Relieved but furious, Nicholas allowed the stallion to take the fence at his ease, then halted the animal on the opposite side. Glory stood ankle deep in the rich dark mud, examining the bay's foreleg, the hem of her skirt black and dirty.

Nicholas worked a muscle in his jaw, barely controlling his temper. Dismounting, he stalked to where the horse stood in the mud whinnying softly, and examined the leg. "I hope you're satisfied."

For a moment she looked up at him contritely, then she stiffened her spine. "How was I supposed to know the field had been flooded? I've taken this jump a hundred times."

"You're supposed to use that pretty little head of yours," Nicholas told her, his voice hard. "You're supposed to know better than to race across a muddy field!"

"I just wanted to . . ." Teach you a lesson, she thought. "Have some fun," she said. "I didn't mean for him to get hurt, and I'll thank you not to lecture me." As if to emphasize her point, Glory slapped her riding crop against the fullness of her skirts, her blue eyes snapping fire.

"You're willful and spoiled," Nicholas said, his temper barely in check. "Someone ought to take that riding crop to your backside."

Glory's cheeks flamed. "You're certainly not man enough to do it!"

Nicholas straightened, his hard look boring into her. "I think you would find I'm man enough, Miss Summerfield. But I have neither the time nor the inclination to give young ladies lessons in deportment." Ducking beneath his horse's neck, he jammed a booted foot in the metal stirrup and swung a long leg over the low back of his saddle. With his mouth curved in a thin, mirthless smile, he reined the black away.

"Where do you think you're going?" Glory called after him, incredulous. "You can't just leave me out here!"

"Can't I?" Nicholas threw back over his shoulder.

"But my horse . . . he's injured. I can't ride him like this!"

"Then I suggest you start walking." Nicholas set the black into a leisurely canter.

"Damn you, Nicholas Blackwell! Damn you!"

Nicholas whirled the big black and fixed his gaze on Glory, pinning her with his eyes. "Keep that up, Miss Summerfield, and I may just come back and give you that lesson we discussed." Even at a distance he could see her eyes go wide. She didn't say another word, just started leading the bay through the muddy field toward the lane in the distance. Nicholas smiled to himself. He wouldn't mind giving her lessons-in bed, where they'd do the most good. Since that was not an option, maybe the long walk back to the plantation would teach her to mind her manners.

The trip back home seemed interminable. Glory fumed all the way.

She'd been right about Captain Blackwell in the first place. He was nothing but an overbearing, arrogant ass! How dare he leave her stranded out here! No gentleman would ever treat a lady that way. But then, Captain Black-well was obviously no gentleman! Except for the first few hours, he hadn't even tried to make pleasant conversation. The man could not have cared less about what she had to say. He was just . . . just . . . despicable. That's what he was!

When she finally reached the main road, Glory hailed a wagon loaded with hay, which was headed toward the house. The old slave at the reins jumped down to help her onto the wooden seat, and Glory graciously let him fuss over her. Her feet ached, her ankles were rubbed raw from walking in the deep black mud, and her riding skirt hung in tatters from pushing her way through shrubs and vines she'd intended to jump. Again she damned Nicholas Blackwell. Why hadn't her father warned her about the man?

"Papa, how could you?" Glory railed, calling him by the childhood name she used whenever she lost her temper or became upset. "Surely you had some idea what he was like!" In her stockinged feet, she stood in his study in front of his massive rosewood desk, mud still dripping from the hem of her riding skirt.

"Tell me again, what exactly it is Nicholas has done? Did he make advances? Did he force himself on you?" She could hear the hint of amusement in his voice.

"Of course not! I told you what he did. He left me out there. He made me walk all the way back to the house!"

"Because you'd acted exceedingly foolhardy and endangered not only your own life and his but also the lives of the animals. Those are valuable horses, Glory. They deserve better treatment and you know it."

"I refuse to discuss this any further." Glory drew herself up to her full height which was quite impressive compared to most of the women she knew. "Nicholas Blackwell is a cad and a bounder. I wouldn't be surprised if Miriam is right and he is . . . involved with Lavinia Bond!"

"Glory!" Her father leaped from his chair.

"It's all right, Father. I'm a grown woman. I understand these things."

"What things?" Nicholas asked from the doorway, but his amused expression said he'd heard every word. With casual nonchalance, he leaned his tall frame against the jamb.

"I'm sure you would find them just as uninteresting as you did the rest of our conversation today," Glory told him bitterly.

