Josie, who'd been hurrying to pack Becky's belongings to take with her on the voyage to America, took charge of the proceedings, ordering the other women about as if they were the servants and she the mistress. None of them cared; instead they jumped to search through Becky's stockings drawer, her clothes press, her rack of shoes, her box of jewelry.

The sapphire blue silk Becky had worn for Christmas dinner pooled around her feet, and Becky leaned down to tuck the arrowhead Jack had given her into her garter. When she straightened, four women were staring at her, frowning, and she laughed. "It's for luck!"

Shaking her head and muttering about the eccentricity of the James family, Kate went to her own room to find a certain hairpin that matched perfectly with the dress. The other ladies scattered around, returning to their various tasks.

As Becky tied the leather strip that held the little carved man from Fiji around her neck, Josie leaned close and whispered into her ear. "My lady, you haven't need of anything for your flux, do you?"

Becky's heart tumbled over in her chest. Dropping her hands, she turned slowly to her maid. "What day is it, Josie?"

"Why, it's Christmas, of course. The twenty-fifth of December."

Becky's flux came like clockwork every twenty-eight days, and Josie always kept track of what day she was on in the cycle. "How many days am I late?"

"Fourteen, my lady," the maid said primly.

"A fortnight!" She pressed her hand to her stomach and stared at her pink-cheeked maid.

Josie grinned. "I daresay it's a good thing you're marrying tonight."

Becky's breath caught. "I daresay it is."

Kate burst in, victoriously holding up the pin she'd found. When her eyes met Becky's, she dropped her hand. Her dark brows snapped together. "What? What is it?"

Forgetting the other women in the room, Becky rushed to her sister-in-law and hugged her tight. "Oh, Kate, I think I am with child."

Kate burst into tears.

Becky drew back. "Don't tell me you are unhappy! You know I thought... I thought after William that I was barren."

Kate drew out her handkerchief and blew her nose. "No, my dearest," she said between sniffs, "I am so happy for you. You will make a lovely mother. I'm just-well, I just had a baby myself, and I'm terribly emotional. Forgive me for weeping; what a heartless response."

"No, of course not." Becky hugged her tighter. "Not heartless at all."

"Oh, Becky, darling." Sophie's amber eyes glowed with pleasure. "What lovely news this is."

Becky met Cecelia's dark, serious eyes. Her friend smiled warmly and took her hands. "This is what you want most of all... Jack, and now this. I am so very happy for you."

Fifteen minutes later, the women made their way downstairs, smiling but with tears in their eyes. Sophie's wedding dress was a beautiful gown of brilliant white Italian silk, its skirts full and flounced, and above the flounces, an embroidered wreath of silver and white flowers trailed around the skirts up to the bodice.

Kate opened the door for Becky. Dropping her skirts, Becky stepped into the drawing room. All conversation ceased as everyone turned to her.

The curate stood beside the Christmas tree. Garrett and Tristan stood to his left, and the children were seated on the sofas and chairs. Jack stood beside the curate, tall and handsome in a simple black waistcoat and tailcoat and white shirt and cravat. His smile carved deep grooves in his cheeks as he looked at her, his gaze lingering on the artifact from Fiji at her neck.

Becky paused just inside the door, the happiness surging so powerfully inside her, she thought she might burst with it.

Jack reached out his good hand. "Are you ready?" His voice was calm and quiet, but it resonated through the room, and Becky could feel everyone's questioning eyes on her.

"Yes." She stepped forward and took his hand. He squeezed her fingers, and the curate began.

Jack said he'd take her as his wife. He promised to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her as long as they both lived. After Becky made similar promises, the curate asked who would give her away, and Garrett stepped beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I will."

The curate turned back to Jack and recited the vows. Jack repeated them solemnly. She watched his face, watched the passion-and the honesty-in his brown eyes as he spoke.

"Please take Mr. Fulton's right hand, my lady."

She took his hand gently, conscious of his injury and careful not to hurt him. He held her hand limply-he couldn't quite close his fingers yet-but warmth and comfort spread from his fingers through hers. She gazed into his eyes as she recited her own vows.

When it was done, Jack pushed a ring onto her finger. It was a beautiful gold band that glittered in the candlelight. "My mother's," he whispered.

"Please repeat the following words," the curate said, and then he began the vows.

"With this ring," Jack recited, "I thee wed and with my body I thee worship-"

Becky smiled.

"And with all my worldly goods I thee endow."

Rebecca fought the urge to giggle, but her lips twitched. She was still the one with the worldly goods, and she would be the one endowing them on him-and willingly, too.

Jack saw the expression on her face and grinned through the remainder of the speech. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The curate then spoke for a long while, his voice droning in her ear, but all she could do was smile giddily up at Jack. Finally, they were pronounced man and wife.

Becky gazed up into her husband's face. He smiled down at her, and then, drawing her close with his left arm, he bent and kissed her.

It had been so long since they'd kissed. It was a lifetime ago. His lips were soft and warm, and they tasted like plum pudding and wassail, but there was a deeper taste, too. The rich, salty, masculine taste of Jack. She loved that taste, and forgetting everything else, she explored it, cupping her hands behind his head and sinking her fingers into his soft, sun-kissed hair.

Jack. Her husband. It was finally true. And she'd never been happier.

Gently, he pulled away. Becky blinked, and he came into focus. Dark shadows loomed behind him. Garrett, she realized, was scowling at them. Tristan, too, though his expression was somewhat more benevolent. Kate, Sophie, Cecelia, Lord Stratford, and the children crowded around to congratulate them. Her cheeks heated, but Jack smiled at her, and she couldn't help grinning back.

