"Yes, love?"

"I'm ready to learn to swim."

Nicholas smiled delightedly. "You're going to love it, I promise you."

"If you keep this promise as well as you did the last, I have nothing to worry about."

They spent the day in the warm waters of the ocean and once Glory got over her panic-and Nicholas vowed to watch for sharks-she caught on easily. Not comfortable swimming nude, she wore her chemise and thin cotton drawers. Nicholas held her waist while she floated face down in front of him, legs kicking out behind. Her shapely bottom wiggled alluringly with every stroke, and it was all he could do to concentrate on the lesson.

The thin fabric of her drawers, all but invisible in the water, clung to the curves of her bottom and added to his discomfort. Holding her dainty waist in his hands, determined to continue, he swallowed hard and tried to look somewhere else, but his traitorous eyes returned again and again to the tempting flesh wriggling in front of him. With a low groan of defeat, he gave in to his desire, carried her protesting to the shallows, and made passionate love to her.

The swimming lesson continued some time later.

Eventually Glory was able to swim by herself, though Nicholas warned her against going out too far. Occasionally, she would even go in without her garments, if Nicholas promised not to watch. Swimming, she declared, was far too unladylike a sport to indulge in without one's clothing. Today was one of those rare occasions. After extracting Nicholas's promise, Glory had removed her clothes and was paddling close to shore, ducking her flaxen-haired head, then breaking the surface and splashing delightedly when he heard her cry out.

Her high-pitched scream sent chills the length of him. He was on his feet and racing down the beach before her second scream reached his ears. His gaze searching the tranquil water, his knife unsheathed and gripped in his hand, he saw the deadly tentacles and cloudy mass of the Portuguese man-of-war's body just before he rushed into the surf.

Shoving the knife back into its scabbard, he plunged through the waves and pulled Glory away from the stinging tentacles of the jellyfish.

"Nicholas?" she whimpered, her voice choked with sobs. "What-what happened? I . . . hurt so . . . much."

"You're going to be fine," he said, wanting to reassure her, wishing he could ease her pain. Holding her in his arms, he sloshed ashore. "You've been stung by a jellyfish. A Portuguese man-of-war. They're rare in these waters. I . . ." His voice trailed off, but his gaze remained on her face. Her tortured expression twisted his heart.

Nicholas laid her on the sandy beach and began to examine her wounds. One whole side of her body looked as if it had been burned with a hot iron. Red welts marred the delicate flesh, and Nicholas cursed beneath his breath.

"I should never have let you go in alone," he said softly, blaming himself.

Glory moaned and tried to sit up. "I . . . I'm going to be sick." He held her while she retched up the fruit and fish she'd eaten for breakfast, her body shaking, trying to rid itself of the pain. "I'm so embarrassed," she whispered.

"Don't be absurd. This isn't your fault." The words came out a little more harshly than he intended. If he hadn't insisted she learn to swim, she wouldn't be suffering now. With a shudder of regret, he carried her back to their camp, where he made a pallet of pine needles beside the pool, covered it with a blanket, then made a poultice of mud for her burns. People had been known to die from the sting of the vicious man-of-war, but more often they just suffered in agony until their body could ward off the poison.

Nicholas applied the mud poultice while Glory bit her lip until it bled. She tried to stifle her tears, but still they came, in salty rivulets that trickled down her cheeks.

Nicholas cradled her head in his lap. "I'm sorry, love. So sorry. There's nothing to do but wait for the pain to go away."

She nodded weakly. "Talk to me. Tell me about . . . about . . ." She swallowed hard and wet her dry lips. "Just talk to me."

"I'll tell you about Bradford." He smoothed the hair from her cheek. "He's my stepbrother. I've been thinking about him lately." Though he brushed the tears from her cheek with a trembling hand, more followed in a wet cascade that tore at his heart. He swallowed hard and forced himself to go on. "Brad goes to school at Harvard. I can't imagine how my stepmother managed to have a son like Brad, but she did, and it's the one thing I'm grateful to her for."

Glory smiled. Tears spiked her long dark lashes, but she ignored them. "What . . . does he . . . look like?'' It was a battle to keep her mind off the agonizing pain.

"He's shorter than I am, though he's still quite tall. He has fair skin and brown hair-and the kindest hazel eyes you've ever looked into. He's nothing like me. Brad's gentle and caring. Everyone loves him."

