"No, thank you," she called back stiffly as she set to work on her lean-to.

She had no idea where to begin, so she started by tearing the lacy strips from her petticoat. Next she bound the branches together as tightly as she could. She'd use the area between two trees. If only she had some rope and a few blankets. Sighing resignedly, she continued with her task.

By dusk of that day she had finished. Her fingers were cramped and sore, and her back hurt fiercely. Nicholas had watched from afar. She cursed him endlessly. As she took in his smug expression, she prayed the wind would blow up a gale tonight. She wouldn't share an inch of her shelter with the captain.

The wind did indeed come up. And to Glory's chagrin, her shelter blew apart like lint in a whirlwind. Nicholas slept nearby, never even looking up. Tired and discouraged, she slept off and on until Nicholas called her to a breakfast of large tough mussels-all he claimed he could find. Afterward Glory set to work to rebuild the shelter and again Nicholas looked on, but today he seemed out of sorts.

Nicholas's amusement had waned. He had watched Glory for days, expecting her to break long before now. So far she'd amazed him. She'd made do with the foulest bit of water, eaten whatever he put in front of her, albeit grudgingly, and generally held up better than some men he'd known. In truth his conscience was beginning to prick him sorely.

He'd already stayed on the inhospitable island a day longer than he'd intended. The girl looked ragged and weary and forlorn. He'd been certain that by now she'd have thrown herself at his mercy, begged him to take care of her. But things hadn't worked out as he'd planned. She wouldn't give up. Wouldn't come crawling. He didn't know how much longer he could stand to watch her suffer.

By afternoon she'd rebuilt her shelter. Tiny bits of lace waved in the gentle breeze, and Nicholas found himself smiling at her ingenuity and determination. He decided it was time to put aside his anger and make peace with her. He intended to bed her. He preferred she be willing, but it really didn't matter. She had deceived him, made a fool of him. He owed her nothing now. He wondered if she'd fight him. She hadn't before. Tonight he'd find out.

He glanced toward her just as she tied the final branch in place. Out of the comer of his eye, a movement near the marsh caught his attention. Nicholas turned to see the sharp tusks and bristly snout of a feral boar searching the brush for the only pool of water on the island. For a moment the animal sniffed the air, and Nicholas spotted blood on an injured shoulder. Then the great beast lowered its head and charged-straight toward the young woman sitting beneath the pines.

"Glory!" Nicholas cried out, drawing his knife and racing toward her. With a glance at the boar, she screamed and scrambled to her feet, eyes wide with terror. Clutching her petticoats out of the way, she raced toward Nicholas. He caught her in his arms and pulled her aside, just as the boar reached them. Spinning away from the flashing tusks, Nicholas plunged his knife into the animal's back. The wild pig screeched and squealed, then charged into the makeshift shelter. Pine boughs went flying; blood covered the branches and turned the lace red.

Nicholas tugged his knife free of the wildly charging animal and sank the blade again, this time into the boar's neck, just beneath the skull. The animal thrashed and rooted, tearing the shelter to shreds and finally falling on its side, kicking and snorting in its final death throes.

Taking several steadying breaths to calm himself, Nicholas shuddered at what might have happened. The wild boar was deadly; its razor-sharp tusks could rip a man apart. He closed his eyes against the haunting image of Glory mutilated and dying, covered in the animal's blood.

Close. Too close. His glance searching, he found her slumped against the base of a tree, arms wrapped around the knees drawn beneath her chin, her body shaking with the fury of her sobs. Nicholas had never felt more rotten in his life. As his long strides carried him across the sand, he cursed himself for the fool he'd been, knelt beside her, and gently pulled her into his arms.

In a feeble attempt to free herself, she pushed against his chest. "Go away and . . . leave me alone," she ordered raggedly between breaths.

"No."

"It doesn't matter anyway. I don't care if you see me cry. I'm tired of being brave." A trail of tears rolled down her cheeks. "That horrible creature tore up my shelter. I need a bath-and I'm hungry. Oh, God, I wish Papa were here."

