" If he does I'll fall on the floor again. I really don't know if I understand this need for speed, dear."

Nikita smiled at her. " Do you love Michael? This is what he wants. Trust me, Dutchy. He'll want you to wait in Cornwall until he can come for you. You'll be safe there."

" I know. I do like it at my estate on the coast. Have you ever been to Land's End? "

" Never. I would like to see it someday. You do understand. You have to be safe. That's why we could tell no one of this, not even Madeline." Nikita reached out and gripped the dutchess' frail hands. " Do you know where Michael stays when he is in Mayfair? "

" I've no idea. He's a trifle secretive. A trifle unpredictable"

" I know, damn him," Nikita sighed.

" Have you fallen in love with him? "

"No. Actually I've fallen in love with someone else completely, a man called Michel Coeurnoir."

On her return to the house in Mayfair, Nikita received hugs and felicitations from the entire staff. It was like returning home. Strange, how she'd suddenly found people to love and to love her in the midst of this turmoil.

She had to find him now. There was so much to say.

Walter immediately said: " Sit at table, lass. I've got some good hearty soup here for your supper."

She sat wearily down at the table. Nikita was still choked up with tears from saying goodbye to her grandmother, but at least she knew that she would be safe. She didn't know why but she felt it was not the time to bring the Bow Street runners into this. Whatever the Thief of Mayfair was trying to accomplish, Nikita didn't think that dragging the law into it would help.

God, she had to find him. She had to tell him... If only she'd not done those things. Said what she'd said.

She looked down at the bowl of soup and the heaping pile of bread that Walter set down. She didn't think she could eat but at Belinda's urging the bowl was soon empty.

Nikita asked Mick and the footman, Seymour, if they could help her find out where the count stayed when he was in town. Belinda went upstairs with Nikita, drawing her a bath, helping her to settle.

" I'll not sleep," she murmured, as her head sunk into the pillow.

" Yes, you will, miss," said Belinda gently. " Have you fallen in love with the count? " she asked in her bold way.

Nikita just turned her face on the pillow.

" Ah, yes. Well, I thought it was that way. Are there some things you're not telling us? "

Nikita feigned sleep.

*******

The next morning Nikita came down to the kitchen feeling little better. Her dreams had been strange. He had appeared throughout them. She could remember only snatches of the dreams, his smiling mouth descending on hers, his warm hands tangled in her hair. And then he'd just disappeared into thin air and she'd been searching frantically for him, her heart pounding in fear.

The others were sitting around the table, deep in excited conversation.

" Oh, miss," cried Gail. " We'd thought you'd sleep. Otherwise I'd have been upstairs with your tea and hot water. "

" I'm fine. The cold water did me good." Nikita sat on the bench beside Belinda.

" Oy," said Mick. " No luck in findin' the count's residence for you yet, though I've got some acquaintances lookin' for him. Don't worry, love. We'll find the toff. But we did find out some excitin' news this morn."

" What news? "

" The thief broke in to Lord Claridge's townhouse in Mayfair last night. One of Claridge's men shot him as he was going out. Said he got 'im right in the back. He was gone before they could get outside, but to my mind he's a goner. Leastwise that's what Claridge's driver said when he saw all the blood on the window ledge. Poor young bloke. I wish 'im Godspeed. I rather liked hearin' bout his adventures."

It was all Nikita could do to stay focussed, to keep the blackness from clouding her vision.

********

It was all he could do not to cry like a baby, the pain was that bad. He could see the puckered place in the front of his side where the bullet had exited his flesh. The skin around it was hot and livid red, smeared with dried blood, looking burnt and crimped black at the edges. After he'd taken a few deep breaths, he'd been able to pull the protruding bullet out with his fingers. That wasn't such a good thing after all. Besides the excruciating pain, it had set the wound to bleeding even more.

He smiled to himself. Bleed to death or lead poisoning. Such a hard choice.

All he could do now was sit on the hard, narrow bed and rest his head back against the wall holding the pad of towelling hard against his side, waiting for his blood to ebb away. As it was the towel was crimson and dripping with blood. He should have passed out hours ago.

He kept seeing her face, the black scarf tied over her eyes as he made love to her. My God, how he had longed to see her eyes. Waiting for him. Wanting him. Darkened to the blue of a stormy sky, reflecting his own passion. Had there been love there? Had he come that close to finding it with her?

" Oh, Kita..." he whispered. " I'm sorry."

He's been so close to finding his father, too. It had taken him ten years to find out the devil's name. Five years of struggle to get the blunt just to come here to England. Fifteen years in all to find Perry Bauer. What a bloody waste.

The Earl of Claridge was the man who had murdered his mother, Simone. He was the man who had taken his little sister, Josephine. He'd almost taken Michael's own life in that fire. His father had been taken right out of his laboratory on that cold day in April when Michael was sixteen, a corpse burnt in his place. Michael had believed him dead in that fire for years until copies of his father's treasures had begun to show up on the necks of women Michael had seen at Parisian parties.

All this for fake jewels. He'd known that his father's obsession would end in death. He's expected this much.

He just hadn't expected to fall in love because of it. He'd thought himself immune to that emotion. Another wave of pain assaulted him. He groaned, pressing his cheek against the rough stucco wall of the garret he stayed in when he was not pretending to be the count.

Count bloody Michaelangelo. What a joke. What a bloody joke.

I'm going to die here in this hell hole, he thought. It's more like home than any castle in the air I might have lied about.

He'd been so close, so damned close.

Mick was first out the door.

Belinda took Nikita's cold hand in hers. " If anyone can find him, Mick can. He knows everyone in Mayfair. Say a name and Mick will have heard of it."

" Do you think he'd dead? " she whispered.

" I hope not. I'll not lie to you. It sounds bad. Are you sure you're up to this? There'll be miles of tramping to do. How do you feel?"

" I feel numb, " Nikita said. " Like I'm lost or my heart is gone. I don't know. I keep thinking that I let him down. That I should have known he was in trouble. Needing my help. I should have trusted him more."

" You couldn't know that he was trustworthy, miss. You still don't, really. Who knows what sort of man he really is? "

" He is a good man. Damn it. I know a good man when I see one. There are so few. I don't care what he's done. I know what he is. Dutchy knows what he is."

" That's the spirit," Belinda hugged her. " Remember that you said that when things get rough, mind."

" I don't want to lose him, Belinda. The minute I told him I didn't love him I knew I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. I feel as if that's what compelled him to take such a huge chance in going to Bauer's mansion." Nikita tugged the ribbons of her bonnet into an untidy bow, which the impeccable Belinda quickly fixed and puffed out under her small chin. " He doesn't care what happens to him any more."

" There now. Let's fix that bow. When we find the handsome beggar we wouldn't want you looking less than your best."

Two hot tears plopped out of Nikita's eyes to mar the yellow satin bow.

" Aw, there now, Love. Don't do that. From what you say, he's strong, miss. We'll find him."

Walter was there with a handkerchief, pressing it into her hand. " You be careful of that bastard earl. He's got men everywhere working for him. Some of them are looking for the boy, right as we speak. Not to mention the Runners. They'll want him for their own glory."