"You can be gentle," Glory said.

Nicholas shook his head. "I'm overbearing, arrogant, and demanding. You ought to know that by now."

She gave him another weak smile.

"I'll grant you, I'm not without a certain amount of charm when I want to be," he teased, "but I'm certainly not lovable."

That's not true, she wanted to say. I love you. Instead, she kept silent. He hadn't said those words to her, and a proper southern lady would never be the first to admit such a thing. Of course a proper southern lady wouldn't be living on an isolated strip of land, wearing nothing but her petticoat, and making love to Nicholas Blackwell without benefit of marriage.

"I think you're . . . quite often . . . lovable," she told him instead, then moved too suddenly and felt a white-hot, searing stab of pain. Clenching her teeth, she closed her eyes and gripped his hand until her nails dug into his skin.

"Just lie quiet, love." He eased her head from his lap. "I'll make you some broth. We've got to get something in your stomach."

With a nod, she turned away, knowing she would rather rest in his lap than eat any day.

By the end of the fifth day, Glory had, for the most part, returned to normal. She bathed in the pool and washed her hair, though she hadn't as yet been in swimming again. Watching her around the camp, Nicholas felt the familiar surge of desire for her he hadn't experienced since her accident. He'd just been too damned worried until today. Seeing her leaving the pool, her thin white garments clinging to every curve, he groaned and glanced away.

Grudgingly he admitted he was falling in love with the elegant blonde. He hadn't meant to. Hadn't wanted to. In fact he'd done everything in his power to avoid it. But the evidence was clear. He thought of her day and night, worried about her-and wanted her endlessly.

She hadn't mentioned her lover, and since Nicholas had been the first to bed her, he decided she'd probably only thought she was in love with the handsome Negro. The man was just an infatuation, he told himself. As soon as they reached civilization, he decided, he would offer marriage. They'd move to his estate near Tarrytown in the New York countryside. He would be close enough to oversee his shipping company, but the estate would be the perfect place to raise a family. His family. The thought warmed his heart.

With a flash of clarity, Nicholas realized he actually liked the idea of being married to Glory.

Until now he had never believed it could happen to him, not after the way marriage had destroyed his father. But Gloria Summerfield was different from any other woman he'd known.

He trusted her. Why-after the way she'd tricked him- he couldn't say. But he did.

And she trusted him. Of that he was sure. She loved him, too. If he was any judge of women, and he was.

Thinking of the future they would share, he put aside his worries about her relationship with the man called Nathan. She had probably forgotten all about him by now.

At least he hoped so.

But his experience with women and his one small lingering doubt were enough to keep him from speaking his heart.

Chapter Thirteen.

Eighteen days after the Black Spider went down, Glory spotted sail just south and east of where they were stranded. Jumping up and down and pointing excitedly, she flashed Nicholas a bright smile and rushed toward the beach. Nicholas headed straight for the signal fire. Glory waved her arms and loudly called out to the ship, though it was much too far away for the crew to hear her. Once the fire began to blaze, Nicholas joined her on the beach.

Glory slipped her arm through his. "Just think, Nicholas, at last we'll have clean clothes."

"And a hot bath," he said.

"And food we don't have to catch first."

"And a feather bed," he added with a warm note in his voice.

She tilted her face to look up at him. "In some ways I'll miss this place."

Smiling warmly, he ran a finger down the line of her jaw. "Me, too."

The huge signal fire shot flames into the air, marking their location, and the ship headed straight for their position. Nicholas brought a blanket for her to wrap herself up in, and Glory blushed prettily, conscious of her skimpy garments for the first time in days. Neither spoke for a while; they just stood quietly on the shore, listening to the waves breaking at their feet and watching the big ship approach.

"That's the Black Witch," Nicholas told her, ending the silence, a proud glow warming his gray eyes. "She's my flagship."

"She's beautiful."

"She can carry only half as much cargo as the Spider, but she's as fast as they come. A man named John Griffiths designed her. She has a sharper bow and a leaner hull than most ships; that's what makes her so fast. If they've picked up the rest of the crew, we'll make New York Harbor in four days."

