She leaned in, brushing her breasts over his chest. The clothing that separated them created unbearable frustration. So quickly he'd stirred her need. He slid his hand through the opening in her drawers and stroked deeply. Stifling a moan, she closed her eyes.

He tugged his breeches open and shifted her so she bore down on the hard pressure. She lifted slightly, delaying the moment of joining.

He buried his face in her neck and she felt his breath, hot and moist, on her skin. She braced against the carriage's sway and sank down.

Immediately there was that sensation of completion that became more profound with every union. He groaned her name and began to move. He wasn't leisurely or gentle. She didn't want him to be. There was something primitive and free about taking him like this as their carriage rattled along the wild Irish coast.

The vehicle's jolting made his thrusts uncharacteristically clumsy but she didn't care. She rose and fell with abandon, clenching handfuls of his coat. It was like riding a runaway horse. Exciting. Reckless. Dangerous.

Just like her husband.

As she shattered into climax, heat flooded her womb and he released a broken sigh. His hands gripped her waist with painful force. She closed around him, draining every last drop of love.

The tension leached from his body as she still quivered around him. She closed her eyes and crumpled upon his chest, feeling the uneven rise and fall as he fought for air.

"I love you," she whispered, her hand resting over his heart with weary tenderness.

She felt him kiss the top of her head. With a satisfied sigh, he settled into the corner so she draped across him. She felt utterly safe and utterly loved.

How strange to think that less than a year ago, she'd been convinced she'd stand alone all her life. Fate had chosen a crooked path for her, a path fraught with unhappiness and difficulty, but she couldn't argue with the final destination.

Nicholas was her heart and always would be.

She listened as his breathing slowed, relishing his strong embrace, drinking in the musky scent of their lovemaking. He rested his chin on her head. She was half asleep, somnolent with physical satiation. The days of traveling had exhausted her.

So far she'd escaped morning sickness, but her body made her aware it was changing. She'd also suffered broken nights, fretting about the meeting between Eloise and Nicholas. Today had been so tremendously important to him. She'd prayed when it was over, he'd find peace.

"When are you going to tell me?" he murmured so low she hardly heard over the carriage's creak.

"Hmm?" She snuggled closer. He was so warm and with night approaching, the winter air grew colder.

Without releasing her, he reached across to open the blinds. Faint laughter edged his voice. "You heard me."

Very reluctantly, she pushed herself up to see his face in the evening's fading light. "Tell you what?" she asked sulkily although of course she knew.

He studied her with the same seriousness she devoted to him. "About the baby, of course."

She stiffened. "You know," she said flatly, placing one hand on his chest, partly for balance, partly because she needed to touch him at this moment when the secret new life inside her ceased to be a secret.

His lips quirked. "My darling, we've shared a bedroom for six months. Of course I know. I'm guessing we'll christen a son or a daughter in six months or so."

Relief flooded her that he didn't sound angry. But did that mean he was pleased? Oh, dear God, let him be happy about the child.

Her hands fisted in his shirt and she spoke in an unsteady voice. "Why did you let me come on this trip, then?"

"Ah, that's it." His black eyes glinted with dawning comprehension. "Would you have stayed behind if I'd asked?"

"I promised to obey."

He snorted derisively. "I've seen little indication you took that promise seriously."

"If you'd insisted, I would . "

She paused at the skeptical lift of his eyebrow. "All right, if you'd insisted, Imight have agreed."

"Really?"

"No," she admitted, and circled her palm in an apologetic caress, feeling the steady, powerful thud of his heart. "Do you mind?"

She caught the hint of a smile. "About the baby or about you accompanying me to Ireland?"

"Either." She paused. "Both."

"Neither."

Joy flooded her. Her lips turned up in an irresistible smile although she didn't move closer. "So are you glad?"

"Yes." Then as if to make sure she didn't misunderstand, "About both. About everything. Most of all that I had the remarkable good sense to marry you, Lady Ranelaw."

She recognized the light in his black eyes as a joy to equal her own. With a tenderness that pierced her heart, he cradled her jaw. He touched her as though she were fragile as glass, strong as steel. He touched her as though she contained his whole world.

"I'm glad too." She heard the betraying croak in her voice. "Now say something provoking before I bawl all over you like a lost calf."

He stroked her face in gentle reproof. "You leave me speechless. I find myself all out of provoking remarks, my beloved."

She rounded her eyes in theatrical shock. "Good God, I don't believe it."

"Believe it." His kiss felt like an act of worship. Her throat closed with poignant emotion and she blinked back tears. His voice dropped so deep, she had to strain to hear it. "In fact, there's only one thing I want to say, dearest Antonia."

She stared mistily into his glowing eyes, her heart brimming with so much love, she thought it must surely burst. "What's that?" she whispered.

