George McMillan stood ramrod straight. His face grim. If he ran, his cowardice would be the talk of Boston. Nicholas raised his gun, aiming the sleek metal barrel at his opponent's heart. McMillan didn't move, just stared straight ahead. Nicholas saluted the man's quiet courage. Easing back the hammer with his thumb, the ominous click loud against the early morning silence, Nicholas aimed the barrel well above McMillan's head-and fired into the air.

Catching a movement beside a nearby tree, Nicholas turned just in time to see Glory slump to the ground in a tangle of black wool skirts. Cursing beneath his breath, he raced toward her, Mac, George, and the sallow-faced man at his heels. Blood darkened the sleeve of his coat and dripped onto the snow as Nicholas knelt and placed his hand on Glory's forehead.

"She's just fainted, lad," Mac told him.

"I'll carry her for you," George offered, his voice soft. "You can take her home in my coach."

After a moment, Nicholas agreed. George scooped Glory into his arms and carried her toward his carriage in the distance. Mac checked Nicholas's wound, determined it was only superficial, and they both followed George. When Nicholas reached the carriage and opened the door, he found. Glory leaning against the velvet seat, blue eyes open and watching him.

George pulled Nicholas aside. "I'll ride back with my second. Just send my driver home when you have no further need of him."

"Thank you."

"Take care of her, Captain."

"You have my word."

George took a ragged breath, his eyes bleak, but said nothing more. As he turned to leave, Nicholas stopped him.

"I want you to know," Nicholas said, "if things had been different, there isn't another man I'd rather have seen her marry."

"Thank you, Captain." Head held high, George turned and walked away.

Nicholas climbed into the carriage next to Glory. She didn't even look at him. The carriage rolled away, the sound of the wheels muffled by the thin layer of snow. Glory rode along in silence, the rumble and sway of the carriage soothing her jagged nerves.

"Why didn't you shoot him?" she finally asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

"If you knew me better, you'd know I don't go around killing people just for sport. The man only wanted to protect you. I could hardly kill him for that."

She turned to look at him, remembering the man she had loved on the strand. A man she was certain would have felt the same. For the first time she noticed his arm. "You're wounded!"

"Is that wifely concern I hear?" He smiled, then grimaced as he suffered a spasm of pain.

"I'd be concerned for any man who was injured, even a rogue like you. Now, please, lie back and be still until we can summon the surgeon."

"I'm more worried about you. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You're sure?"

She felt unaccountably pleased at his concern, but refused to admit it. "I'm sure."

"From now on, madam, there'll be no more traipsing around in the cold. You're to rest and take care of yourself." He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "That's an order."

She smiled in spite of herself. "You're very good at giving orders, Captain."

"Nicholas," he corrected. "And you're very bad at following them."

"I probably always will be."

"Yes. But I suppose that's one of the reasons I love you."

Glory's eyes flew open wide. She rounded on him, pale cheeks suddenly flooded with color. "Don't you dare use that word with me!"

"What word?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Love. You, Captain, wouldn't know the meaning of the word."

His own temper flared. "And I suppose George McMillan would?"

"Yes, he would. George is a gentleman."

"If McMillan is so damned wonderful, why aren't you in love with him?"

Glory clenched her teeth. Refusing to look at him a moment more, she turned away and gazed at the passing row of houses. A door opened and a small boy darted out to fetch the bottle of milk that stood beside the door, then scurried back into the warmth within.

Nicholas turned her face with his hand, forcing her to look at him. "It couldn't be because you're still in love with me?"

Glory stiffened, angered even more. "Not a chance, Captain Blackwell. I may have been young and foolish when first we met, but I'm a wiser woman now."

One comer of his mouth tilted into a smile. "Time will tell, love. We'll just have to wait and see."

The week flew past in a flurry of activity. Glory relayed the story Of the duel, and Aunt Florence assured her she'd done the right thing in marrying Nicholas. Glory was just as certain she hadn't. She'd had no choice, she reminded herself. He would have ruined her life again-George's and the baby's as well. She hadn't told Aunt Flo about his threat. Her aunt would only have tried to intervene, and things would have been worse for everyone. No, she'd made the only sensible choice. But the degree of Nicholas's ruthlessness made her feel more wretched than ever.

When the time came for her to leave Boston, it was a sad farewell indeed.

"Here, now, there's no need for tears," Aunt Flo chided, her own voice a little choked. "The baby's due in a couple of months, and I'll be joining you in Tarrytown."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Flo."

"Give him a chance, dear. Everyone makes mistakes." Glory slumped down on the tapestry sofa. "I don't understand him, Aunt Flo. Maybe I never did. I don't trust him. I certainly don't love him anymore. Nor would I want to."

Aunt Flo patted her hand. "My instincts tell me he's a good man."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Time to go, love," Nicholas called to her from the doorway. "The carriage is waiting."

She kissed her aunt's translucent cheek, wiped the tears from her eyes, and joined Nicholas in the foyer where he wrapped her snugly in a fur-lined pelisse. In minutes the carriage reached the wharf. Nicholas whisked Glory up the gangplank to the deck of the Black Witch and into the warmth of the sumptuous officers' wardroom.

Brass and crystal sconces flickered on the wall as Glory pushed open the door. Mac beckoned her forward and pulled out a chair, seating her beside him at the long, carved mahogany table. Gilded mirrors at either end of the wardroom reflected silver candelabra that adorned an elegant sideboard. Memories of Nicholas, their rescue from the island, and the unhappy time they'd spent on board this ship threatened to swamp her. Even with Mac's attentive companionship, Glory felt homesick before they ever left the harbor.

"Give it time, lass," Mac advised. "He loves ye. Give him a chance to prove it."

