The trip should have taken two weeks. They stretched it out to three, making love in either his or her carriage, once his had been repaired. Staying an extra day at an inn here or there, as the mood took them. Artemisia napped a great deal more often than she ever had before.

  When they were a few days out from arriving at her home—where Artemisia was more than ready to be—she sat up in bed and vomited into a basin sitting on the stand beside her. Henry held her hair back.

  “Oh no,” she gasped when she could breathe again. “I’m pregnant.”

  “You’re just now figuring this out?” he laughed. She swatted his arm.

  “I was never, um, regular.” Embarrassment scorched her cheeks. How could she have not figured this out? “I was so busy with Margaret and her baby that I didn’t notice I haven’t had my courses since before we met in Cavalier Cove.”

  Henry ticked off the damning evidence on his fingers as he spoke. “You’ve been tired enough to nap every day since we left your cousin’s. You’ve been saying your breasts are too sensitive for me to touch, which I admit was disappointing until I put two and two together. Furthermore, you have insisted upon taking every meal in our rooms because the common rooms smell overpowering, but then you want to vacate the room immediately to let it air out. Sensitivity to odors is another sign, yes?”

  “You might have said something,” she grumbled, leaning back against his naked chest.

  “I thought you might not want to admit you were pregnant. I don’t want you to feel obligated to marry me, Artemisia.” The vulnerability in his voice cracked her heart. “You are more than capable of supporting the baby alone if that is what you wish to do. But I want to be part of your lives. I want to be a proper father.”

  How could she possibly say no to him?

  “What if I’m a terrible duchess?” she whispered. Oh, no, not the tears again. She hated feeling so emotional all the time.

  “What if you aren’t?” He kissed the top of her head. He was so warm and strong beneath her. She wanted to believe they could be together.

  “I was a bad wife,” she admitted.

  “It does not sound as if he was a very good husband to you, either.”

  Artemisia squeezed her eyes shut and clung to him. Having a baby out of wedlock was scandalous, but it happened. She might lose her friends at the Widows Benevolent Society if she didn’t marry Henry. Were they truly her friends, though, if they judged her for it?

  “The problem, dearest, is that you hold yourself to a higher standard than you do anyone else. I promise you, the world will not fall apart if you let yourself slip.”

  “I know that. I do let myself slip up from time to time, as I did with you in Cavalier Cove.”

  “You dove straight into feeling guilty for seducing an injured man, when I was the one seducing you all along.” He kissed her again, soft and sweet. “You will make mistakes as a duchess. None of them will ever compare to the errors I have made as a duke. Yet I am still standing.”

  She buried her face in the crook of his neck. Breathing him in. The warm scent of sandalwood and sea air with a hint of masculine spice. Henry cleared his throat and said, “It’s settled then?”

  “What?”

  “You’ll be my duchess?”

  With a deep breath that felt both expansive and freeing, and as if it might shatter her ribs, Artemisia answered in a small voice, “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  HENRY

  Two months later

  Unlike the last time he’d stood at the altar, nerves jangling, Henry didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to be anywhere else. He wanted to crane his neck looking for Artemisia, but that wouldn’t convey ducal reserve.

  After his ignominious retreat from the altar, he was lucky Lady Boyle’s father hadn’t challenged him to a duel.

  Where was his bride? The music had already played twice, starting once, and when Artemisia didn’t appear, pretending they had flubbed the intro and starting again.

  The sinking feeling in his stomach was accompanied by a howl of protest from deep inside him. Artemisia wouldn’t be calculating enough to give him a taste of his own medicine. That wasn’t in her nature. Sweat beaded on the small of his back and inside his collar when she still didn’t appear.

  A flutter of white fabric at the end of the aisle caused a breath of pure relief to whoosh out of him. Artemisia strode in stately procession until she reached his side. His heart clenched.

  “Sorry,” she muttered when she was standing beside him. “A last-minute attack of nausea. At least the current fashion conceals the fact that I’m five months pregnant.”