Glory looked out at the graceful ship and, for the first time since the sinking, allowed herself to think of Nathan and the crew. During the time she'd spent on the island, she had refused to believe Nathan wasn't safe. Now that the resolution of her fears lay only minutes away, she was worried. Was he all right? Was he safely aboard the Black Witch with the rest of the crew? She prayed he was and in her heart felt almost sure. Still . . . She couldn't wait till she reached the ship and could put her fears to rest.

In the end she didn't have to wait that long. Two shore boats were launched from the Witch as the ship drew near, and shading her eyes from the sun, Glory could just make out Nathan's handsome dark profile in the bow of the second boat. Heart racing wildly, she rushed into the surf, waving and calling out his name. Jago sat at the helm, and she could see Mac and Josh Pintassle in the bow of the lead boat. Relieved at last, Glory wrapped her arms around herself and gave up a silent prayer of thanks.

Josh beached the first boat, and he and Mac jumped into the water at the same time. Glory rushed to Mac's open arms, hugging him first and then Josh.

"Thank God ye're both all right," Mac said, grinning and looking relieved.

"I knew the captain would make it," Josh added with a touch of admiration. The second boat pulled ashore just as the men turned to greet their captain, and the rest of the crew swarmed around to welcome him back.

Before the boat had run aground, Nathan jumped into the surf, and Glory rushed into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. "Oh, Nathan . . . Nathan. Thank God you're all right. I was so worried."

Nathan buried his face in her hair, stroking her cheek and cradling her against him. For a moment he set her away, combing her from head to toe with his glance to assure himself that she was all right. Then he hugged her again.

"When the Spider went down, I thought you were on one of the other boats," he said. "I kept hoping and praying you were safe. I didn't find out what happened until the Black Witch picked us up on a beach way south of here. I've been sick with worry ever since. I'd never have forgiven myself if something had happened."

"I'm fine, Nathan. Captain Blackwell took very good care of me." Feeling a blush creep into her cheeks, she turned her glance toward shore and saw Nicholas walking away from her toward their makeshift camp, Josh and Mac close behind.

For the hundredth time since they'd been shipwrecked, Glory wondered if she should have told Nicholas who Nathan really was and why they were heading north. She'd been waiting for him to speak of their future. But she'd waited long enough. As soon as they reached the ship, she would explain everything. After what they'd shared these past few weeks, she was certain he'd understand.

"Gather up anything we can use and load it aboard the shore boats," Nicholas commanded several sailors as they reached the primitive campsite. It was all he could do to control the edge to his voice.

"Are you all right?" Josh asked. "I know things have been rough-"

"I'm fine!" Nicholas snapped. "I just want to get off this miserable stretch of land and back to the ship."

Josh eyed his friend closely. Nicholas stalked some distance away, then leaned against a pine tree as if to steady himself. His face looked pale beneath his swarthy tan, the skin stretched taut over his angular cheekbones.

Josh gave the necessary orders, and the men loaded the supplies and headed back to the boats. As they marched along the sandy beach, Josh heard several of the sailors snickering among themselves while another made lewd remarks. None had missed the implications of the tiny shelter with its single wide bed.

Worried at the turn of events, Josh drew his blond brows together until they formed a narrow line. He wondered if Glory could be the reason for the captain's distress. When it came to women, Nicholas Blackwell had never been one to stand on principle. He'd wanted her from the start. On the island she had been at his mercy. But Glory Summerfield was no easy conquest. Her father had been a powerful man and one of the captain's closest friends. Surely Nicholas knew he would be forced to marry her. Whatever the cause, the look on his friend's face said something was definitely wrong.

"Mr. Pintassle!" Nicholas's harsh command broke Josh's reverie. "Look alive, man! Get those goods loaded and let's make way."

"Aye, Captain."

Mac McDougal slapped Nicholas on the shoulder. "Simmer down, lad. Ye've been stranded here fer the better part o' three weeks. A few more minutes will make no never-mind."

Nicholas only nodded. He found it nearly impossible to speak in a normal tone of voice. Even now he could see Glory climbing aboard the second shore boat, holding another man's hand. When she'd rushed into Nathan's arms, Nicholas felt as if she'd thrust a knife into his heart.

Not since his childhood, not since his mother deserted him, had Nicholas cried, but he fought to keep the tears from welling now. His chest felt so tight he could barely breathe. How could he have been such a fool? He wasn't some green youth just off the boat. He was a grown man. One who was supposed to know women-he'd certainly pleasured more than his share! He had only been with Glory a few weeks. How could he have let her get so close to him? Let her convince him she cared?