Nicholas tightened his hold. He hadn't meant for things to go so far. He certainly hadn't meant to endanger her life. Seeing her like this, her pride gone, her face pale, her body shaking with sobs, he felt a surge of protectiveness that twisted his heart and constricted his chest until he could barely breathe.

More tears rolled down her cheeks. "Papa would know what to do."

"I know what to do," he whispered beside her cheek. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her toward the marsh, a quarter of a mile through the ooze, and up onto the strand without even noticing her weight. She clung to him, crying all the while. He didn't stop until he'd waded to the middle of the freshwater pool he'd been using each morning to bathe. Only then did she lift her head from his chest to look around.

"Nicholas?"

"It's all right, love," he told her. "Everything's going to be all right from now on." Still she clung to him. He let go of her knees, and her toes sank into the soft sand at the bottom of the pond. With firm but gentle motions, he pulled her chemise over her head, slid her filthy petticoat and ragged drawers down her thighs, and helped her step free of the clinging garments.

With his hands around her tiny waist, he steadied her while she slipped beneath the surface to cleanse the sand from her face and hair. When she stood up, beads of water trickled down the wet strands of pale hair that clung to her neck and shoulders.

Nicholas thought she had never looked more beautiful. His gaze fixed on her full breasts, which pointed upward, just as he remembered. He ached to hold them in his hands. His arm circled her waist and he pulled her against him. Still a little dazed, she didn't resist. He hadn't planned to take advantage of her-at least not now-but feeling the warmth of her body, the smoothness of her skin, he groaned and covered her lips with his. The heat he felt sent a ripple of pleasure the length of him-and a surge of blood to his loins.

Deepening the kiss, he felt her lips part beneath his, and the first tentative touch of her tongue. When her arms slid around his neck, Nicholas felt a wave of desire like nothing he'd known. He kissed her cheeks, her eyes, the place beneath her ear, then moved along the slender column of her neck.

Feeling warm and cared for, nurtured and protected for the first time in days, Glory didn't care that she was nude, didn't care where she was or how she had gotten there. Nothing mattered except feeling clean and whole again. Nothing mattered but being in Nicholas's arms. A small voice said, Remember what he's done to you, but try as she might, she could only think of the way his lips felt, the gentleness of his touch.

Instead, she laced her fingers through the strands of his curly black hair and arched against him, feeling tingly and hot all over. His lips moved over her flesh, trailing warm kisses until he captured the crest of her nipple and circled it gently with his tongue. Glory moaned and tilted her head back, giving him better access to the breast he cradled in his hand. His mouth caressed, tasted, and sucked the stiff peak, and Glory's blood fired with the delicious sensations.

He kissed her again, this time demandingly, and Glory responded in kind. When his hands traveled down her body to cup her buttocks and pull her more firmly against him, she felt his hardened manhood pressing against her, demanding release from the confines of his breeches.

His arm slid beneath her knees, and he lifted her from the water, carrying her to a grassy spot at the edge of the pool. He left her only long enough to shed his own clothes and return to her side, easing himself down beside her.

"God, how I've wanted you," he whispered against her ear, his voice husky.

Though her hands pressed against his chest in feeble protest, he captured her lips and plunged his tongue into her mouth. Fiery sensations engulfed her. Glory writhed against him, forgetting her fears, blotting her doubts, wanting him to touch her, feeling achy and taut and consumed. Careful to keep his weight above her, he covered her body with his and parted her thighs with his knee.

It was all Nicholas could do to go slowly. He wanted to drive into her, wanted to plunge inside. From the tension in her body, he knew she wanted it too. Instead he guided himself within her until he reached the obstacle he only half expected. The proof of her virginity stirred in him a disturbing jolt of guilt-and an unwelcome surge of joy.

"Only a moment's pain, love," he told her, forcing his conscience aside. "Then all the pleasure I've promised."

She pulled away a little, afraid for the first time. "Nicholas?" she whispered hesitantly.