Belinda shook her head. "My God, what a strange story. Fake antique jewellery sold to the greedy toffs to line Bauer's pockets. It's funny, while I was living there I'd heard rumours of some strange chemist Bauer had working for him. Holed up in the basement or something. Do you know that a man once accused that bastard Bauer with selling chemicals that created poisonous fumes to Napoleon? So that he could use 'em to burn the British lads. No one could ever prove it, mind. And later the accuser was found dead. Can you imagine someone even thinking of such terror and mayhem? Tis insanity."

" Remember that explosion rigged in that mine in Cornwall? The one doin' so much better than Bauer's own mine? They always said he had something to do with it." Gail put in. " Oh, do be careful. I'll pray that you find him. I'll pray for him, Miss Nikita. Don't worry."

" She's right. Be careful. I'd not put it past the bastard to hurt you," growled George. It was so unlike him to swear. " Where are you going to look, Belinda ?"

" Nikita and I will take all the inns and boarding houses on the other side of Rotten Row. You never know, he might have holed himself somewhere there. It's worth a try. Greg and Seymour have gone off looking in the other direction. Wish us luck, love? " She gave Walter a smacking kiss. She kissed George as well.

Nikita's feet ached almost as badly as her heart. It was near dark by the time she and Belinda trudged up the stairs. They'd knocked on more doors than they could count, spoken to so many people, her voice was raw. No one had seen a man of his description. No one. A few were mightily suspicious, however.

Pessimistic by nature, she was certain the others would have no better luck. Seymour and Greg were at table eating. They looked up at her over their soup bowls, shaking their heads. She tried to smile but nothing would come to her lips.

" We'll go out later, Miss Nikita," Seymour said.

" Thank you both. Truly," she managed. " We'll comb the whole of London if we must."

She had just removed her bonnet and dug out some of the pins that had abraded her scalp, and was setting her bun back to rights, when Mick pulled open the door.

" Walter, George, lads. Come on. I've got him. He's a right heavy one. He's weak as a lamb. He had to walk to the carriage and pretend like there was nothing wrong. Don't know how he found the strength to do it, but he passed out cold the minute I laid him on the bloody seat. Jesus, it took me a bloody half hour to convince him to come with me. Said he was ready to die and all. "

But he was alive! Michael was alive! Nikita dropped the handful of pins. Her hair spilled over her shoulders. She ran over to Mick and hugged him. " Thank you, Mick. Oh, thank you."

Mick was grinning from ear to ear, his shrewd eyes close to tears. " I'm pleased to bring 'im home to you, miss. Don't want 'im to die out there in the hack while you're smothering me with kisses."

" I didn't kiss you, Mick."

" Well," he grinned. " I'll take one later when he's alright. That is if he's not the jealous type."

Belinda stopped her from going out the door with Mick and the others. " Between the four of them, they'll get him in and upstairs."

Nikita stood on the hearth rug, shaking to the depths of her soul. The four of them managed to carry his limp form up the stairs as George turned down the bed and Belinda and Gail scurried get the kettle and bandages. All she could really see of him was his dark, auburn tinged hair and the way the back of his black shirt had been stained deep purple with clouts of dried blood. One of his beautiful hands, the fingers etched with blood, dragged on the floor.

" Should we call the doctor? " Gail asked.

" Not if we want to bring the runners down on him," said Nikita. " We can look after him ourselves."

Belinda and Gail looked at each other.

" We'll not let him die," Nikita insisted tearfully. " We will not."

George and Seymour stripped Michael of his clothes while Mick and Greg went down to see to the carriage and the horses. When Nikita came into the small bare room in the servant's wing she saw him laid out naked on the bed. He looked so utterly still the way they'd arranged him on his side, she thought for a moment that he was dead. She went to him and kneeled down beside the bed, brushing sweat-stiff locks of hair back from his face. The cut under his eye from the shattered urn stood in stark relief against his parlour.

All she could think about was how beautiful he was, how he had looked only days ago while she'd been hurling cruel words and pottery at his head. She'd never wanted this to happen. She'd never meant to say that she wished they would hang him.

" Michael? " she whispered. " Michael? "

" He's beyond hearing you, miss. He looks to me like he's barely holding on. "

" He can hold on, Seymour. We'll see to it."

George bent over him, peering at the wound. " It's still bleeding, Nikita. We'll have to cauterize it. He's lost a lot of blood."

" It's lucky though, isn't it. That it went right through? "

Walter took a look as well.

" Oh, aye. I saw some wounds like this in the war, lass. If infection didn't get 'em, they recovered. I'm not saying that'll be the case. This one doesn't look putrid yet and this is a good sign. I don't think the bullet nicked the bowel, but I can't be sure."

" We can't risk a doctor."

" Most of 'em are quacks anyway. I've learned a bit about doctoring." Walter patted Nikita's back. " We'll do our best."

" Yes." She covered him gently with the quilt. His body was covered in gooseflesh, yet his skin was hot to the touch. " Please. We have to save him."

" Some of you will have to hold him down when I've got the tools I need ready to seal these wounds. Think you can stomach that girl? "

Nikita nodded. " Yes. I'll be the one to hold him."

" I think it'll take more than just you."

In the end she wished she had not been there. She had held him along with Seymour and Mick, she at his head with Seymour, while Mick and George held his feet. When Walter had done the first wound he had shuddered and gasped despite his near delirium. His fingers wrapped around hers so tightly he almost broke the bones of her hand. His jade eyes had opened for just a moment, fixing her with a strange and empty look before he fainted with the cauterizing of the exit wound.

All they could do now was to watch him and wait. Nikita insisted upon sitting with him all night long although two other women had indicated they would do so. Belinda came in and out bring fresh water to with which to wipe him down. He was feverish, mumbling about his father and his mother, other names, some that she knew and some she did not.

Occasionally he would seem to wake up and just stare at something on the ceiling or turn his head and look right into her eyes as if he were looking through her, perhaps seeing someone else. She would say something to him in a soft voice and he would go back to his incoherent mumbling.

He was like that for two days. Belinda and Gail sat with him during the times when Nikita felt she might fall off of the stiff backed chair from exhaustion. When she did try to sleep, she would be awakened by phantom cries of her name, each time sitting up and waiting for more.

He said her name so many times in his illness she had lost count. But then he'd spoken Abby's name. And Dutchy's. And someone called Josephine.

It was late one night when he reached a crisis point. He'd been restless and hot, kicking off the blankets, not letting her wash him down with the cool cloths she had wrung out until her hands felt like old peeling leather. He grabbed her hand and jerked her toward him. His eyes burned fever-bright. He spoke in French. She had enough of the language to understand parts of it. There was something he kept repeating. " Why did you do it? " he gritted. " Why, Maman.. Why? Why couldn't you have loved us more? Josephine is dead because of you, Maman. Why? "

" Michael, please," she murmured brushing his hair back from his forehead. " You're alright. You're here with me. You'll be fine."

" Bitch," he moaned, thrashing so hard she feared he would open his wounds. " Bloody bitch."

She soothed him by rubbing his shoulder with her hand. Finally he fell into an agitated sleep still holding her hand to his chest. Nikita laid her cheek against his shoulder and sobbed.. He wasn't going to live. She would lose him.

She awoke sometime later, her cheek still pressed against the clammy skin of his bare shoulder. She sat up, horrified at herself, fumbling for the pan of water that had left on the bed beside him. By some miracle it hadn't soaked the bed.

" I couldn't move," he said softly. " Lest I wake you."

" Oh, my," she whispered. He was staring at her like he couldn't believe it was she. She hoped she did not look that terrible.