  “Shh,” the bishop said sternly. Artemisia ducked her chin in apology. Even through the filmy lace veil, she was beautiful. When he peeled back the curtain, her chestnut curls were pinned artfully beneath a crown of orange blossoms.

  He hardly remembered speaking their vows, but he would remember their kiss for the rest of his life.

  Meet Henry and Artemisia’s baby when you download a free bonus epilogue: https://BookHip.com/TVSFJGM

  If you enjoyed your journey to Cavalier Cove, you’ll find more lighthearted Regency romcom novellas in Kindle Unlimited:

  The Spinster’s Secret Scoundrel

  The Pirate’s Stolen Bride

  Secrets of a Duke’s Heart (Wayward Dukes)

  The Duke’s Christmas Scandal

  Snowbound with a Duke (Wayward Dukes - Coming August 2026 - preorder on all platforms)

  Author’s Note

  The Cavalier Cove series is set in Regency Cornwall, where smuggling was rife and natural caves worn into the cliffs were used as hiding places for contraband goods.

  I am aware that Henry wouldn’t have recovered so quickly from a concussion severe enough to impact his memories. I have chosen to gloss over that fact for the sake of a good yarn.

  As for the leeches, well, let’s all be grateful for modern medicine, shall we?

  While they are still used sometimes today to treat black eyes, I mostly wanted an excuse to make Henry seem less banged up, given the short timeline of the story. Then I cracked jokes about the leeches. Beta readers loved them, so you get to read them, too.

  In case it wasn’t clear from the context, Artemisia was never infertile. Her ex-husband was the problem all along. This is not a “miracle pregnancy.” Otherwise, she might have behaved a little less recklessly with Henry!

  The Wayward Dukes are briefly mentioned. You will find this multi-author series of novellas in Kindle Unlimited.

  Thank you for reading Henry and Artemisia’s adventure! Your honest review is always appreciated.

  -Carrie Lomax

  About the Author

  Carrie Lomax is the bestselling author of historical & contemporary romance. She also writes angsty new adult fantasy romance under the pen name Joline Pearce.

  Growing up rural Wisconsin, she spent a lot of time roaming the woods and fantasizing about new places. Adventures took her to Oregon, Michigan, and after a stint teaching in France, she moved to New York City, where she stayed for the next 15 years. There she acquired a pair of graduate degrees, a husband and a career as a librarian. An avid runner, reader, and cyclist, she lives in Maryland with two budding readers and her real-life romantic hero.

  Find her on:

  Books by Carrie Lomax

  Historical Romance

  * * *

  Virtue & Vice Victorian Historical Romance:

  Belladonna

  Annalise

  Rosalyn

  Justine

  Cora

  Isabelle

  Rose

  * * *

  Forthcoming in the Virtue & Vice series:

  Jane

  * * *

  Novellas:

  Married Off by the Duke (Virtue & Vice)

  How the Earl Gets the Girl (Virtue & Vice) - Forthcoming

  * * *

  The Spinster’s Secret Scoundrel (Cavalier Cove 1)

  The Pirate’s Stolen Bride (Cavalier Cove 2)

  Secrets of a Duke’s Heart (Wayward Dukes/Cavalier Cove 3)

  The Duke’s Christmas Scandal (Cavalier Cove 4)

  * * *

  Twelve Nights Duet (Box Set)

  Twelve Nights of Scandal

  Twelve Nights of Ruin

  * * *

  London Scandals Regency Romance:

  The Wild Lord (London Scandals Book 1)

  Becoming Lady Dalton (London Scandals Book 2)

  The Lost Lord (London Scandals Book 3)

  The Duke’s Stolen Heart (London Scandals Book 4)

  Complete Box Set

  * * *

  Contemporary series:

  Say You’ll Stay (Alyssa & Marc)

  Say You Need Me (Janelle & Trent)