"You look a little worn, Miss Summerfield," Nicholas said, lifting one black brow and raking her from bosom to toe with his hard gray eyes. "Maybe riding is too strenuous a sport for you after all."

"Why, you-"

"Stop it right now, both of you!" Julian warned.

Glory squared her shoulders, stared the captain straight in the eye, and stormed past him as he moved farther into the room. The noisy slam of the heavy walnut door marked her exit.

"Well, Nicholas . . ." Julian indicated he should take the overstuffed leather chair in front of the desk. "I guess you were serious when you said you weren't interested in marriage."

Nicholas stretched out in the chair, crossing his long legs atop the matching leather ottoman. "I was serious, all right. But I didn't intend to cause problems between you and your daughter."

Julian chuckled. "How about a little bourbon and branch water?"

Nicholas nodded. "I could use a good stiff drink."

Julian poured two fingers of fine Kentucky bourbon into tall crystal glasses, added a dash of water, then handed the glass to Nicholas. "I've never seen her this way," Julian said. "At least not with a man. With the others she just smiles and bats her lashes, and you wonder what she's thinking about because it certainly isn't the young man who's in the room. She'll fight with me, of course, but the others . . .'' He shook his head. "At least you sparked a little spirit."

"Oh, she's got plenty of spirit," Nicholas said. "God help the man she marries. If she can't sweet-talk him into doing what she wants, she'll shame him into it."

"I'm sorry you find her so unattractive." Julian eyed Nicholas over the top of his glass.

Nicholas cocked a brow. "She's beautiful and you know it. She's intelligent and charming. She's also pampered, spoiled, willful, stubborn, and selfish."

"Not selfish, my boy, never selfish. Glory would give away the clothes on her back if she thought someone needed them."

"I'm certain she has hundreds of good qualities," said Nicholas, not sounding as though he meant it. "She'd be a challenge, that's for certain. If she weren't your daughter, I'd like nothing better than to bring her to heel. But marriage? Not a chance. My father went through hell, and most of the married men I know aren't much better off. I intend to stay single. If you're as smart as I think you are, you'll keep your daughter away from me."

Again Julian chuckled, a vibrant, husky sound, just like the man himself. "You've seen how easy it is to keep Glory from doing anything she pleases . . . But you seem to be doing a fine job of making her dislike you, so I'll just leave it to you."

Glory soaked in the warm sudsy tub for over an hour. The heat helped drain some of her tension and ease a little of her temper. How could her father have taken that awful man's side? Eric Dixon would never have acted that way! He'd have given up his own mount and led the bay through the mud to the house.

But, she admitted grudgingly, her father and Captain Blackwell were right about one thing. She shouldn't have taken the hedges in that much mud. Of course she hadn't meant for the bay to get hurt. She loved the big horse and all the other animals in her father's stable. Well, it was over and done with now, and she'd be damned if she'd let Captain Blackwell know how she felt.

By early evening, Glory's temper had cooled. She took a little extra care with her toilette, determined to appear nonplussed. April, her maid, coiffed Glory's pale locks into ringlets on either side of her neck, then helped her slip into a daringly low cut pale blue watered-silk gown that enhanced the bright blue of her eyes. Neither her father nor her mother had seen the gown before-she'd been saving it for something special. Well, retribution was special enough. She intended to make Nicholas Blackwell squirm if it was the last thing she ever did.

By the time Glory entered the dining room, her father and mother and the tall handsome captain were seated at the long mahogany Hepplewhite table. Milk-white bay-berry tapers lit the room from a crystal candelabrum, and the gold-trimmed porcelain dinnerware gleamed in the candlelight. Both of the men rose as Glory swept in.

"Good evening, Mother, Father. Captain Blackwell." The last name came out with a gush of sweetness oozing an insincerity Glory hadn't intended. It was not an auspicious beginning.

"Good evening, my dear," her father said.

Nicholas pulled out her chair. "You look lovely this evening." His gray eyes swept her boldly, then returned to her bosom, where the peaks of her breasts were barely concealed by the gown. Her father glowered for a moment; then a faint smile curved his mouth, and he picked up his wineglass as if nothing were amiss. Her mother frowned.

"Why, thank you, Captain," Glory said. "I'm surprised you noticed.

This time her mother smiled and her father frowned.