" Where am I? "

" You're at Lady Chloe's house in Mayfair. How do you feel? " She touched his cheek with the palm of her hand. He was cooler. He closed his eyes slowly for a moment. She though he'd passed out again and her heart lurched.

" Michael? Please? How do you feel? "

" I'm fine, just stiff. "

She pushed the hair back from his face. He closed his eyes slowly at her touch, long lashes feathering his pallid cheeks. There was a three or four days growth of beard on his face. She hadn't realised his skin was so finely textured, almost like cream, such a contrast to the darkness of his beard. He was amazingly beautiful. She could have looked at him all day. The only scar that marred his face would be the small, deep nick that she herself had inflicted.

She let her fingers trace the small scab on his cheek. " How long have you been awake? "

" An hour, maybe. I was trying to get a look at your face. I knew the scent and the hair, but I couldn't be quite sure it was you. You were sleeping very soundly. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven when you lifted your head and looked at me with those blue eyes." He gave her a small grin. She hadn't been aware of the slight dimple that showed in the crease of his cheek until now either. " My mouth tastes terrible. "

" I'll get you fresh water in a moment. Here," She helped him lift his head, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. She held a cup to his lips. He drank some and grimaced. " Walter's been making you this tea. You've been spitting it at me, but I've managed to get some of it down you. I assure you it isn't poisonous. He says it will build back your strength."

" Is it made of rusted nails and horse shit? "

She tried not to laugh. " I don't think so, Michael."

" It's foul. How long have I been here? " She slid her hands away from his smooth damp skin.

" Three days." She told him how they had looked all day for him, about Mick's bringing him home, how they all had looked after him. He seemed amazed. He only said: " Tell them I'm in their debt." Then he asked if he might take care of certain needs, making her blush. It wasn't as if she hadn't done just such things for him already.

" Nikita? " he said, as she left to find Greg or Seymour.

" Yes, Michael? "

" Thank you. I thought I'd never see you again," he said.

"I must say, Michael, this is pretty far to go to get someone's attention "

His mouth dropped open.

" Perhaps in the future, you might just come calling. Maybe send flowers. It's a lot easier than getting yourself shot."

Michael woke from another deep, troubled sleep. All he did was sleep. Lately she was not there whenever he woke up. It would be one of the other women or one of the young footmen. He was glad of it in a way, sorry in another. He liked to see her there, the patch of sunlight from the window lighting her blonde hair like a halo around her head. She was always reading or scribbling things in a book or staring off into space thinking. She seemed to do that a lot. He'd never seen a woman think so much. It made his head ache watching her.

Michael knew he was in love with her. He had never loved anyone before, never put his heart in another's keeping. He knew he'd probably never feel like this again. It didn't mean he was going to stay. After he found his father, and he was still determined to do that, he would leave. For America maybe.

He had thought, once upon a time, to use his father's talents to get ahead in the world. His ideas of how he and his father might sell the fake jewels and live off the proceeds had been patently dishonest, but he'd done a lot in his life that was dishonest just to survive. He'd once thought that money was the ultimate goal in life. But that was when he'd not had a taste of it.

He didn't care about all that any more. He just wanted his father to live his last years as a free man. He wanted to see that Lord Claridge paid with his life for what he had done. Michael thought that he would just disappear, try to make his living honestly, in the new world. There were opportunities there. He thought that he'd try New Orleans. Failing that there were the diamond and opal mines of Australia.

He looked up as Nikita came in with a bowl of water and some shaving things. " Do you want to get that scruffy beard off, Michael ? " she asked. She had a bright smile on her lovely face.

Seeing her in her sprigged muslin day dress, her blonde hair in a simple coiled braid twisted with blue ribbon set something off in him. She was so lovely she took his breath away.

He'd been laying here for a day or so doing nothing but regretting and feeling sorry for himself. Regret that things had not been different for him. It had been better when she had hated him. He knew that they could not be together now given what he had done.

What she had done in finding him was out of kindness, not because she saw some sort of future with him. She could not hope to redeem him. He did not have a future that he could see and hers was now set, being that she would most likely inherit much of Dutchy's fortune. She could have any man she wanted and he had not doubt they would soon come in droves.

" What about the beard? "

" I don't care about it." It was a lie. The itch was driving him to distraction.

" It makes you look dark and dangerous."

He pinned her with what he hoped was a dangerous look. " I suppose if the shoe fits."

She sat down on the edge of the bed. " I know that you're having trouble lifting the right arm because of the wounds in your side. Let me do this for you. You'll feel better for it. Freddy left lots of things here. I'm certain he will not mind your using them."

" As long as I do not have to use any of Freddy's other wardrobe," he said with a frown. " The pink robe is bilious."

" It is, isn't it? Pink is definitely not you. Makes you look far too pretty."

He frowned as she released the deadly looking straight razor from its case. " Just how many men have you shaved and what makes you think I'd let you near me with a straight razor. You'd likely slit my throat."

" Last week, i might have considered it. I am feeling more disposed to be kind now." She grinned. She wrung out a cloth in the hot water and passed it to him. With his left hand he wiped down his face while she rubbed a boar's hair shaving brush into a container of soap. " I had to shave my grandfather after his hand got a palsy one winter. The hand used to shake like the devil. At first I cut him a few times but I soon got very good at it. I hardly ever cut him after a few weeks."

" How comforting."

" Of course the divot under his nose was not quite so strong as yours, nor were his lips and sculpted and there was no cleft in his chin." She scooted a little towards him and began to scrub his face with the brush, raising a good lather. He could hear the scrabble sound of the bristles against his beard. As she moved her arm he could smell the sweet perfume of her fair, freckled skin.

" You have a very dark beard and brows and lashes for one with such fair skin," she mused. " I think that when they made you, Michael, the angels must have patted each other on the back for a job well done."

" Thank you." He closed his eyes as she brought the razor to his cheek, a little out of fear and partly because he did not want her to see his reaction as she tipped his head back with her hand. Having her touch him was bliss. He was glad of the layer of blankets that obscured his sudden and obvious condition.

She was right. She was very good at this. After a time he opened her eyes and stared at her face, her ripe pink mouth, the slightly crossed teeth on the bottom row. At one point, while scraping his chin her tongue had come out to touch her top lip. As she did his sideburns on the side furthest from her, Nikita's soft breast brushed his shoulder.

He thought about the night he'd been with her. And then he thought of her angry words to him the next day.

She had been right about him. Absolutely right.

George came in a few minutes later, looking at them with surprise. " He let you do it then?"

" Of course he did. George thinks you've been terribly crabby today. He was sure you'd throw your pillow at me or something. Does he not look positively handsome, not to mention chipper ?"

" I'll not say he looks more chipper, but possibly slightly less dangerous." He bent to take the bowl and the paraphernalia from the bed with a wink at Nikita.

George did not know how dangerous he was. If he knew, and Michael doubted it, what Michael had taken from this beautiful young woman he and the other servants seemed to admire so greatly, he might have taken that razor from the bowl and sliced through Michael's throat like he was no more than a pork chop.

" Thank you," Michael said to Nikita. He had wanted much more than to merely thank her. Before George had interrupted he had considered taking her into his arms and kissing her until her breath came as unsteadily as his own.

" Walter said we could bring you some real food today. Maybe a bit of beefsteak and ale to build the blood. Think you can manage that, lad? " George said.