"I love you and I always will."

He smiled as if she were more precious than all the jewels on the earth. She managed a wobbly smile back, while tears inevitably won the battle.

"My wonderful Nicholas, that's just perfect."

Acknowledgments.

So many people to thank! First I'd like to thank the wonderful team at Avon in New York who as ever has been a delight to work with. In particular, I'd like to thank May Chen, my editor; Amanda Bergeron; Pamela Spengler-Jaffee; Wendy Ho; and Christine Maddalena. I'd like to send a particular thanks to the brilliant art department-you've excelled yourselves with this gorgeous cover. I love it. Thanks too to the team at Avon/HarperCollins Australia, especially Anna Valdinger and Monica Svarc. I'd also like to thank my agent, Nancy Yost, for her continuing support.

As always, I'd like to thank the writing friends who enrich my life so immeasurably. My deepest gratitude to Annie West, Sharon Archer, Christine Wells, Vanessa Barneveld, Kandy Shepherd, Pamela Clare, Nancy Northcott, Anna Sugden, Jeanne Adams, Helen Bianchin, Pamela Palmer, Miranda Neville, Louisa Cornell, Tawny Weber, Jennifer Low, Sarah Mayberry, Kathleen O'Reilly, and Nicola Cornick. You're all wonderful! Special thanks to the multitalented Paula Roe, who looks after my Web site in between writing her own wonderful books.

My life wouldn't be the same without the rambunctious, irreverent, and funny Romance Bandits. My fellow Banditas, you always make me smile. I'd also like to thank the remarkable women at The Romance Dish: PJ Ausdenmore, Buffie Johnson, Gannon Carr, and Andrea Williamson.

I belong to a number of organizations that are a continual source of encouragement, information, and good old-fashioned fun. These include Romance Writers of Australia, Romance Writers of New Zealand, the Australian Romance Readers' Association, and Romance Writers of America.

I'd also like to thank the wonderful reader friends I've made since Claiming the Courtesan came out in 2007. I can't tell you how much your ongoing enthusiasm for my stories means to me.

About the Author.

Always a voracious reader, ANNA C AMPBELL decided when she was a child that she wanted to be a writer. Once she discovered the wonderful world of romance novels, she knew exactly what she wanted to write. Anna has won numerous awards for her historical romances, including Romantic Times Reviewers Choice, the Booksellers Best, the Golden Quill, and the Australian Romance Readers Association's most popular historical romance (twice). When she's not writing passionate, intense stories featuring gorgeous Regency heroes and the women who are their destiny, Anna loves to travel, especially in the United Kingdom, and listen to all kinds of music. She lives near the sea on the east coast of Australia, where she's losing her battle with an overgrown subtropical garden. Anna loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her through her website at www.annacampbell.info.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

By Anna Campbell.

Midnight's Wild Passion.

My Reckless Surrender.

Captive of Sin.

Tempt the Devil.

Untouched.

Claiming the Courtesan.

Keep reading for.

A sneak peek at Debut author Sable Grace's.

ASCENSION..

On sale now.

Ascension.

By Sable Grace.

Copyright 2011 Heather Waters and Laura Barone.

Kyana has straddled both the human world and the underworld for the past 200 years after being turned half-vampire, half-Lychen by a stranger following a frightful stint in a Sultan's harem. Being able to go between the Above and Below as she pleases, Kyana relishes in the freedom that comes with being a "Dark Breed." With no love or sympathy for the human race that she once dwelled among, it comes as a shock to hear what the Order of the Ancients have in store for Kyana, and the handsome demigod from her past who they're teaming her up with.

Below wasn't technically below anything. More like sideways or parallel to the other two realms-Above where the humans resided and Beyond, a.k.a Olympus. But, Below was where nonhuman creatures did their daily business. Though some, like Kyana, preferred to live Above, smack in the middle of the action, most lived here. This was where magical herbs were tended, where lesser gods and demigods resided, where the Order's Vamps hid from daylight. It served as a mirror to the Earth, so to speak, where the sun burned hot and bright, but was merely an illusion just as were the sea, the moon, and the stars. In other words, Vamps could sunbathe Below without becoming a spectacular fireworks event.

The portals leading from Above to Below had become revolving doors for Order members since the Break-out, but right now, in the predawn hours, the alcove and streets around it were blessedly quiet. Moonlight bounced off the white, marble buildings, disorienting Kyana. She squinted and made her way past the small marketplace that, come morning, would be busy with the hustling herbalists peddling their wares to Mystics and Witches.

A little further down the narrow street, a butcher shop was ablaze with lights, busy in its late-night workday for Vamps who came in for sustenance before sleeping the day away in their chosen shelters. As Kyana passed the building, she closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet aroma of fresh blood. Not nearly as rich and decadent as human blood, but still quite addictive.