"Well, Captain Blackwell," her mother said while two tall Negroes served the meal: roast chicken, brook trout, com, black beans, hominy, and fresh-baked bread. "Why don't you tell us what's going on up north? With all your travels you must have heard the latest Yankee slander on this part of the country." She smoothed a brunette strand into the tight coils of hair at either side of her neck and tipped her head back, which made it appear she was looking down her nose at Nicholas, even though he was a foot taller than she.

"I hardly think politics is a matter for discussion at the table, Louise," Julian said, passing Nicholas a steaming platter of chicken. Though the table was set for royalty, the meal was served family style, and Nicholas felt warmed by the gesture of acceptance.

"The Yankees," Nicholas said pointedly, "have been too busy digging out after the flood to worry much about the Southerns."

"Yes," Julian agreed, "we've been reading about it. Terrible thing. Seems to be affecting half the country."

"Lots of goods have been damaged." Nicholas loaded his plate with food, then hefted a forkful of hominy. "Should strengthen the market for cotton and rice."

"It's about time something did," Julian grumbled. Having been kept debt-free, Summerfield Manor had suffered far less from the depression of 'thirty-seven than most of the other plantations, but the Charleston economy was still languishing, as was most of the South.

Supper continued pleasantly for everyone except Glory. Though the captain's glance strayed periodically to the curve of her breast, he conversed not at all with her and for the most part acted as if she weren't even in the room. By the end of the meal, Glory's cheeks burned with indignation. She sat quietly fuming as her mother rose from the table.

"If you'll all excuse me," her mother said, "I have some sewing to do upstairs."

"Certainly, my dear." Both her father and the captain stood as Louise left the room. "Nicholas, what do you say we retire to the billiard room for brandy and cigars?" He glanced at Glory. "Since there's just the three of us, you won't mind if Glory joins us, will you?"

Nicholas lifted one comer of his mouth in what might have passed for a smile. "I would be honored."

"Well, I'm afraid I would mind, Father. Captain Black-well owes me an apology. I was forced to tolerate his boorish presence at supper, but I will not tolerate it one moment more!"

"Glory!" Julian's temper fired. "Captain Blackwell is our guest. You will treat him with respect!"

"Not until he apologizes!"

"You, Miss Summerfield," Nicholas said hotly, "de-serve the lesson I mentioned this afternoon-not an apology!"

"Stop it! Both of you." Julian looked from one to the other. Glory's bosom heaved, threatening to burst from the confines of the gown. Nicholas's scowl was black and unyielding. They were both standing up, glowering furiously at each other, while Julian still sat at the table an equal distance between them. "I think you should both apologize!" Julian said.

"What!" Glory shrieked. "He's the one who-"

"And you, young lady," Julian interrupted, "are the one who risked injury to yourself and your horse on a dangerous jump."

A little of Glory's anger dissolved. The beautiful bay had very nearly broken its leg. "All right," she conceded at last. "I will if he will." She stood in front of her chair, her slim fingers biting into the tiny waist of her gown. "Captain?" Julian asked.

"But of course," he said gallantly.

Battling her temper down, Glory pressed her lips together and took several steadying breaths. She turned her bright blue eyes-and all the false charm she could bring to bear-on the captain. "I apologize to Captain Blackwell for what happened this afternoon. It was a foolish thing to do. But Raider's taken that jump a hundred times and I just didn't think-"

"That is correct, my dear," Julian put in, "you didn't think." He turned his attention to Nicholas. "Captain?"

"And I, Miss Summerfield, am sorry you were forced to walk all the way home on foot. It's a very long walk, and I'm certain you were more than a little tired by the time you reached home."

"What! That's no apology!"

"I'm also sorry you're still angry," the captain added with a teasing note in his voice. "But as I said before, you look beautiful that way."

Julian Summerfield roared with laughter. Glory held her tongue, her color high. A tiny place in the back of her mind saluted the captain's quick wit. She decided to accept his backhanded compliment and-for her father's sake- concede defeat. At least for the time being.

"All right, Captain, you win. Consider your apology accepted." She smiled effusively. "Billiards, anyone?" Without a backward glance, Glory swept from the room.

Chapter Four.

Playing the game of billiards was Glory's secret vice. Until tonight, the fact that she played had been a closely guarded secret. No lady of quality would ever venture into the smoke-filled rooms where men secluded themselves to drink brandy and discuss business, but her father had amused himself by teaching Glory to play. In the beginning, Glory would have preferred to be upstairs dressing her dolls or perfecting her skills on the harp or pianoforte. But for Julian's sake, and for the extra time it gave them together, she had learned to play.