" I'd like that."

George left the room. Nikita smiled at Michael and started to straighten the bedclothes. He watched her for a moment and when he could take no more, stilled her hand. " Sit down, will you? "

She sat in the chair.

" Did I say anything when I was ill? "

She took a deep breath. " You spoke a lot of gibberish about Paris. A lot was in French. I'm not so good at French. My Latin is far better. I think you talked about someone called Josephine. And your parents."

" Josephine was my sister. She died in a fire."

" The same one that killed your mother? The one they thought had killed you? "

He jerked his body so hard he pulled at his wound. Little stars burst in his head as pain stabbed up and down his back. " How did you know about the fire that killed my mother? "

She bit her full lower lip. " Are you prepared for a rather long tale, Michael? I overheard some things when I was hiding in the library the day you left." She told him about the encounter between the Earl of Claridge and her aunt, sparing no details in the interest of delicacy. He had almost to yell at her when she asked him to explain about fellatio to her.

" Jesus lord," he'd muttered. " Can we leave that discussion for another time? "

" I suppose we can."

He finally got her back on track, knowing that he was blushing. She started to tell him about the poisonings. He was remembering that they'd discussed that when he was stark naked just before she winged the vase at his head. She seemed to discuss a lot with him when he was stark naked., he thought. She told him how she had sent Dutchy off safely for Cornwall and how she had out two and two together and decided to find him.

" He said my father was well? "

" He said something about him outliving his usefulness, that his hands were bad. Is that your name, too? Michel Coeurnoir? "

" Yes. I was called that for him. I am not a count or a lord. I am the son of a chemist. I am nobody."

She seemed not to hear. " Michael Blackheart. It's rather dashing, isn't it? A great name for the Thief "

" You think it's all a romantic game, don't you? Like one of your absurd book plots."

She flushed. He was sorry again that he had hurt her, but he did not say as much.

" It isn't a lark, you know. Claridge is dangerous and deadly. A man of very sick and strange appetites. It was my mother who took up with him. I had not idea who he was at the time. I never saw him. My mother took many lovers. Any one of those men may have been my young sister's father. For God's sake I don't even know that Michel Coeurnoir is my father. My mother was in on the whole thing with Bauer, to kidnap my father for his talents and then murder my sister and I in our beds so that she'd be free to run away with him. He turned the tables on her."

" Oh, Michael..." she whispered.

" It just so happened that my mother had another young lover at the time. She'd been scheming with him, as well, against Bauer. I will never know all that happened that day. All I know is that the men who killed her and burned down the house and my father's lab found four people in that fire. My mother, a young man and a little girl and the corpse of a man they had dressed to look like my father. I was not there. They assumed I was the young man they found. I ran away from that place and never went back, otherwise I might have been blamed for it. It wasn't until I was twenty that my father's work began showing up on necks all over Europe. I knew the designs. I had drawn many of them for him."

" How fascinating. You're an artist? "

" No. I had a bit of talent at copying things when I was a boy. My father is the artist."

" So after the fire you were on your own? "

" Yes, I was. Like it or not. I was almost seventeen and pretty well doing as I pleased by that time anyway. None of it good, I might add."

" Have you always been a thief, to get by? "

" Not always. Sometimes I've been kept by women. I have certain talents in bed and good looks. Does that shock you? "

" As long as no one's ever given you a dose of syphilis or crabs, I suppose it's alright."

He ran a hand though his hair. " Jesus, Nikita. How do you even know about such things? "

She smiled. That pert, dimpled smile that made his poor heart flip-flop in his chest. She said: " I told you before, I'm not stupid."

" I never had a dose of crabs or the other."

She reached over suddenly and touched his earlobe. " You had a little bit of shaving soap on your ear. You do have nice ears, you know."

He scowled. " Why didn't you contact the runners about any of this? The one who has a fancy for you? What's his name? "

" O'Brien. Are you jealous of him? "

" He's a clunch. He doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground."

" Maybe," she teased. " that's why I didn't contact him. I wanted you to know first. Police often shoot first and ask questions later."

" You are a bloody bluestocking, aren't you? Too smart and sassy for your own good."

Nikita smiled at him. She liked that. Bluestocking. It was not an insult.

He really wasn't the sort of man a girl who'd been raise by a vicar ought to be attracted to. Maybe that was why she was attracted to him. He was exactly the opposite of every man she'd ever been steered toward by her well meaning grandfather. He was every fallen hero she'd ever dreamed of come to life.

She knew he still wanted her. She could feel it when she'd shaved him. He ached for her touch and she could see him fidgeting. He'd, for some dim-witted reason, believed her when she'd called him those nasty things and hit him that morning. Didn't he know it was only because he hadn't told her the truth? She'd wanted honesty. Not tricks.

Couldn't he see that she wanted him, too?

Now that he had told her the truth, or a reasonable form of it, she was quite ready to face and forgive the fact that this handsome man, Michael Blackheart, had not lived the most pristine of lives. That meant little to her. What was important was that he had the qualities of a fine man. The most important thing to her was his intrinsic kindness. He'd gone through all this hell just to set his father free and to see a terrible man brought to justice. He'd been so very kind to the dutchess. She could forgive that he hadn't realized that the old lady was being poisoned by Madeline, because he'd doubtless had a million other things to worry about.

He'd been kind to her, too, when she'd needed his kindness.

Well, even if not kind, extremely accommodating in other ways. She could forgive him anything when she closed her eyes and thought about the things that he'd done to her that night. He was a little controlling, but she could manage with that.

He'd shown admirable restraint when she'd attacked him with the vase. That was a good thing.

She liked his wittiness. She liked the way he could pretend, the roles he assumed so easily. Oh, he'd never, ever bore her. Never!

She loved the way he wore his clothes. His body. Oh, especially that sinfully made body. Oh, yes, he was indeed perfect for her. If only he'd accept that. What gorgeous children they'd have. Dutchy would be in seventh heaven.

Oh, she adored him. He was her dream.

" I expect you'll be an heiress one day," he said.

" I haven't thought about that. But Dutchy could just as easily leave her money to you."

" That's bloody rich. I'd not take anything from her."

She pushed her spectacles up her nose and frowned at him. " You know, I believe that. You are a such a proud, silly man. What about Abby? Did you actually like her? " Her heart was hammering in anticipation of his answer.

" I felt sorry for her. It had been my intention to use her until I realized that would hurt Dutchy. I never really decided what I was going to do about Abby. I don't think she'll have hard time finding anyone else. She is a beauty. She has none of your brains or esprit de corps, but she has looks in spades." His green eyes fell to look at her breasts as he said that. She supposed he was thinking her a beauty, too. It gave her a little hope.

He went on. " She was innocent in all of it. Abby does love Dutchy in her way. She can't help that her mother is a scheming cow and her stepfather's as dense as a wood plank."

" He is, isn't he? Is he really as witless as he seems? Is there a brain under that stark white hair? "

" The man needs his valet to tell him if his trousers are on the right way. Paul Northwood is interested in gambling, drinking and high debauchery, not necessarily in that order."

Nikita smiled at him again. " Do you think he goes to those orgy things? Like Lady Caroline Lamb? "

He moaned. " Don't ask me to tell you about orgies. I don't know anything."

" Did you really bed her? "

" Do you really care? "

" I don't know. I suppose I shall get the truth from you one day."