She turned away from the intoxicating scent and pressed on.

Along the cobbled streets, tiny alcoves carved out of alabaster led to different locations within the human world Above, as well as a very potent, magically-guarded portal alcove to Olympus where gods could come and go to do their duties. But the one Kyana sought, however, led directly to the River Styx.

She headed to the end of the street, enjoying the stillness of the city. Soon, other night dwellers would be wandering the curving roads, loud and bawdy as they boasted of their latest feats and accomplishments, but for now, the quiet was the first bit of peacefulness Kyana had experienced in a week. She entered the cave nestled between large marble boulders, her keen eyes having no trouble finding the path in the dark. Down. Down. Down. The carved steps spiraled like a snail's shell, and soon, she was able to hear the faint whisper of water lapping at sand.

The darkness shifted, giving way to a faintly glowing gold light a short distance away. As her foot made contact with the soft sand, she breathed in the scent of death that always came with entering the River Styx, and made her way to Charon, the ferryman. Flipping two coins at the haggard old spirit, Kyana stepped onto the long, flat boat and braced her feet for balance.

She loathed the River Styx. She hated the smell of death and the low wails coming from Tartarus below that chilled even her icy Vampyric blood, reminding her of her fate should true death ever find her. While some of the spirits waiting for eternal placement roamed visibly along the banks of the River, some remained unseen, and those she hated most of all. It was as though they passed through her, each of them pleading quiet demands to her soul as she tapped her foot impatiently at the torturously slow ferry.

"Can't you make this thing go faster?"

Charon didn't acknowledge her request. He stood at the helm of his little ferry, not needing to do anything more than stare in the direction of their destination to make his vessel obey.

If threatening, intimidating, or shoving him off his damn ferry would get her there faster, she would have done it. But Charon didn't scare easily. In fact, she wasn't sure he felt anything . ever. He was just a cold, transparent, expressionless being that almost . almost . evoked her pity.

Having no other choice but to bear the slow journey, she focused on the distant cave and turned her thoughts toward Jordan Faye and the strange mark on her breast. Only three of those marks had been branded in the last ten-thousand years. Two others were out there. Perhaps safely Below. Perhaps discarded like all the other meaningless humans littering the mortal roads. Only time would tell.

When the boat docked, she snarled at the ferryman before stepping onto the rocky beach. Dark water licked her boots, but no tide touched the path leading to the stone chamber in front of her.

Kyana heard the faint sobbing before she made out the shadowed silhouettes of the three women huddled at the end of the cave. Their forms hunched over a smoking cauldron, the scent of which stirred within her a fresh hunger. She'd never learned what, exactly, the contents of that cauldron were. The scent seemed to change depending on the person smelling it, becoming intoxicating, reminding them of something they desperately wanted but usually couldn't name.

For Kyana, the longing made her woozy and slightly sad. For what, she didn't know. Desperately trying to place the desire kept her occupied as she made her way down the passage, but she couldn't remember a time, living or undead, when she'd been as melancholy as the nostalgic sensation that aroma evoked in her now.

As she approached the women, they stepped away from the cauldron and lifted their hoods in greeting. The middle woman wiped a tear from her cheek, her shaky smile not quite genuine.

"Kyana," she whispered. "You've come unannounced."

Much lovelier than Shakespeare's interpretation of them as the Wyrd Sisters, the Moerae, also known as the three Fates, peered at Kyana with youthful eyes. Their entire beings glimmered with golden dust, though that dust was nowhere near as bright as it had once been.

Kyana nodded in greeting. The beacon she refused to wear burned in her pocket. She was being summoned by an Ancient. More than likely, Artemis. But the Goddess of the Hunt would have to wait. Kyana wanted answers before she went anywhere. "I'll only need a minute."

Clotho adjusted her long golden braid over her shoulder and fixed Kyana with a cold stare. Vamps were still considered outsiders, even those who'd proven their allegiance over and over as Kyana had. She prided herself on her ability to stare others down, to intimidate them with the quickest of glances, but Clotho's penetrating blue eyes forced Kyana to avert her gaze.

"Speak quickly, Kyana," Clotho said. "It takes us far longer to tend our souls these days."

"I would think your tending wouldn't be so tiresome, given the lack of human life Above. So many are dead."

Tears welled in the Fate's eyes. "We don't need a Vampyre to remind us of our failures. We are faced with them every day."

At least she hadn't called Kyana Dark Breed.

Uncomfortable with the tears, Kyana blurted out, "I found Jordan Faye."

"We know." Atropos, the eldest of the three sisters and by far the most menacing, tossed something green into the cauldron and gave it a quick stir.