"Trust me," he told her.

And she did. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, seeking his mouth, opening her own to his tongue. Slipping his hands beneath her hips, he drove himself inside her. Only the pressure of his lips silenced her cry of pain. A tear slipped down her cheek to nestle in the tiny hollow at the base of her throat.

"Are you all right, love?" he asked, holding himself back until her pain subsided.

"Yes," she whispered, still a little uncertain.

Cradling her buttocks in his palms, he kissed her again, his tongue teasing the walls of her mouth; then he began to move in a slow, rhythmical pattern that made her forget her discomfort, made her think only of the tall man who held her in his arms. Responding to the ancient instincts of a man and woman, she moved against him, met his thrusts again and again until his muscles bunched with the sheen of their efforts and he called out her name.

Something powerful and frightening seemed to be building with his last few powerful strokes, but before she could discover what it was, Nicholas shuddered fiercely, held himself above her a moment more, then rolled away, drawing her with him into the curve of his arm. His eyes remained closed until his breathing slowed to normal.

Glory stroked the line of his jaw and wondered how she could possibly want him to kiss her again. She wished she felt as relaxed as he did. When he touched her breast, she jumped as if she'd been burned and heard his low soft laughter.

"I've disappointed you. I'm sorry." His teasing smile said he only half meant it. "I've wanted you so long I couldn't wait."

"How could anything so wonderful be disappointing?" she said, denying the tiny voice that reminded her the intimacies they'd shared belonged in the marriage bed, that women weren't supposed to feel the wondrous sensations she'd experienced. Instead, her glance moved from his gray eyes, now light and teasing, to the width of his chest, to the flat spot beneath his navel. Color flooded her cheeks when she noticed his softened manhood resting in its nest of protective black curls.

She turned her head away, but not before the forbidden object began to strengthen.

With a throaty chuckle, Nicholas teased the palm of her hand with his tongue, brought her fingers to his mouth to lick and suck each one. Glory felt a jolt of desire that tightened the muscles in her stomach and set her heart to pounding again. She rounded her gaze on his face and saw his eyes had darkened, hungry once more.

"It's your turn now," he told her, and before she could ask what he meant, he had covered her mouth with his and rolled on top of her, pressing her into the soft grass beneath them. Feeling his tongue warm and moist against her own, she moaned and felt the same heat as before, this time even more intense.

He was less gentle, more demanding this time, firing an ardor she wouldn't have believed. With every thrust of his hardness, every powerful impact inside, she slipped a little deeper into his spell. The thickness of his shaft amazed her, filled her with blazing heat that set her body on fire. She writhed against him, meeting each of his thrusts with fierce abandon-until a bubble of pleasure swelled inside and a thousand tiny pinpricks of light burst behind her eyes. Crying out his name, she clung to him, and he followed her to release.

They slept for a while on the soft green grass, she in awe of what had happened, he in contentment, it seemed. When they awoke, they made love again; then Nicholas carried her into the coolness of the pond.

"How do you feel?" he asked as the water trailed sweetly around her hips. She remembered he'd asked her that before.

"Like a cat in a window," she told him truthfully, with a light smile that denied a tiny thread of guilt. "As if I'd just lapped up the last of my cream and the sun was beating against my cushion."

He laughed good-naturedly and she thought how few times she'd heard the sound.

"You should do that more often," she said as they climbed from the pool.

"Do what?"

"Laugh." They sat in the sun till the warm air dried their skin, then pulled on their now clean and dry garments. Now that the sand had been washed away, Glory reveled in the freedom of her scant clothing, even if she did feel a bit exposed. Nicholas wore only his breeches. Glory loved to watch the muscles of his chest tighten and flex with his movements, loved the rich mahogany hue of his swarthy complexion. He seemed not the least uncomfortable in their primitive environment.

When she tried unsuccessfully to untangle her mass of pale hair with her fingers, Nicholas grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the beach.