Epilogue.

On New Year's Eve, the weather was cool but not frigid. Last week's wind had given way to calmness, and most of the Christmas snow had already melted. After they made certain their luggage had been packed in their cabin, and their servants-Josie and Sam had volunteered to go with them to America-were properly situated, Jack and Becky huddled together on deck beneath a blanket. The sailors went about their duties behind them, silent for the most part except for an occasional harsh order from a superior.

"Good-bye, England," Becky whispered as the Washington slipped through the waves and the busy Portsmouth waterfront vanished into the fog.

Jack tightened his arm around her. Since they'd married, he'd felt a swirling combination of jubilation and guilt for taking Becky away from everything and everyone she'd ever known. The guilt had intensified when he'd witnessed their tearful good-byes.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know how much it hurts you to leave your family."

She smiled wistfully. "They are all that I've ever had, until now. But I know that they will always be herefor me. We will write to one another. I hope that someday, when we are settled, some of them will visitus."

"I hope they will."

She leaned against his left side, her warmth permeating the thick wool of the blanket he'd wrapped around their shoulders.

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Tom Wortingham will survive?"

Jack sighed. "I honestly don't know. In his warped way, Tom cannot forget Anne. He always loved her, but she never returned his affection. Not in the way he wanted. And he was never able to move beyond that."

"Even if she had returned his affection," Becky mused, "he was only a vicar's son, and she was untouchable."

Jack's chest went tight in mourning for the loss of his one-time friend. "Yes, exactly. His actions were his means of vengeance, rooted in jealousy and competitiveness. And what did he gain from them? He had no money, no vocation, for he never followed his father's footsteps and took orders. He dwelled only in the past. How long can a man live in such a state?"

"But now there is hope for him."

"There might be."

"What about you?" she asked quietly. "Do you dwell in the past?"

In a way he had. When he returned to England the memories had surged back, and Tom's blackmail had pushed those memories to the forefront. But now they were sailing away from Tom, away from the past, away from England. He was gliding toward a new life, with a woman he loved beyond his wildest imaginings.

Jack sighed, and with the release of breath, he released the last vestiges of those feelings he'd kept bottled up inside for so long. Anger, grief, guilt, bitterness, despair. All of it blew away, leaving him clean and whole, and ready to live again.

"No," he murmured. "I don't dwell in the past. Not anymore."

She sighed contentedly, and he continued. "Tom has existed in a perpetual state of anger and resentment. He believes happiness is unattainable."

"That is sad." She slid him a glance, her eyes reflecting the blue-gray of the ocean. "Yet despite his unhappiness, I cannot bring myself to like him. He caused you to be accused of a crime for which I cannot fault you. No one could, if they knew the story behind it."

"The law could."

Becky shivered, and he moved to stand behind her, wrapping the blanket around them both, careful of his shoulder, which still hurt like hell whenever anything touched it. She clutched its ends together in front of her while he slipped his good arm around her waist and rested his chin atop her blue velvet bonnet.

"Are you warm enough, sweetheart?"

"Yes." She paused, and her stomach drew inward as she sucked in a breath. "Jack?"

"Hm?"

"I... should tell you something."

His skin prickled at the hesitation in her voice. "Oh? What is it?"

"I..." Dropping the blanket, she turned within the circle of his arm and looked into his face. Her changeable eyes had deepened and darkened. "I think... well, I might be with child."

Everything went still and hollow. Nothing seemed to move. Even the ship seemed to pause in its glide through the waves.

Finally, he found his voice. "Is... is that what you want?"

"I..."

"I mean, are you happy?"

Pressing her lips together, she nodded.

He touched a fingertip to her stomach. "Our child?"

"Yes. I am not certain it has truly happened... but I've read about the symptoms-" a pink flush suffused her cheeks, "-and they are all there. I'd been distracted and hadn't noticed..."

He pressed his hand flat over the thick, dark layers of her stays, bodice, and coat. Shouldn't she have told him sooner? Was she frightened he wouldn't want to marry her if he discovered she was with child? He shook his head, confused.

"How long have you known?"

"Since Christmas. Moments before I came downstairs to... marry you." She shifted uncomfortably and looked up at him, a frown creasing her brow. "Everything has been too hectic since then, what with arranging for everything and saying our good-byes to everyone. I was waiting for the right time to tell you." She hesitated. "Are you unhappy?"

"God, no. No, Becky. I..." He swallowed hard. "I've never been happier."

She buried her face in his coat. "I'm happy, too," she murmured, her voice muffled. "So happy."

"I love you," he said fiercely.

The ship seemed to resume its smooth motion, and he saw glimpses of the shoreline through the fog as they moved away from England and toward their new life. One he would spend every moment savoring.

She shuddered.

"Are you still cold?"

"A little."

"Let me take you below. Your maid said there would be some tea ready. That should warm you."

She looked into his eyes, and her lips curved into a beautiful smile. A seductive indigo sparkle lit her eyes. "Nothing can warm me as you do, Jack."

Her words heated him from the inside out. His heartbeat thrummed through his veins, flushing his skin. "Well, then," he said with a grin, "I'd best lock the door."

He led her down to their sumptuously appointed cabin, and as promised, he drew the bolt behind them. Turning back to face the interior of the room, he smiled at Becky as she untied the ribbons of her bonnet. Steam wafted lazily from a silver tea service set on the table, but he ignored it.

Jack tugged the bonnet from his wife's head, tossed it aside, then pulled her into his arms and proceeded to warm her.

Thoroughly.

After five years in the West Indies,