  Say ‘I Do’ (Bonus Novella: Fiji Wedding)

  Say You’re Mine (Olivia & Ronan)

  * * *

  Fantasy Romance written as Joline Pearce:

  Falling Princess

  Eternal Knight

  Queen Rising

  Crimson Throne

  * * *

  Awakened series:

  Sweet Briar: A Dark Fantasy Romance Sleeping Beauty Retelling

  Midnight Deception: A Dark Fantasy Romance Cinderella Retelling

  Queen Takes Rogue: A Dark Fantasy Romance

  A Kiss of Winter: A Dark Fantasy Romance Retelling of The Snow Queen

  * * *

  Visit www.CarrieLomax.com for details

  When a Rogue is in Vogue

  AMANDA MARIEL

  Blurb

  Lady Esme Jones has no intention of being auctioned off to the “most sensible” man in London—no matter how tirelessly her brother, Viscount Woodmere, tries to arrange it. Determined to survive the Season on her own terms, Esme finds an unexpected ally in James Dearborn, Viscount Redford: a carefree rake with a wicked grin, an even wicked-er tongue, and a talent for turning social rules into sport.

  Together they quietly found a “Mutual Mischief Society,” devoted to harmless pranks and artful escapes from the ton’s most determined matchmakers. What begins as a simple pact—Redford helps Esme outmaneuver relentless matchmaking, and Esme helps Redford prove he’s more than a charming scandal magnet—quickly spirals into modiste mayhem, ballroom mischief, and one spectacular tumble into Hyde Park’s waters.

  Somewhere between laughter and stolen glances, Esme must decide whether she can trust a rogue with her heart… and whether Redford can stop joking long enough to ask for it.

  When a Rogue is in Vogue is a sparkling Regency romantic comedy filled with sharp banter, mutual mischief, and a rake who falls hard for the one woman determined not to be anyone’s sensible choice.

  One

  James Dearborn, Viscount Redford, paused at the top of the marble staircase in Woodmere House and surveyed the ballroom. Crystal dripped from every sconce, musicians were half-hidden behind an enormous spray of hothouse flowers, and a crowd of elegantly dressed people pretended not to hunt one another. The Earl and Viscountess of Woodmere had outdone themselves.

  He took it in with a practiced eye—matchmaking mamas near the doors, the hum of conversation—and decided it all looked oppressively sensible, like a market stall draped in satin.

  His kind of trouble was not welcome in rooms like this.

  James descended at an unhurried pace, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Heads turned. Years of mischief had given him a reputation, and a reputation was easier to manage than the truth. Let them think him idle, charming, a harmless hazard. It kept expectations low.

  "Lord Redford," cooed a powdered matron as he reached the floor. "We are honored."

  He bowed over her hand with just enough sincerity to be convincing, then slipped away before she could decide which niece to unleash.

  From the edge of the crowd, he watched the evening's main campaign unfold. The Viscountess of Woodmere stood beside her daughter, Lady Esme Jones.

  Lady Esme was illuminated by the full blaze of the chandeliers, a dark-green gown setting off her shoulders and eyes. Gentlemen approached, were presented, exchanged a few sentences, and retired with the faintly stunned air of men who had expected something docile and found sharp edges instead.

  She smiled in all the right places, but her gaze kept sliding to the far doorway, as if measuring the distance to freedom, while her fingers tightened around her fan.

  James lifted his glass, amused.

  She was not hiding her boredom very well, not from someone who knew the signs.

  Beside her, Viscount Woodmere stood tall and straight, hands clasped behind his back, his expression that of a man guarding a treasury. Every so often he bent to murmur in Esme's ear. Her shoulders stiffened by a degree each time.

  James did not need to hear the words to supply them. He knew Harrison Jones, Viscount Woodmere. The man was punctual, respectable, unnervingly fond of the word responsibility. James had never disliked him. He simply had no idea what to do with such relentless good sense.