"Come on. There's something I want to show you." She let him pull her along the overgrown path beneath the chatter of chipmunks and several frolicking squirrels, then stopped in amazement when she saw the dozens of crates and trunks that rested at the edge of the sand. At first she laughed delightedly and raced toward the trunks, throwing open the lids of several to discover blankets and tools, flour, coffee, and slabs of salt pork. Several crates held cones of sugar the Spider had been transporting from Barbados.

"There are some oranges in one of the other crates," he told her. "Rope, canvas from the sails, maybe even something that could pass for a comb. There's just about everything we need, except of course our clothes." He actually grinned. "But then, we needn't worry much about that from now on."

Glory felt a rush of color to her cheeks, but with a glance back at the boxes her features turned serious. "When did you find all this?"

Nicholas glanced away, suddenly unwilling to meet her gaze. "This morning," he said, chiding himself for not being honest enough to tell her the truth. He just couldn't bear the thought of losing her trust after the way she'd given herself to him this morning.

He wasn't a good liar, Glory thought. He'd found this stuff days ago. She felt a surge of temper that reddened her blush even more and fought the urge to punch him smack in the nose. Then she thought of the way he'd saved her from the boar, the way he'd made love to her, and couldn't bring herself to stay mad at him. If he could forgive her for getting him stranded on this lonely stretch of land in the first place, she could surely forgive him for a few days of ill treatment.

In truth, she admitted, she loved him so much she'd forgive him almost anything.

She smiled at him, and his dark expression warmed. "How about handing me an orange," she said. "I'm starved." He peeled one for her. The fruity smell made her mouth water. Their fingers brushed as he handed it over and a tiny shiver raced up her spine. She broke the fruit in two and fed half of it to him, the sweet juices running down her fingers. He licked them clean, his eyes turning dark.

"I think we'd better set up camp," he said. "Before we get sidetracked again." The way he said the word made clear what he was thinking.

She lowered her lashes and nodded her agreement. "Could I have another orange first?"

As he fetched her another of the delicious fruits, he seemed a little guilty. "Tonight," he said, "I'm going to cook you the best meal you've ever eaten."

Glory silently prayed it wouldn't be a new version of sea gull.

After setting up a comfortable campsite near one of the pools, Nicholas went back to the island and dressed out the boar. On the strand he dug a pit, lined it with rocks and burning wood that soon turned to coals, wrapped the pork in leaves, and buried it beneath another layer of coals. Finding several pots and a tin mug among some of the tools, he cleaned them with sand and headed toward the beach, returning later with the potful of clams. A salad of tender watercress from one of the ponds completed the meal.

It all tasted delicious to Glory, who ate until she couldn't possibly stuff in another bite.

"You'll get fat if you keep eating like that," Nicholas teased. "But then there'd just be more of you to love."

Glory straightened. She prayed he did love her, if only just a little. She wondered if he intended marriage. Surely he wouldn't have taken her as he had if his intentions were less than honorable. After all, she'd been vulnerable and he knew it. Besides, he was her father's friend. She wished she could be certain, but Nicholas Blackwell was not a man to be hurried. He would let her know in his own good time. Meanwhile what was done was done. Glory planned to enjoy every minute they had together.

"Tomorrow," he was saying, "I'll build that shelter you've been wanting."

"Why the change of heart?" she couldn't resist asking.

Again the glance away. "I just decided you were right, that's all."

She didn't press him further. That night they made love beneath the stars, and Glory felt such a rush of happiness she thought she might burst. Nicholas seemed to feel it, too. He held her all night, one arm protectively around her as if he didn't want her to get too far away.

Game was plentiful on the strand, and wild onions, watercress, and other wild vegetables abounded. The shelter Nicholas built turned out to be a small one-room lean-to. It took him two days to complete, but finished, it provided a cozy retreat from sun, wind, and sand. They still cooked out-of-doors, but inside the shelter, pine needles covered a sandy floor and, shielded with a layer of blankets, afforded a wide, comfortable bed. One bed, Glory noticed with a rush of embarrassment. It was obvious Nicholas intended not the vaguest semblance of propriety, and the thought confirmed her conviction that he meant to propose marriage. Except for her worry about Nathan, Glory was coming to think of the strand as the next best thing to paradise.