He flopped down on his back with a groan and closed his eyes. His hand lay palm up over his forehead. She supposed she had given him another headache. Nikita looked at his face, thinking that if she couldn't kiss him again she was going to die.

She had this very bad feeling he'd written himself out of her life, and for just the reasons she found so very enticing. She knew he was most capable of being steadfast and noble. He had all the makings of a true hero. It was just that no one had even showed him what that entailed. No one had ever told him he could be a wonderful man. And with very little effort.

He was so used to the lies, he did not know how to see the truth.

She knew that he was pretending to be asleep, just so that she'd leave. She stayed there for a moment, looking down at his comely face, his beautiful, slightly pouting lips. Before she left, she bent and pressed her mouth to his, breathing in the scent of shaving soap and man.

" I love you, Michael Blackheart. I never say or do anything I don't mean."

She raised her head and stared down at him. His eyes moved under his lids. The corner of his beautiful mouth twitched. Would he be smiling, she wondered, if he knew what she and Belinda were planning to do tonight?

She doubted it. He's probably want to wring her neck if he knew that she was going to Perry Bauer's debauched masked ball dressed as a lightskirt. Nikita was quite determined to find Michael's father for him and to expose the devil earl and his paramour, Madeline for the fiends they truly were.

She hoped she wouldn't get into too much trouble. If she was careful, she would be fine. Things had a way of working out.

*******

Nikita yanked the hood of her blue velvet domino a little lower over her face. " There, Belinda," she said to the tall, strawberry blonde. " Do we look the part? "

" I think so. Though the capes are a trifle short. The sisters are so much smaller than we are. Are you sure about this? "

" Quite sure. Should we tell Mick to drive a little faster? "

" If he drives any faster, miss, we'll be bloody killed before we even get to this party, " answered Belinda.

The ball was a sea of colourful dominoes and feathered masks. Nikita didn't know how she and Belinda were going to know one person from another.

" The earl's men will all be wearing Harlequin masks and dominoes with white diamonds on the back. That's how we'll know them." Belinda led Nikita though a crush of ton bodies, mostly males, all at the ball because it was known to be quite scandalous. " I have to find a man called Richard. He's the earl's right hand man. I guess you could call him in charge of security. He was after me every minute I worked here. If we promise him a threesome, he'll be putty in our hands. I think he knows everything that goes on here."

" We won't really have to do anything like that, will we? " whispered Nikita.

" No!" Belinda hissed. " That's why we have the gun. We make him think we want him and then point the gun at his head and tell us to take him to Michael's father. I thought you were the creative one. Do you really know how to use the pistol ? "

" Yes. My grandfather had a pistol to protect him from highwaymen."

" I hope George doesn't realise we've stolen it out of his rooms. Might get you kicked out ashcan over tea kettle. What has he got a pistol for? "

" He uses it to protect him from footpads when he's walking home from his ladybird's house."

" George has a ladybird? " Nikita whispered.

" George has several ladybirds. Well, then. Here goes. Richard is a large man with a huge head. I doubt you could miss him. We'll circle the room and meet in the middle."

It was while Nikita was circling the room looking for the giant called Richard that someone else laid his hand on her shoulder.

A loud voice said: " Miss Wentwirth? Is that you? "

George came into Michael's room with a tray containing a small glass of ale, followed by Seymour with water and towel. Michael felt foolish for the attention he was receiving. He could not understand their kindness to him beyond the fact that they adored Nikita.

He was sitting up wearing one of Lord Freddy's nightshirts. The sleeves were too tight and most of the chest buttons had popped open.

" Walter says this ale will build up the blood you lost, sir."

" I have a hell of a lot of blood to build back up. But, thank you, George. And there is no need for the, sir. I'm not deserving of the title. Is Nikita busy? I was wondering if she could speak to me for a moment if she has not retired ? "

Seymour reddened and looked around the room. Then he looked at George as if for permission.

" Tell me."

" She's gone out... um .. sir." Seymour frowned at the butler. The butler just looked haughty.

" Gone out?" Michael asked. " It's past midnight."

" Yes, sir. Very late. You should probably be asleep now. Goodnight, sir," George said quickly.

Michael set the glass of ale down. " Don't leave, George. You look nervous. Why the hell do you look nervous? "

" I never look nervous. "

" What's going on? Where has she gone? "

" I think she'll be fine. She's with Belinda."

" They've taken George's pistol for protec " Seymour said.

" They've taken my pistol? " cried George. " They had Mick for protection! "

" Mick couldn't go in for the rescue, George! "

" What the hell is going on? " Michael roared. " What bleeding rescue? "

" Sir, I "

Michael fixed Seymour with a look that made the young man gulp. " I wouldn't lie, if I were you, Seymour. I might tear your head off.."

Seymour swallowed again. " She's at a ball, sir. I suppose you'll want me to tell you whose? "

*********

" Miss Wentwirth? Is that you?"

Oh, my God. Percival Snow. The man from the coach. She might have known by the stench. His domino was the most hideous shade of purple. " I'm so sorry. I'm not she." She was wearing a mask! How could he tell it was her?

" Why, of course you are. I would know you anywhere! What are you doing here? This is a party for "

" I am not the woman you seek." She frantically turned her head and peered above the heads of the crowd. She was so awfully glad to be tall. Her eyes found Belinda. She was gesturing to her. Beside her was a towering man in a harlequin mask. Nikita's heart flipped over with excitement.

" I have to go now."

Percy grabbed her arm. " But "

She stomped his foot with her half boot. He cried out in pain. " But Miss Wentwirth! Will you promise me a dance! Miss Wentwirth! "

******

" They bloody did what? " Michael growled. " You let them go, Walter. Do you know this man? Claridge is a killer. A madman. "

Walter straightened his shoulders. He looked worried. " Belinda does pretty much as she pleases. If she hadn't gone, Nikita was determined to do it by herself."

Michael heaved himself up and into a sit at the edge of the bed. The pain was intense and his head was spinning. " Call the Runners, George. Send them to Claridge's. Otherwise something terrible could happen."

" But, sir. You'll be arrested."

" She's more important than that, man. I'm not so stupid as to think that I can do this on my own, Walter, go and get this O'Brien fellow if you can find him. And find me my clothes."

********

Nikita might have known from the books she'd read that there was never a perfect plan. Just when the heroine or the hero was feeling good about things, something terrible happened. She and Belinda had just about convinced Richard that would have a roll in the hay with two women. She'd even given him a feel of her breasts. She was still cringing over it.

Nikita was waiting for the signal to pull her pistol out of the pocket on the inside of her domino.

The something terrible came in the form of a heavy man in green velvet and a slender, attractive woman in aubergine satin. She was carrying the gun. Nikita did not doubt that Madeline would use it.

" Drop the pistol, Nikita," her aunt whispered. " Just what kind of a little game are you playing? "

Nikita looked into the black button eyes of her aunt. The devil probably has eyes like that, she thought inanely.

" I asked you a question."

" I'm not at liberty to say."

" You foolish chit. If you don't answer me you're going to die."

" I've told someone important that you poisoned the Dutchess, you know. You're never going to get away with this. "

" You've no way to prove it. Anyway, Nurse Phipps is the one who gave my mother the tea. She'll be charged, not I."

Nikita straightened her shoulders with a bravado she really didn't feel.

