was talking to. Terrible habit, me mum says."

"I disagree."

She gave him a lopsided grin that could cock up the toes of a saint "Andwhy is that no surprise to me now?"

"Well, how can it be wrong when you say such thought-provoking things?"

Her expression conveyed that she saw through his blatant attempt atflattery. "Ye speak such pretty words. I imagine ye could sweet talk yer wayinto heaven."

"Who says I don't have an engraved invitation?"

"Anyone can see the mischief in ye. 'Tis the glint in yer eye and the weehint of a dimple in yer cheek."

The wee hint of a dimple in his cheek? Silent laughter shook Nicholas. Hisribs, still throbbing two beats faster than his heart, were unappreciative ofthe action. "I have a glint in my eye, huh?"

"Indeed. They're very expressive eyes. A thousand shades of green, theyare." She bit her lip. "Och, I've got to learn to curb me tongue."

"Do you think you could curb it later? Right now, I think I'm in need ofanother kiss--for the pain, you know."

"Ye are a wicked one."

"Me?" He shook his head, the small motion causing a shaft of pain to spiraldown his spine. "I'm an angel. You as much as said so yourself."

She chuckled. "Aye, and I must have been delirious to have said such a foolthing." She gently tugged her hair from his reluctant grip. "Do ye need anyhelp getting up?"

Nicholas never thought to say no. That would defeat the purpose ofremaining close to her. Instead he nodded, gazing at her with eyes he hopedlooked sufficiently helpless. "I feel as weak as a newborn foal."

She cocked a brow. "Tch, and have ye never seen how quickly they rise ontheir shaky limbs?"

She placed a hand behind his head and helped him to a sitting position. Hermouth was so close it took supreme effort to keep from tasting her lips once more.

"Do you know a lot about horses?" he asked to combat the need.

Her gaze flicked to his. There was no artifice reflected within theirdepths, no hooded intentions or coyness. Just curiosity and honesty.

"Enough."

Nicholas found himself wondering what else she knew. His alcohol-soddenmind was processing the incidentals rather slowly, trying to place her accentand wondering if she would be staying in England or returning on the ship towherever she'd come from. He hoped to God it was the former and not thelatter. This was one woman he wanted to get to know better--much better.

From her dress, which was simple and serviceable, he imagined she was aservant. Did she work on the ship, perhaps cooking or serving the men?

The last thought caused a stab of irritation that--if Nicholas hadn't knownbetter--he might have labeled jealousy, which was patently ridiculous. Hebarely knew this girl. Besides, the Sinclair men had obliterated that trait inthemselves, and therefore, he couldn't possibly be jealous. Possessive wouldbe more in line. Their souls were entwined, after all.

Nicholas was roused from his musings when she slid her arms beneath his andtried to help him up. He pretended great suffering as he gradually rose, neverletting on that she wouldn't have been able to budge him if he were trulyhurt. The less said, the better.

Now standing, Nicholas noticed something he hadn't before. The girl was tiny. Petite. Her head barely reached the middle of his chest. Obviously hehad elevated her to the status of amazon when she stood on the deck of the ship. Had it not been for her God-given endowments, he might think her achild.

"How old are you?"

She canted her head back, looking quite formidable from her diminutiveheight. "How old are ye?" she returned.

"I asked first."

"An' I'm thinkin' ye shouldn't have."

He shrugged--another move his ribs didn't like. "Ah, but you forget, Isaved you. Two souls, remember? Well, my soul wants to know how old your soulis."

"Souls are ageless."

"Are you evading the question?"

"Ye are a brash one."

"It is indeed a cross I bear. Now how old did you say you were?"

She hesitated and then replied, " 'Tis twenty-four I am." Her eyes gave heraway, as did the twitch of her lips.

"Really? I'm twenty-four as well."

She scoffed.

"What, you don't believe me?"

"Not a wee bit."

"Oh? And how old do I look?"

Like the elf she was, she danced away from him. "Old enough to be me Da."

"Your--" Nicholas reached out to grab the imp. Chuckling, she deftlyskirted his hands. When she pranced by him again, he struck, coiling his armaround her and hauling her close, leaving no body part untouched. "Old, am I?"

She gasped. Nicholas captured the sound in his mouth as he molded his lipsto hers, knowing he had been looking for any excuse to kiss her again, to feelher soft contours, to brand her as his own.

Grinning like a satyr, he released her. She stumbled back, staring at himwith wide, luminous eyes, her cheeks flushed. God, she was glorious.

"Still think I'm old?"

Instead of replying, she raised a shaky arm, a finger gently touching thecut on the corner of his lip.

Then she slapped him--fingers, palm, and all.

"Damn it, woman! What the hell was that for?"

She stared him down like a warrior, her tiny fists perched on a tiny waist."The first kiss ye asked for. The second ye took. 'Tis not a tart I am to betreated so." Her indignation could not thoroughly cover the fact that he hadaffected her. For that, the slap was well worth it.

Notching her chin upward and throwing her shoulders back, she stormed pasthim. He couldn't let her leave.

Lightly grasping her arm, he said, "Please ... don't go." When it looked asif she might wallop the other side of his face with the olive branch he'dextended, he added, "I'm hurt." Pathetic but effective.

Her icy demeanor melted a bit. "Aye, an' ye'll be hurtin' a lot worse if yedon't watch where ye put those lips."

Trying to look contrite and pained, he inched closer to her, until at lastthey stood toe to toe, big foot to little foot. "Forgive me."

"Ye've got the devil's own charm, ye do." Her voice was a husky whisperthat knifed through him like a white-hot blade. She took a deep breath and astep back. "There's an inn over there. I'll take ye to it an' make sure ye'remade comfortable. But don't be thinkin' to try anything, do ye hear?"

Nicholas wondered if he should tell the lovely sprite that 'anything' was arather broad term and he was the type who liked to test the boundaries. Butwhy ruin the moment with details? Since she had so nicely offered to see tohis needs, who was he to complain? Certainly it would be rude to tell her hiscoachman waited only a short distance down the docks. Besides, he was drunk.Therefore, he wasn't expected to think logically.

His ribs pleading for mercy, he bowed and waved her ahead of him. With alook of suspicion, she hesitated and then started forward, leaving him totrail behind her and groan as he watched the sensuous sway of her backside.

*Chapter Four*

The inn wasn't so much an inn as it was a dirty heap of a saloon that seemedto cater to every undesirable within its far-reaching sphere.

Sheridan's second thought was that she had best not let Uncle Finny catchsight of the place or she'd never get him out. If holy water were whiskey, heruncle would go to church every day.

Carefully, she crossed the splintered threshold. She imagined many of theinn's patrons tripped over it and, being too drunk to rise, slept right therein front of the door, ready to start fresh come the morning.

Bawdy catcalls rang out as Sheridan entered. She stopped in her tracks andglared at each and every man who leered or belched a comment that would haveher mother washing out their mouths with lye soap and a cat-o-nine.

Most of the men shuffled their feet uneasily beneath the scarred tables atwhich they sat, returning their gazes to their dirty mugs. A few eyeslingered, but when she didn't back down, they did.

Sheridan felt a presence beside her and looked up at the profile of thedark-haired stranger who had unwittingly become her savior. He was dirty anddisheveled, but completely disarming.

Even in his present state, he outshone every man in the room. And from thecut of his clothes, he obviously had money. Every article fit him toperfection, from his snug black trousers to his once pristine white shirt.