They were seated beside the breakfast fire sipping coffee from their single tin mug when Nicholas offered to teach Glory to swim.

Chapter Twelve.

"What do you say?" he prodded. "I'll be there right beside you every step of the way."

"I don't know. Maybe tomorrow." She glanced away. "Why not now?"

"I . . . I've always been a little afraid of the water." She twisted the now ragged folds of her gray-white petticoat. "I guess I'm not much of a tomboy. When I was a little girl, I preferred playing with dolls or embroidering to being out-of-doors-except for riding, of course. Papa persuaded me to try riding, and I loved it right away. But that was different, or at least it seemed so to me."

"And what of billiards?" he teased. "Hardly a feminine pastime."

"Playing billiards was Father's idea, too. I'd never have dreamed of doing anything so unladylike." She turned to face him more squarely. "What about you?" she asked, hoping to keep the subject directed away from the matter of swimming. "What did you like to do as a boy?"

One comer of his mouth lifted in an indulgent smile, and she knew she hadn't fooled him a bit. "I was too busy looking after my father to have much of a childhood." He poked the dying fire, sending a shower of sparks into the warm morning air. "He drank to forget my mother's unfaithfulness. Then he drank to hide from my stepmother's nagging and because he felt guilty for allowing her to treat me so badly. She used to invent things to punish me for. Once she told Father I purposely trod on her daffodils when she knew I'd only been playing on the porch and lost my balance. She locked me in my room for two days with no food and just the smallest amount of water.

Glory touched his cheek, glad he was beginning to confide in her.

"I used to lie in bed," he told her, "praying she would die and Father and I would be free. Then I'd feel guilty for wishing such a terrible thing."

Glory felt tears welling as she thought of the little boy who had never known a mother's love. She wanted to put her arms around him, absorb some of his pain, but she also wanted him to trust her, tell her the things he hid in his heart. "Mac said you left home at twelve."

"I ran away to sea." He jabbed the fire again. "It was a hard life, but I came to love it. I still do."

"And your back?" She traced a finger down one of his almost invisible scars.

Nicholas surprised her by smiling. He seemed relieved his childhood was no longer the subject. "I made the same mistake your young sailor did. I disobeyed the captain's orders. I was young and hot-headed. I got into an argument with one of the mates from the larboard watch. I challenged him to a fight. The captain forbade it. We met after dark and the other man wound up with a broken arm. I won the fight, but the captain lost the services of a valuable man. I got exactly what I deserved-and so did that sailor who helped you."

"I never thought of it that way. On the plantation, the slaves were whipped for wanting to be free. I never thought it was right."

"On a ship, a man is whipped when his actions endanger the safety of the ship or the people on board. It doesn't happen often. When it does it's usually well deserved. The boy should have said no to you."

Glory nodded. "And I should have stayed aboard."

"As I recall you paid for your mistake as well."

Glory glanced away, a little embarrassed to think of the discipline she herself had received. Nicholas, it seemed, was a man who meted out justice in a stem but fair manner. "Do you always discipline your women with such a heavy hand?" she teased.

"Only when they need it." He smiled, and a hungry gleam darkened his storm-gray eyes. "From now on I plan to keep your sails trimmed smartly and a firm hand on your rudder."

Glory blushed to her toes. As if to prove his point, Nicholas pushed her down on the sand and kissed her soundly. "I can't remember wanting a woman as I do you," he said. "I never seem to get enough."

Glory knew exactly what he meant.

The days on the strand passed in a hazy blur of love-making, improving their primitive home, and watching for the rescue ship Nicholas felt sure was soon to arrive. He had readied a huge signal fire, but would light it only when sail had been spotted.

"Nicholas?" Glory approached him quietly, brushing aside the heavy palmetto leaves that blocked her path. Nicholas knelt beneath the leaves, setting a rabbit snare.