"Oh, I think he can handle knowing his father was a randy devil in thrall to the most beautiful redheaded witch in the kingdom. I hope he finds a redheaded witch of his own when he's old enough to appreciate her. With your warm heart, you'll make sure of that, Caro. He can't go wrong with you for a mother."

"She can't go wrong with you for a father. I hope she'll inherit your temper and not mine. We'll have to pad the nursery walls." Caroline sat up. Too quickly. The room tilted sideways. "Oh!"

"What is it?"

"Bother, I'm dizzy again. But get Beth to bring up the wallpaper and paint sample books. We can plan the nursery! A soft yellow I think, just in case it is a boy. He wouldn't like pink at all."

"I shouldn't think so. No Christie boy will ever be fond of pink. Except, of course, where it counts." His hand slipped under the covers.

Caroline felt the blush flutter to her toes. "Edward!"

"Pink. So sweet. Delicious. I'm much like Dr. Wyatt. I'm still hungry."

"But-"

"Not a word at breakfast, Caroline. You promised."

Caroline tried, but inevitably a few sounds squeaked out. Edward did not seem to mind at all.

Keep an eye out for SEVEN YEARS TO SIN

by Sylvia Day, available now!

Alistair Caulfield's back was to the door of his warehouse shipping office when it opened. A salt-tinged gust blew through the s.p.a.ce, s.n.a.t.c.hing the manifest he was about to file right out of his hand.

He caught it deftly, then looked over his shoulder. Startled recognition moved through him. "Michael."

The new Lord Tarley's eyes widened with equal surprise, then a weary half-smile curved his mouth. "Alistair, you scoundrel. You didn't tell me you were in Town."

"I've only just returned." He slid the parchment into the appropriate folder and pushed the drawer closed. "How are you, my lord?"

Michael removed his hat and ran a hand through his dark brown hair. The a.s.sumption of the Tarley t.i.tle appeared to weigh heavily on his broad shoulders, grounding him in a way Alistair had never seen before. He was dressed somberly in shades of brown, and he flexed his left hand, which bore the Tarley signet ring, as if he could not accustom himself to having it there. "As well as can be expected under the circ.u.mstances."

"My condolences to you and your family. Did you receive my letter?"

"I did. Thank you. I meant to reply, but time is stretched so thin. The last year has raced by so quickly; I've yet to catch my breath."

"I understand."

Michael nodded. "I'm pleased to see you again, my friend. You have been gone far too long."

"The life of a merchant." He could have delegated more, but staying in England meant crossing paths with both his father and Jessica. His father complained about Alistair's success as a tradesman with as much virulence as he'd once complained about Alistair's lack of purpose. It was a great stressor for his mother, which he was only able to alleviate by being absent as much as possible.

As for Jessica, she'd been careful to avoid him whenever they were in proximity. He had learned to reciprocate when he saw how marriage to Tarley had changed her. While she remained as cool in deportment as ever, he'd seen the blossoming of her sensual nature in the languid way she moved and the knowledge in those big, gray eyes. Other men coveted the mystery of her, but Alistair had seen behind the veil, and that was the woman he l.u.s.ted for. Forever beyond his reach in reality, but a fixture in his mind. She was burned into his memory by the raging hungers and the impressions of youth, and the years hadn't lessened the vivid recollection one whit.

"I find myself grateful for your enterprising sensibilities," Michael said. "Your captains are the only ones I would entrust with the safe pa.s.sage of my sister-in-law to Jamaica."

Alistair kept his face impa.s.sive thanks to considerable practice, but the sudden awareness gripping him tensed his frame. "Lady Tarley intends to travel to Calypso?"

"Yes. This very morning, which is why I'm here. I intend to speak to the captain myself and see he looks after her until they arrive."

"Who travels with her?"

"Only her maid. I should like to accompany her, but I can't leave now."

"And she will not delay?"

"No." Michael's mouth curved wryly. "And I cannot dissuade her."

"You cannot say no to her," Alistair corrected, moving to the window through which he could view the West India docks. Ships entered the Northern Dock to unload their precious imports, then sailed around to the Southern Dock to reload with cargo for export. Around the perimeter, a high brick wall deterred the rampant theft plaguing the London wharves. The same wall increased his shipping company's appeal to West Indian landowners requiring secure transportation of goods.

"Neither can Hester-forgive me, Lady Regmont."

The last was said with difficulty. Alistair had long suspected his friend nursed deeper feelings for Jessica's younger sister and had a.s.sumed Michael would pay his addresses. Instead, Hester had been presented at court, then immediately betrothed, breaking the hearts of many hopeful would-be swains. "Why is she so determined to go?"

"Benedict bequeathed the property to her. She claims she must see to its sale personally. I fear the loss of my brother has affected her deeply and she seeks a purpose. I've attempted to anchor her, but duty has me stretched to wit's end."

Alistair's reply was carefully neutral. "I can a.s.sist her in that endeavor. I can make the necessary introductions, as well as provide information that would take her months to discover."

"A generous offer." Michael's gaze was searching. "But you've just returned. I can't ask you to depart again so soon."

Turning, Alistair said, "My plantation borders Calypso, and I should like to expand. It's my hope to position myself as the best purchaser of the property. I will pay her handsomely, of course."

Relief swept over Michael's expressive features. "That would ease my mind considerably. I'll speak to her at once."