Glory's mother had been furious. Louise had done her best to end their boisterous camaraderie in the confines of the billiard room, but to no avail. Eventually, Glory came to love the game as much as her father did, and she was good at it. She appeased her mother by promising not to let anyone know she played, and until tonight she hadn't.

She'd been amazed when her father had included her in the invitation, but now that he had, she was bound and determined to play the best game ever.

Glory was rummaging through a window seat at the far end of the room when Nicholas entered. As she bent over, Nicholas noticed again her dainty waist, admired her full bosom, which teased the low neckline of her gown. He could easily imagine the tantalizing curves of her bottom and her long, slender legs. Beads of perspiration formed on his brow. Nicholas drew a kerchief from his gray brocade waistcoat to blot them away.

Damn the woman for the provocative creature she was! She was determined to make his stay a living hell, and she was damn well succeeding. She was all he'd been able to think about from the first moment he'd seen her.

Glory straightened and walked toward him, proudly holding a long teakwood cue beautifully inlaid with ivory. It was thinner than the others, which were kept on the wall, obviously custom made for her slighter frame, and Nicholas fought to suppress his amusement. She was full of surprises-delightfully so. And the more he felt drawn to her, the more he wished he'd never come to Summerfield Manor.

They were playing pocket billiards. Nicholas racked up the balls, and they lagged for the break. Glory won. Nicholas chalked it up to luck until he watched her sink the one ball on her opening shot. The two and three followed, but she missed the four-barely. A difficult bank shot Nicholas would probably have missed as well. He silently saluted her skill.

Nicholas sank the next three balls with ease but missed his fourth shot, and Julian sank only two. Glory ran the table. The smile she lavished on him was so exceedingly smug, Nicholas found his temper rising again. A woman playing billiards. It was unheard of. Unladylike. The girl should be taught her rightful place, and Nicholas was just the man who could do it! The thought intrigued him more than a little. If only she weren't Julian's daughter.

The evening wore on. They were excellent players, and all three won their share of games. In the end, Glory came out on top. Nicholas put her winning off to the advantage she held in her low-necked gown. He found it nearly impossible to concentrate on the game with the girl's beautiful bosom threatening to overflow as she leaned over the table to place her shot. No wonder women weren't encouraged to play.

"Well, Captain, I hope you've enjoyed the evening as much as I." Glory smiled broadly, her even teeth pearllike in her beautiful oval face.

Nicholas barely lifted one comer of his mouth. "I've never played billiards with a woman before. I'm not certain I could survive the experience again. But one thing I'll say for you, Miss Summerfield: You never cease to amaze me."

Glory wasn't sure whether his words were a compliment or an insult, but right now she didn't really care. She'd beaten Nicholas Blackwell this evening, and she felt exhilarated.

"Good night, Captain." She moved past him to where her father rested in a tufted leather chair and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, Father."

He patted her hand. "Get a good night's rest, my dear," he told her. "We'll see you in the morning."

Glory nodded and left the room, a satisfied smile on her face.

Glory awoke the next morning feeling better than she had in days. She recalled her evening with Nicholas Black-well as she stretched and yawned. April scurried about, opening the mosquito netting, drawing the curtains, and folding wide the heavy wooden shutters to allow the cool morning air to cleanse the room. At last Glory had won the upper hand with the captain. His mood had been black by the time they ended the games. Glory smiled at the thought. It was time someone bested the man at something. From the look on his face, it was not a common occurrence, and Glory reveled in her victory.

"Hurry up, chile." Plenty bustled into the room just as Glory finished dressing. "You got company. Mr. Eric down in the receiving room with your daddy and the captain."

Glory smiled. "Tell them I'll be right there." Dabbing a spot of cologne behind each ear, she turned to her maid. "April, you'd better hurry and finish my hair. We wouldn't want to keep our guests waiting."

Plenty waddled back out the door, and April began brushing Glory's hair. She was going to visit Miriam today-she'd had quite enough of the captain-but a little of Eric's flattery always gave her a bit of a lift. She'd flirt with him outrageously, show the captain just how charming she could be.

After a final quick glance in the mirror, Glory headed down the sweeping staircase dressed in a rose silk day dress. While April had coiffed her hair in ringlets beside her face, Plenty had brought her warm sweet rolls and coffee, since she'd missed breakfast, which, from the look on her father's face, he was none too happy about.