" Come, Madeline," Perry Bauer said, with a laugh. " As much fun as this is, I'll have Richard take the ladies elsewhere. We'll deal with them later. We have guests to entertain. Richard, tie them up in the storage closet for now. You and the other boys might have a little fun with them later."

Richard picked up Nikita's pistol and yanked her roughly towards him. She tried to get in a few good kicks but the man was just too huge. He grabbed Belinda and Nikita by the hoods of their dominoes and began to shove them to a door in the back of the room. They had just entered the small side room when the sound of two gunshots exploded behind the door.

Richard pushed them both to the ground. " Stay there, if you know what's good for you." He ran back out the door they'd entered by leaving the two women in the small windowless room..

Nikita looked at Belinda. " What do you think has happened? Do you think the Runners have come? "

" I don't know. I hope so."

" I'm sorry, Belinda. I thought it would be easy. It's always easy in books." She thought about Michael. And then she tried not to think about him because it was going to make her cry.

They were in the small room waiting for a terribly long while. There were an awful lot of voices out there. A lot of shadows seemed to be passing across the space at the bottom of the door.

" Shall we call out? "asked Nikita, but before she got her answer, the door burst open and a man was standing there.

" Michael!"

Nikita got to her feet and threw herself into his arms. She hugged him tightly. It wasn't until he sucked in a painful breath that she realised she'd hurt his wound.

He was livid. Enraged and deathly pale. He shook her by her shoulders." You know, if I'd have thought I might get to Bauer by being a total bumbling ass, I might have tried a stupid stunt just like this. I was trying a more subtle approach, not that you'd understand that. I should have just walked into the party waving a pistol, demanding that he take me to my father."

" Where is Bauer? " Nikita asked, trying to ignore his anger." Did he get away? Have the police got him? "

" He's dead. As dead as a bloody coffin nail. Paul Northwood just walked in and shot them both. He said he'd had quite enough and then he started laughing like a madman. They say she might live."

" Oh, my goodness. I guess he finally realised that she and Lord Claridge were having an affair. "

" Maybe he just got sick of the bitch."

Nikita frowned. " That's good, in a way, isn't it? For you? "

" Not particularly. Bauer was a very secretive man. He shared no plans with his employees. " Michael was a little unsteady on his feet. " I had planned kidnap him that night, to force him to take me to where he was keeping my father, but I got shot for it. Now that Bauer's dead I might never find my father. Did you actually think he had the man locked up in a laboratory in the basement of his London house? "

" Yes. I thought that." Nikita blinked." I just thought that we could get him out for you."

" You're such a wigeon. Don't you think I've tried to find out through his employees? It took me ten years to find out who he was and where he lives. Ten years, Nikita."

" I had no idea, Michael. I--."

" Why do you think I stole the jewels? I was looking for clues, not just taking them to sell to support me, though I will admit to doing that. The man is a fiend. I have never found any kind of clue as to where the lab or my father is. I've been here in London for two years and nothing. I knew Bauer, that even if I did get to him, he might never tell me where it was. He'd have let my father rot there. None of his employees know where the place is except the ones who guard him now."

Nikita felt as if her heart was going to clench into a knot. " I didn't really think about that. I was just so desperate to help you."

Michael let out a huge sigh. Before Nikita could say anything else O'Brien came into the small room. He gave Nikita an apologetic look. " I have to take you with me, Blackheart."

" No! Please. He hasn't done anything wrong! He's hurt. You can't "

" Nikita. I've done plenty wrong. Go on back home with Belinda."

" Please, O'Brien. Can't you just let me say something to him. I have to tell him that I "

" No, Nikita. I think we've said enough to each other," Michael said. She looked down at his shirt in misery. Blood had seeped through it.

" Please Marcus. Look at him. He's hurt."

" We'll look after it Nikita." O'Brien was slipping a cuff over Michael's wrist. " Just go home. Like he said, just go."

She watched in tears as O'Brien led Michael away. He didn't even look back at her. He just set his wide shoulders and walked away.

Nikita set a cup of steaming tea in front of O'Brien. " Tell me, Marcus, just what has he done besides break into a few places? "

" He sold the stolen goods. That's a felony in and of itself." O'Brien sipped his tea and reached for a sandwich.

" Fake goods, " she said sullenly. She sat down and sipped her tea. It tasted awful. Nothing tasted good anymore. " How can that be a crime? To steal fakes."

" That's true. But it doesn't matter if they were fakes or right out of the Tower of London because it's still a crime."

" He never hurt anyone. Those people were horrified to learn they'd bought fakes. Michael did them a service! You will tell that to the judge? "

" If I'm called to the stand, I will. You really love this man, don't you? "

" Yes, I do."

O'Brien ran a hand through his hair." What is it about you women? Always attracted to scoundrels."

" He's not a scoundrel." Nikita sighed. " Not really. What do you think he'll get? They'll not hang him, will they? "

" They'll transport him to hard labour in Australia, most likely. Otherwise there'll be a hue and cry. It seems that the ladies have taken a shine to the romantic story. He's damned lucky he's so pretty. That's what usually happens in the case of these types of criminals."

" Would you please stop calling him that? "

" What? Pretty?"

" No, a criminal."

O'Brien smiled. " You say your grandmother's hired him a good lawyer."

" The best. How long would it be? A year? Two? "

" Likely ten."

" Ten! That's barbaric. After everything that Bauer has done? "

" Well Michael is French, Nikita. That won't go in his favour."

Nikita rose to her feet and paced the room. " Have you seen him today, Marcus? He won't see me. He refuses to see me. He told Walter it's because he loves me. Can you imagine anything so ridiculous. He wants me to go live with my grandmother and find a good man. I think deep down he despises me for being a silly chit."

" It's not such a bad idea that you find yourself a good man. He can't ask you to wait ten years. I hope he doesn't try something stupid like trying to escape the penal colony."

" Is anyone looking for his father? "

" Of course. We're working on it."

" Oh, that's a comfort."

She'd been to Newgate ten times in the last two months and every time he had turned her away. He must hate her. He wouldn't even speak to her. He'd seen George and Walter, even Abby, but not her. Abby had told her that he had a supply of blunt that allowed him to live fairly decently in Newgate. He'd been able, even, to hire a valet of sorts to look after his needs. Abby's stepfather and mother were not faring quite so well.

Nikita was living with her grandmother now, along with Abby. Abby had changed a lot since the incident. Not enough that she and Nikita would ever be great friends but there was now civility between them.

It was the oddest thing, too. Marcus O'Brien had seemed to catch Abby's fancy. The runner came often to her grandmother's London home, escorting Abby for long walks on the grounds. She talked to him for hours on the bench in front of the rose garden. Sometimes he would take her hand. Nikita would never have believed that in a million years but they made a rather handsome couple. Nikita thought that Marcus would be rather good at handling Abby's displays of temper. He was a lot older than she but that was nothing new and Gran seemed not to care a wit that the young man was not ton.

******

Nikita had nearly fallen into a swoon when O'Brien came one morning with word that the judge had given Michael seven years of labour in Australia for his crimes. She'd been too numb and stunned to cry. It was as if a pall had fallen over her. Abby had burst into tears and hugged Nikita In a way it had been Nikita who had comforted Abby and her gran. She had saved the tears for later when she lay in her bed alone.

It wasn't until the following day that it had really hit her. Michael had sent a letter to Adrienne thanking her for her kindness to him and asking her to look after Nikita, to see that she didn't do anything so foolish as to wait for him.