How could he have come to love her so much?

Nicholas and the others returned to the beach and climbed aboard the shore boats. As the men rowed toward the ship, Nicholas glanced across the waves to where Glory sat beside the man called Nathan. He'd draped one arm over her shoulder as if protecting her from the sailors' questioning stares. She smiled up at him, her eyes filled with love. She didn't even try to disguise it.

Nicholas turned away, cursing his own stupidity. Why had he let himself believe she was different? Why had he dared to fall in love?

Nicholas set his jaw and clenched his fists. And slowly, as he'd taught himself to do, he turned his agony into rage.

The woman had duped him, tricked him into loving her. To her what they'd shared meant nothing more than physical pleasure. The man called Nathan was the one she loved. He'd seen it as she rushed into his arms. He saw it now as she smiled into the man's handsome face. She'd been a virgin, all right. But she had given him her virginity just to insure her protection. She'd used him, made a fool of him in every way. She had probably been laughing at him all along, thinking what an easy mark he was, what a lovesick fool.

In that moment, if Nicholas could have put his hands around her slender neck he would have choked the life out of her. The rage he felt surpassed anything he had ever known. For the first time he understood how a man could kill someone he loved in a fit of temper-and how his father could have turned to drink to forget the woman he loved.

Nicholas forced his gaze to the sleek ship bobbing at anchor just a few hundred yards away. The pain he felt settled into a slow aching throb as he forced himself under control. She isn't worth it, he told himself. She's just a woman, like all the others you've known. Just like your mother. All the hatred, all the loneliness and despair he'd bottled up inside for all these years, Nicholas now turned on Glory.

A quiet calm washed over him, and he turned in her direction. She was laughing softly, the crystalline sound he had loved suddenly grating on his ears. His mouth narrowed to a cold, thin line, and Nicholas felt his icy calm turn to brutal resolve.

Taking a deep steadying breath, he braced himself against the side of the boat and watched the Black Witch growing closer with each stroke of the oars. A slow, mirthless smile curved one comer of his mouth.

"Bring up the anchor rode, Mr. Pintassle. Let's make way." Nicholas turned from Josh toward a man who stood beside him. "I'll be taking command from here on out, Captain Durant. And I thank you for all you've done." A tall, spare man with a seaman's full beard, Captain Durant stood at the helm in his immaculate navy blue uniform, the brass buttons and gold braid flashing in the afternoon sun.

"I wish I could have brought them all back safely," Durant said. "But Mac saw the missing boat go under. He couldn't reach them, but he's sure none of them survived. There's no point in searching farther. All in all the casualties were exceedingly low."

Nicholas nodded. "A sinking's always disastrous. I just thank God there weren't more."

"Nicholas?" Glory stepped forward, holding the stiff wool blanket over her ragged garments. Mac and Nathan walked up behind her.

"Ah, if it isn't my pretty roommate, Miss Summerfield." He turned his attention to his second mate. "Mac, I'll be escorting her ladyship to my cabin. You take her . . . servant below. If memory serves, he's to spend the balance of the voyage in the brig."

Nathan's head snapped up, and Glory sucked in a breath. "Nicholas, you can't be serious! After what he's been through, surely he's more than paid for disobeying your orders."

"Mac," Nicholas repeated.

Mac gave the captain a lengthy stare, then sighed resignedly. "Aye, Captain. Ye best be following me, lad," he said to Nathan. "It won't be fer long."

Nathan touched Glory's arm in a warning gesture, giving her a look that clearly told her to let the matter be. Then he followed Mac below decks.

"Come with me," Nicholas commanded, his attention focused on Glory.

"Nicholas, there's something you don't understand," she told him as she followed him along the deck.

He turned to face her. "I think it would be best if you addressed me as Captain." Before she could speak, he walked off toward the aft ladder, descended, and continued down the passageway. Glory trailed behind. Wordlessly, he opened the door to the captain's cabin, a splendidly furnished room much more spacious than the one he had occupied aboard the Spider.

Glory stepped inside. "I hate to put you out, Captain."

"Believe me, you aren't."

Glory couldn't believe his tone of voice: harsh, brittle, almost jeering. "There's something I need to tell you," she said simply.