With a puppy in the house, there would be whining. But no matter how much I wheedled, Ian refused to let the dog sleep in our bedroom on our wedding night.

Mrs. K heard us from the kitchen and said, “Pardon, but I’m fond of the little thing and she can stay in her bed in our parlor. I’ll hear her if she’s lonely.”

“Thank you,” I said, and handed her the puppy.

“Good night, Mrs. K.” Ian put his arm around my waist and led me back down the hall.

“I have made one alteration to the house.” He stopped at the staircase. “I’ve had the master suite soundproofed.”

“Excellent. Now Mr. and Mrs. K won’t come running when I make you beg for mercy tonight.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” he said with a wicked grin. “I think it’s time we went to bed, my own girl.”

“Ian?”

“Yes?”

“All this lavishness is fab, but I didn’t marry you for your money or because you have a title.”

“I know exactly what you want from me. It’s in my pants.” With that he hauled me over his shoulder and ran up the stairs while I laughed.

Ian carried me into a sumptuous ivory and moss green bedroom and lay me on the bed. Candles in silver candlesticks flickered their warm light, a bottle of champagne rested in a wine cooler, and there were vases of antique roses in creamy shades.

Ian gazed at me and said, “I thought I might never have you and now that I do, I’ll never let you go.”

“‘Thus though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run,’” I quoted. “Kiss me, Ian.”

The next day, we took a flight to the Caribbean, and then we were taken by sloop through azure waters to a tiny green island that had been abandoned by terrified and superstitious tourists over a century before. Ian held the legal title only to protect the true owners, a tribe with a name that could only be sounded with whistles.

Wil and Nettie greeted us at the pier. He was wearing board shorts and a guayabera open on his chest, a white stripe of sunblock on his nose, and sunglasses. “Welcome, welcome, Milagro and Lord Ducharme!”

“Hi, Wil, Nettie,” I said, happy to see that they looked almost healthy.

Wil was about to hug me when Ian said, “Hello, Spiggott. Do keep your hands off my bride at least for the honeymoon. Then you may resume your flirting, but no more.”

Wil looked fondly at his girlfriend. “Yeah, Nettie feels the same way.”

“Hello, Nettie,” Ian said, and took her hand. “I hope your recovery is going well.”