" Does he think that I could just forget him like that? He knows that I love him. He has to."

" The lad doesn't really believe in love. At least he doesn't believe himself worthy of it. One cannot have had a mother like his and really believe that a woman might be willing to wait for seven years."

Nikita buried her head in her grandmother's lap and sobbed. Adrienne stroked her hair and murmured soothing words.

" Oh, Gran! I can't let them take him. Tell me what to do! I am so afraid he doesn't love me any more "

" Don't be daft, gel. He's madly in love with you. I have never seen a man more in love."

" He won't even see me. And then he writes you this fine letter. There's no letter to me." Oh, how petty that sounded, but it was true. It cut her to the quick to know he had sent no word to her.

" He's ashamed, gel. What do you think? A proud, resourceful lad like him laid low? He doesn't want you to see him like that. He wants you to think that he has gone on without you to show you that you can do the same. "

" It's all my fault that he's there. I did such a foolish thing."

" You only tried to help. He knows that. He knows that nothing you did that night in trying to save his father put him there. Nikita, I think that is part of what he loves about you. You are the sort of girl to leap into things feet first for the sake of another. I was always that way. Maybe that's why I love you so very much." Lady Adrienne smiled. " I do have an idea. It would take a rather daring sort of lass to pull it off. The sort of lass who'd drink poison to save her old gran."

*****

Nikita was sitting on her bed trying to decide what to do when her cousin came into the room. " Do you mind? I've asked Alice to bring us some chocolate to drink."

Nikita shook her head. " No. Thank you, Abby. I'd like that." She smiled back at her cousin. It was amazing how lovely Abby was when she smiled. They'd talked a good deal of late. Nikita had heard, with great relief that the dog stomping rumour had been started by a jealous friend who had feared her beau was in love with Abby.

" I think you should do this, Nikita. Otherwise you might never see him again."

" You won't say anything to O'Brien, will you? "

" No. There's plenty I don't plan to tell Marc O'Brien. No one should tell her lover everything." Abby gave a sly grin.

" Is that how it is? "

" No, not yet. He's too upright at this point. He says I'm a little too young and silly. I love him, you know. I've never felt like this before. I always felt so jealous of the way that Michael looked at you. I never saw him once look at me that way. And now I know how it feels. If it were Marc being transported, I would do it."

Nikita gave her cousin a hug. " I don't know if I can. I've always longed for something so adventurous, but now. . ."

" Oh, pish, tosh, cuz. I shall make your life miserable if you don't."

******

Heavy cold rain pounded on the roof of the prison wagon.

Michael looked down at the red, chaffed spots on his wrist. It was too dark to see them really, but he could feel the burn in the flesh. He told himself that it could have been worse. He could be swinging from a gibbet. He'd always known his life might come to something like this. Funny how he'd mused on going to the Australian diamond mines with his father. Now he was going there with a chain gang.

He thought of her and then quickly, by force of sheer will, put her to the back of his mind. There was no sense thinking about her, the way she looked, the way she smelled, the way her tall, supple body fit so miraculously against his. He knew that a day would never go by that he would not think of his Kita.

Out of the blue the transportation wagon came to a sudden halt, such a screeching halt that several of the other prisoners were tossed about the interior like flotsam. Michael struck the side of his head on a lock bar. He could feel a trickle of blood stream down his temple.

The doors at the back of the prison wagon flew open. The guard looked terrified. He pointed at Michael. " You, prisoner, get out."

" What have I done? " he said calmly. " Time already for a toilet break? "

" Get out? " The guard yanked him out of the wagon. He fell to his hands and knees in the mud. Thick fog steamed up from the cold ground.

" Go easy on him, cur. Unlock his chains or you'll find yourself with a bullet between the eyes," said a gravelly voice.

Michael looked up. There were several black clad men on horseback, shrouded by the cold, curling mist. All had pistols. One of them, a tall, slender fellow, no more than a lad, led an extra horse, saddled and packed. The faint light of a full moon silvered the black silk clothing of this last of the riders, reflecting off his tricorn hat and shiny boots. Michael could not see any of the faces for the heavy, bright red scarves tied round them

" What if I tell you I've not wish to go with you," Michael said. " I'll pay for my crimes."

" Don't be bloody daft, lad. Bleedin' hell," said the man with the deep gravelly voice. " Some people don't know what's good fer 'em." He waited for the guard to unshackle Michael.

Michael rubbed his wrists greatly relieved to be free of the bonds.

" If you botch this, it could give me twenty more years," he muttered when the slender young man walked over and held a pistol at Michael's head. Was his hand trembling a little? Michael tried to look into the slit where the lad's mask met his low brimmed hat. The lad took the pistol and waved it upwards, indicating that he should mount.

Michael mounted. The lad took a cape from the back of his horse and tossed it up to Michael. It smelled oddly of lavender but its warmth on his shoulders was a decided comfort.

" Ready to go, lad? " one of the men called.

" Aye, ready."

Michael was right. From his voice he was no more than a boy. What the bloody hell was this? If he'd have known better, he'd have thought it was her. But even she would not be so audacious as to think she could pull this off.

" Alright, laddy. Take 'im then and Godspeed. We'll stay here an hour until you've had time to get as close as possible to your destination."

" Godspeed to you, too. Remember me. As I will remember you. All of you," came the low, muffled voice. It seemed to hover close to tears. The slender highwayman held the pistol up and pointed it at Michael. " Ride west. And no tricks, mind."

He nodded and nudged his mount.

They watched Nikita ride off with the Frenchman until they were a speck in the distance. Mick called from his place at the reins of the prison wagon he had commandeered. " Tie these guards up, lads. Oy," he said, pointing at George, "You stand guard with the pistols. They'll be fine from here." His voice was breaking a little.

" Aye, they will be. It was the right thing to do. Lads? " Walter said. " You heard the man." He nodded at Seymour and Greg.

Michael and his companion rode for hours not a word passing between them. Sometime near dawn they reached a small coastal town. The lad led Michael to a fine sailing ship docked in the port.

" What the hell is this?" he asked, but the only answer he received was the wave of the pistol. He slid off the horse.

His captor disappeared and a small redheaded lad took him to a well appointed cabin and fed him some bread and cheese and wine. He ate half and pushed it way. The lad told him to strip off and to get in a brass hip tub, then disappeared. Steam was rising off the water. He wasn't going to argue. He felt mired in filth. He stripped and eased his aching body into the tub. He scrubbed his hair, dunked his head and erased the prison muck, then closed his eyes. Too exhausted any longer to care what had happened to him, he promptly fell asleep, thinking that this was probably a dream and he'd awaken quite soon in the prison ship bound for Australia.

He did awaken sometime later. The ship was moving. He sat up with a start. The water was cold and a pair of hands were tying a silken scarf around his eyes.

******

" Get out of the tub and dry off. Here."

Nikita handed him a towel. She looked at his body. He was a lot thinner, paler, but lean with muscle and tensile strength. His hair curled almost to his shoulders in the back and he was in dire need of a shave. The growth of beard gave him a slightly devilish look. Despite the bruises on his body and the chafe marks on his wrists and ankles, he was the same. Those things would heal.