"I don't want him to love me, Mac. And I don't want to love him. He forced this marriage on me. I agreed only because of the child."

"Ye've a long life ahead a ye, lass. Dinna cheat yerself outta lovin'."

When Glory didn't answer, Mac changed the subject. They continued to renew their acquaintance while her trunks were brought on board and Nicholas readied the ship to make way.

"What's happened to Josh?" she asked. "I didn't see him when we came on board."

"Lad's been promoted to ship's master. He commands Black Diamond now."

"And Jago?"

"Dodd is Josh's second mate."

"So much has happened," Glory said with a sigh. She took a sip of her tea, then replaced the cup in its fine porcelain saucer.

"Aye, lass. Some bad and some good." Mac's eyes moved to the bulge of her stomach beneath her black bombazine traveling dress. "Ye've grown up, lass. Ye were forced to do it in a bit of a hurry, but ye've grown up just the same."

Glory smiled a little forlornly. "I suppose so."

Once the ship was under way, Mac led Glory to the captain's richly appointed cabin. She napped for a time, then joined Nicholas in the salon for a quiet supper. Afterward, he returned with her to the cabin. She hesitated only a moment before stepping inside.

"Where will you be sleeping?" she asked, straining to keep her voice even as Nicholas followed her into the lamplit interior. The words struck an unpleasant memory of the first night she'd spent in the room, of a battle of wills, and the humiliation of her body's response. She shivered at the thought.

"With you," he said simply. But his eyes had darkened, as if he could read her thoughts.

Her hand shook as it slid protectively to the life that bulged at her waist. "Is your word so easily broken?" She hoped he hadn't noticed the tremor in her voice.

"I promised I wouldn't make love to you until you were ready. I promised I wouldn't harm the babe." He swept a tendril of pale blond hair from her cheek. "They're promises I've every intention of keeping. But you're my wife now. The sooner you come to trust me, the better off we'll both be." He bent and kissed her forehead. "Now turn around so I can unbutton your dress."

Glory swallowed hard, a warm blush coloring her cheeks. "Surely you don't intend to watch me undress."

"You're my wife," he repeated almost as if he relished the word. "You carry my child. The changes in your body are only natural. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Before she could protest, he turned her back to him and unbuttoned her bodice and skirt. After helping her out of the top, he pulled the skirt over her head. Next went the petticoats, layer after layer, until she wore only her chemise and simple cotton drawers.

Nicholas turned her to face him, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. "You look lovely," he told her, tilting her chin up. "There is nothing more feminine than a woman who's with child."

"I don't believe you. You're just trying to make me feel better."

"Is that so?" He cocked a fine black brow. "Do you know how much I want you right now?"

When she didn't answer, he pressed her hand against the bulge in his breeches, his swollen manhood proof of his desire. Glory's head snapped up. She took a tentative step backwards.

Nicholas chuckled, the merest rumble in his chest. "You needn't fear, love. I've thought of little except making love to you these long months past. But I can wait till the baby comes-that is, if you'll give me one small kiss."

Glory shook her head, eyes wide. "No."

Nicholas shrugged his wide shoulders. "As you wish." He moved to the wardrobe and opened the carved wooden door. Several of Glory's gowns had been unpacked and hung within. From a drawer he pulled a soft batiste nightdress, helped her remove her chemise, and slipped the gown over her head. While he hung up her dress, she watched over his shoulder, and a flash of curiosity surfaced-along with a spark of jealousy.

"When I was here before. The dresses I borrowed, whose were they?"

He stifled a rueful smile. "I wondered when you'd get around to asking."

"Well?"

"Well, wife," he said deliberately, "they belonged to a former . . . acquaintance. One who has long since disappeared from my life. The only dresses you'll find in these chests from now on will be yours."

"Does this acquaintance of yours live in Tarrytown?"

"She lives in New York-with her husband."

"A married woman?"

Nicholas only shrugged.

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten your penchant for other men's wives."

Nicholas strode toward her, his eyes stormy. "That's all in the past. The woman meant nothing to me then. She means less than nothing now."

Glory watched him closely, wanting to believe him, but unsure she should.

"Give us some time, love. For the baby's sake if not mine."

Reluctantly she nodded and the tension eased from his shoulders. "I'm just tired, I guess." And more than a little confused, she wanted to add. Instead, she walked to the wide berth and heavily sank down.

"You'll feel better after a good night's sleep." He smiled warmly. Moving toward the bureau, he untied his stock and shrugged off his shirt, leaving his chest bare. His muscles bunched as he unbuttoned his breeches and slid them down his long, lean legs.

Glory swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The sound of rustling fabric as he stepped free of his clothing sent a tremor down her spine. Conscious of a stirring she hadn't known in months, she tried to turn away, but her gaze locked on the dark hair curling between his flat dark nipples. Too well she remembered the smooth feel of his tanned skin beneath her hands, the stiff bristles of his curly black chest hairs.

Glory's eyes flew wide as she watched him stride naked toward the bed, his footsteps muffled by the thick Tartan carpet.

"Surely you don't intend to sleep like that!" she said.

"Why not? I always sleep in the nude. Surely you remember."

"But . . . but that was before."

"Yes, that was before. Before we were married. Now you're my wife."

"But . . . but-"

"I won't break my promise."

"What if you can't control yourself?"

Nicholas grinned broadly, an expression Glory had rarely seen.

"There's only one way to find out." He wrapped a corded arm just below her breasts and hauled her up in the bed to snuggle against him. She could feel his hard thighs pressing against the backs of her own.

"Good night, love," he whispered, nuzzling his face in her hair.

"Good night, Captain."

"Nicholas," he corrected, a hint of a irritation in his voice.