"Perhaps you should leave that to me. If, as you say, she needs a purpose, then she'll want to maintain control of the matter in all ways. She should be allowed to set the terms and pace of our a.s.sociation to suit her. I have all the time in the world, but you do not. See to your most pressing affairs, and entrust Lady Tarley to me."

"You've always been a good friend," Michael said. "I pray you return to England swiftly and settle for a time. I could use your ear and head for business. In the interim, please encourage Jessica to write often and keep me abreast of the situation. I should like to see her return before we retire to the country for the winter."

"I'll do my best."

Alistair waited several minutes after Michael departed, then moved to the desk. He began a list of new provisions for the journey, determined to create the best possible environment. He also made some quick but costly adjustments to the pa.s.senger list, moving two additional travelers to another of his ships.

He, Jessica, and her maid would be the only non-crewmen aboard the Acheron.

She would be within close quarters for weeks-it was an extraordinary opportunity Alistair was determined not to waste.

Turn the page for a peek at one of the stories in

SO I MARRIED A DEMON SLAYER,.

featuring Kathy Love, Angie Fox, and Lexi George-Angie's

"What Slays in Vegas" . . .

Sunlight stung her eyeb.a.l.l.s even though she hadn't opened them. Shiloh covered her eyes with her arm and groaned. She felt dizzy, weak. Her head throbbed with the worst hangover since that three-day wine binge through Sodom, Gomorrah and Zebiom.

And she hadn't even had any alcohol last night.

She stretched, sore from last night's activities with Damien. At least one thing had gone right. Damien had been exactly what she needed.

In fact, he was amazing.

So why'd she feel like h.e.l.l?

She blinked against the bright morning, wishing she could lie in bed for the rest of eternity. Maybe she'd just close her light-blocking shades and go back to bed.

She didn't even remember making it home last night.

In fact, she didn't remember anything after that blinding o.r.g.a.s.m. Strange. That had never happened to her before.

A flutter of a grin crossed her lips. If she was going to remember one thing, let it be her night in the l.u.s.t room.

She groaned into a sitting position and threw one leg onto the floor, stopping short when her toes came in contact with carpet. Her bedroom had hardwood floors. Shiloh's eyes flew open and she gasped as she saw a nicked wooden end table. A white ceramic lamp. Beige curtains. She was in a hotel room.

Out the window, she could see the roller coaster at the New York-New York hotel. Oh thank Hades. She flopped back against the pillow. She was in Vegas. Okay. She placed a hand on her chest. She was a few blocks from home. No need to panic.

Breathe.

Although something on her left hand didn't feel right. It was like a heavy weight on her finger. She glanced down to the hand on her chest and shrieked. There, on her left ring finger, was a gold band with a diamond on it the size of Switzerland.

She stared at it like she'd never seen one before. In all fairness, she hadn't. At least not on her hand.

From her right came a bellowing snore. She scrambled off the bed and stood staring down at Damien, tousled and wickedly naked.

What the h.e.l.l happened last night?

She didn't remember a thing.

She rubbed her temples. Think, think, think.

Okay. She went to work, bribed the fairy, practically mauled Damien. That part had been a lot of fun. She'd felt her power flow out of her in an amazing o.r.g.a.s.m and then . . . nothing.

Just a cheap hotel room, a hot man and a diamond ring.

She yanked at the gold band. It was big enough to slip off easily, but it refused to budge. The obnoxious diamond clung as if it were welded onto her.

It glinted in the morning sun, mocking her.

She couldn't be married. Succubi didn't get married. Ever.

Her eyes stung and she rubbed at them. Even if she wanted to get married, she couldn't marry a client from the l.u.s.t floor. It didn't matter that he was the best s.e.x she'd had in a thousand years.

And how dare Damien sleep at a time like this?

"Get up!" She crawled across the bed and yanked him onto his back. Her heart stuttered when she saw that he wore a gold band on his left finger too. Oh Hades. She'd been afraid of that. "Wake up. This is an emergency!"

He threw his arms up over his eyes. "What's the . . . ?"

"Damien"-she yanked his arms down-"what did you do to me?"

He gazed at her with bleary eyes, confusion tumbling across his features. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice gravelly and a bit too indignant for her taste.

She smacked him with her pillow. "That's what I want to know."

He sat up faster than she expected. She could see he was still woozy. "Don't touch me," he warned.

"You sure didn't mind it last night," she shot back, pleased when a flush crept up his neck. Bull's eye. "Now fess up. What did you do to me?"

With the grace of a cat, he was out of bed. He strode toward a shiny silver suitcase on a luggage stand, displaying his frustratingly perfect b.u.t.t.

He yanked the case open, his eyes on her the whole time. "I didn't do anything to you." He reached inside with one hand and grabbed hold of something she couldn't see.

Frankly, she didn't care. "You made me pa.s.s out. Want me to show you what happened next?" Maybe he had some memory of it. She shoved her obnoxiously ringed hand at him. "You married me."

He blinked twice and slowly removed his hand from whatever was in the case. "I couldn't."

She planted a hand on her hip. "Check your hand, sweetie."

He lifted it out of the case and went white as he stared at the gold ring on his finger. "I can't be married," he said to his hand.

She had to smile. Briefly.

Oh, who was she kidding? This was a mess.