She hoped that she could heal his heart, that he would forgive her for what she had done, for doing this? She watched him towel himself. She drank in his long, smooth back with the deep clefts of muscle that ran beside his spine, the moulded curve of hip, concave dip at the side of his rear, the strong curve of his thigh. He was so beautiful she couldn't help but groan low in her throat. Then he dropped the towel at his feet.

" Ni "

" Don't say a word," she whispered. She moved toward him, standing close, her fingers skittering down the length of his spine, stopping at the two sweet dimples that bracketed it at the small of his back. She pressed her lips to his wide, damp shoulder. She let her tongue lap a few of the droplets that beaded on his skin. She took a wet reddish curl in her mouth a tugged gently at it. With the gentlest of teeth she prodded the soft flesh of his earlobe. She had to reach up on tip toe to do that.

" Lay down on the bed. I plan to make this very good for you. Are you a virgin? "

She felt him smile. The muscles behind his ears pulled.

" Never mind. Don't answer that." She led him by the hand and pushed him gently down to his back the downy feather mattress. It was a big bed which took up half the room. It took her a little time to shed her clothes. Her hands were shaking. Her knees had tremors.

Thunk. One boot hit the floor plank floor. Thunk. The other. Tight breeches were pushed impatiently down her thighs. She was shaking so much she couldn't get her blouse off, her fingers knotting the ties. She swore under her breath and heard him chuckle.

She climbed on top of his body with the shirt still on. He was so ready for her. She looked at him and almost gasped. She had to bite her lip. Well, she decided, either it had been one hell of a long time or he really did want her. She was so ready for him, she ached.

She looked down at him as he reclined beneath her, her heart melting in her chest. She loved him. She'd never love anyone else this way. She drank him in; the way his curls contrasted with the fat, white pillow; the width of his shoulders, the way his firmly, sculpted chest rose and fell with his breathing. She studied the angry scar at his side where he had taken the bullet. It moved her to tears. She was glad he could not see her shedding silent tears above him.

She bent and kissed the puckered scar, laved it with her tongue. She could feel him, hard and male against her inner thigh where the saddle had rubbed her. When she raised her head he was breathing hard, like he'd run a mile or so, his ribs expanding and contracting, the muscles of his flat, almost concave belly rippling.

" God, I love you..." she murmured, her voice catching. " so much."

His hands slid up her hips to her waist beneath the satin shirt to cup her breasts. " Ni-"

" No." She took his hands and placed them on either side of his head on the pillow. "No talking. I want to show you how much I love you. You just feel. No controlling, Michel Coeurnoir. Trust me. Just feel."

She bent and covered his mouth with hers, still holding his wrists. His mouth was firm and hot and sweet with wine. She had not forgotten his unique taste, his texture. His short beard was soft and prickly at the same time. She released his mouth reluctantly, wishing that she could see his eyes. She imagined them, thick lashed, clear green, ringed with a deeper hue, the little flecks of blue and gold, the thick fringe of his lashes.

She hoped her children inherited such fine eyes. She kissed his noble nose, trailing her lips down his cheek, nipping down his chin to the tight cords of his neck. She kissed him there, biting a little with gentle teeth, letting go his hands. They stayed above his head on the pillow, the elegant, slender fingers curled inwards to his palms.

The skin that covered his collar bone was as fine and smooth as a babe's. She tasted each flat, male nipple, felt him groan deeply and raise his hips a little in reaction. She kissed him down the deep indentation of his sternum and down to his belly button.

Finally her mouth found the heat of him. He was shuddering so hard by the time her tongue and mouth touched him, she was a little scared she had done something wrong and hurt him. He let her do it a little longer and then it seemed he could take no more.

He jerked her body upwards almost violently, then took the scarf from his eyes. " No more games," he rasped. His passion-dark, heavy lidded eyes searched hers before he took his hands and broke open the knotted ties at her throat, pulling the garment over her head. He stared at her for a long time, just watching her as he touched her thighs with the roughened tips of his fingers. She felt her breasts tauten, ache under his scrutiny.

He swallowed hard and touched her breasts, trailing his fingers down her ribs to grasp her waist. His mouth was parted, his eyes half closed in longing. His beauty made her shiver. She hoped she moved him the same way.

" Take me, " he said softly.

She gasped as he raised her, then brought her hips down onto his heat, his hardness. It was shocking. Perfect. She had to bite her lip. His hips came up to meet hers in a rhythm that soon became magical, intense, wild.

He raised up and took one of her breasts in his mouth. "Oh, god, how I love you, you silly, wigeon," he said against her flesh.

And then there were no more words. Just sighs and thrusts and drawn out cries.

Later Nikita raised her head to smile at him. His hair was wild on the pillow, his eyes half closed, his sinfully, beautiful lips parted in pleasure. He looked to her like a tawny cat. A very satisfied cat.

" Did I do better this time? " she asked with a saucy grin.

" Yes. I would say that you did. . . Oh, you mean this sea adventure, not the "

" Not that, no. Was that quite good for you as well? I only know how I felt. "

" I'm not complaining. As a matter of fact there are a few other things I might show you."

" We have all the time in the world," she said.

" I love you, Kita." The words were soft. He rubbed her eyebrow gently with the edge of his thumb. " Thank you."

She grinned at him." We'll be free there. In America. There'll be no one chasing you down, Michael. We can start over."

" Yes. We can do that. Will you miss home? We may never be able to go back."

She swallowed hard, thinking of her small family and her very beloved friends. Her voice was thick but steady. She had made her decision. " My only home is with you, Michael Blackheart."

" Ah, Kita," he said, pulling her up and hugging her tightly. " I have never heard such splendid words as those. I will do my best to make ours a home that is full of love. How does that sound to you? "

She gave him a huge smacking kiss in answer.

The captain, a fine gentleman, who had known Adrienne's husband, Nikita's grandfather, married them aboard his ship. He had come out of retirement to see that Adrienne's granddaughter and the man she couldn't have loved more had he been her own son, made it safely to America at Adrienne's request.

The wedding was simple. The bride and groom were not surrounded by their old friends, but the new ones they had made of the crew and captain toasted their future. A bevy of bright stars shone down like a million twinkling candles as they danced that night on the deck.

Nikita knew that no bride ever had a better wedding or a more handsome and willing groom.

There was just something about his kiss and the way her had lifted her up against him afterwards so that she could gaze down into his clear green eyes, spinning her around and around in a circle, that made her dizzy with love and laughter. The crew had clapped and laughed, sharing his obvious joy.

After being in New York several months a letter came from Adrienne. O'Brien, who was now married to Abby and working on his own as a private detective had found Michael's father on an island off the coast of Scotland. He had been very ill, but Adrienne had taken him home with her to see that he recovered his strength. She was convinced that all would be well. They were getting along famously and she pronounced him a flirt even if he was ten years her junior.

Michael opened his own business that winter, providing rich people and businesses with security plans. After a year he was doing marvellously well. There were rumours that he'd once been a French jewel thief but that only added to his aura of mystery. The women especially wanted his advise on how to protect themselves from intruders.

His wife was too busy writing her second novel, a sequel to her highly touted first, to be jealous. He was the most attentive of husbands and she trusted him implicitly. He was perfect and beautiful and very soon to be the father of their first child. Their love for one another seemed to compound daily, though they were not without their skirmishes. He was still a little controlling and she was still a bit strong-willed, too, at times.

And to think it had all started one night in a library when he'd slipped into her open window.

Two lonely hearts had found each other and now beat steadily side by side.

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