  Lady Esme, however, appeared to be dying of it.

  "See anything that interests you?" said a voice at his elbow.

  James glanced sideways to find Mr. Simon Berkshire, younger brother to the Earl of Langley, wine in hand.

  "I see an excellent orchestra, entirely wasted on people who do not listen," James said, "and Woodmere attempting to arrange the world to her liking."

  Simon followed his gaze. "Ah, that. I hear Watford is the parents' favorite, reliable, respectable, dull."

  "Heaven forbid a lady wish for anything more," James murmured.

  Across the room, the musicians struck up a country dance. The Viscountess of Woodmere seized her moment, directing a tall gentleman toward Esme.

  "Boiled mutton approaches," Simon observed, eyes alight with glee.

  Cedric Hargrove, Viscount Watford, bowed to Esme, who curtsied in return. As she straightened, James caught the flash of mutiny in her eyes before she smoothed it away.

  For a heartbeat, her gaze met James's across the room, and a prickle ran down the back of his neck.

  Her expression did not change, but he saw the plea.

  Help.

  James's smirk deepened.

  "Well now," he said, setting his empty glass on a passing tray. "Perhaps the evening can be rescued."

  "From Watford?" Simon asked.

  James straightened his cuffs. "Every man must have a cause."

  He threaded through the crowd to Esme and her suitor.

  Up close, she was even more arresting. The dark green silk fit well. A curl had slipped free at her temple, and her eyes held sharp intelligence. Her fan lay closed against her wrist.

  "...and my steward has often remarked upon the clarity of my accounts," Watford was saying. "A firm hand with ledgers reflects a firm hand in the household, Lady Esme."

  "An admirable philosophy," James said, stepping into the circle. "Without ledgers, where would we be? Forced to enjoy ourselves, I suppose."

  Several heads turned. Watford's jaw tightened.

  "Lord Redford," he said. "I was not aware you'd arrived."

  "My apologies, Watford. I feared the room might sink under the weight of so much respectability without my corrupting influence." Redford turned to Esme. "Lady Esme, you are the only person in this ballroom who looks as though she has retained possession of her soul."

  Her lashes flickered. "Do I look so very mutinous, my lord?"

  "Only to those acquainted with mutiny."

  A spark lit in her eyes—amusement, relief, diversion.

  "Lord Watford was explaining," she said, "that proper penmanship is the foundation of domestic harmony."

  "Indeed?" James adopted an expression of grave interest. "Then I have underestimated the power of ink. The tragedies I have witnessed in gentlemen's clubs over smudged totals would move you to tears."

  A breath of laughter escaped her.

  Woodmere's gaze sharpened. "Redford, my sister promised Lord Watford the next dance."

  Watford flushed. “If…if Lady Esme is still inclined⁠—"

  James shook his head mournfully. "How unfortunate. I have just staked a guinea on your brother being wrong at least once this evening."

  Esme's brows rose. "You have made a wager on my brother's infallibility?"

  "On its absence," James corrected. "He assured me your card would be too full to allow a single dance with someone as disreputable as myself. I, naturally, could not let such a challenge stand."

  "That is not what I said," Woodmere snapped.

  "In effect," James said cheerfully. "And what is friendship, if not a series of opportunities to prove one another mistaken?"

  Esme's gaze flicked between them.

  "I should hate," she said slowly, "to be the cause of your losing a wager, Lord Redford."

  "Then perhaps," he said, offering his arm, "you will save me."

  Watford looked stricken. Woodmere looked murderous. Esme looked, for the first time that evening, alive.

  She placed her hand on James's sleeve.

  "I suppose," she said, "one dance in defense of a gentleman's purse may be excused."

  James's smile turned wicked. "You are all generosity, Lady Esme."

  As they moved into the forming set, the orchestra slid into a graceful figure. Taking her hand for the opening, he felt the strength in her grip. Not a woman who floated, but one who landed.