Cerise DeLand's Blog, page 25

TODAY! Get TALL, HARD AND TROUBLE for #99cents 2 romantic suspense tales, Excerpt! YUM!

AMAZON BUY LINK
Today! The first in a series of box sets from me, all 99 cents for limited time!
No Night Without YouBook 1What if a man wants to savor one of his employees after hours—and she’s never even given him the time of day?What if he’s honorable? And he sees her attacked?Tate Ryder chucks his ethics in a heartbeat.But Anna Stevens can’t let Tate protect her. He’s sweet. He’s damn delicious. But he could get hurt. And she knows if shows him how deeply she cares for him, he won’t back off.Good for her that Tate won’t take no for an answer.Good for him that Anna has hungered for him for years.Too bad no one can protect her from the secret that’s stalked her all her life.* * *No Night Too LongBook 2What if a man can’t forget one special woman who left him months ago without a word?What if she suddenly appears one morning in Venice at the same meeting with the same agenda?And she apologizes. Explains.Coco Dalton isn’t just a photographer. She’s much more—and because of a job gone wrong, she’s in trouble. Desperate trouble.Grant Warwick is stunned.  Can he help her?He has to—or she’ll lose her life and he’ll lose his reason to live.
Tall, Hard and Trouble, Copyright 2015. Cerise DeLand All rights reserved. Excerpt from No Night Without You.   Tate Ryder tore his eyes away from the vision of elegant Anna Stevens as she strode toward him onto the veranda of his Houston penthouse. She fished in the pocket of her black satin trousers and brought out her cell phone. With a frown on her face, she answered a call.   So, yeah. She wasn’t looking for him. She didn’t want to chat. Break down the walls between him and her. She never did.   He bit the inside of his cheek and reminded himself once more of the three rules he never broke.    Don’t borrow trouble. Don’t start anything you can’t finish. And most important of all, don’t romance the staff.   Leaning back on the railing, he gazed through the glass walls of his condo and surveyed the party raging inside. He congratulated himself he’d never approached Anna as anything other than the CEO of Ryder Resorts and Spas. God knew, every time he got within twenty feet of his director of oriental meditation services, he needed to chill. Even now from the corner of his eye, he could feel her seep into his pores. Hear her sandpaper contralto that rubbed his body into a hot rash of desire.Like her voice is the only asset that makes me pant. How about those long legs in those flowing slacks? The pert breasts poking up in that ruffled silk blouse. The grace of her in stilettos. The full-throated laughter that usually marked her personality. That wasn’t apparent tonight, but what the hell.   The whole package made him ache.   Don’t do the staff.   For the past two years, he’d been such a good CEO and followed that rule with her. And it took more than an ounce of willpower every damn day to keep his eyes polite and sweaty palms to himself.   Sure, he praised himself for his dedication to being an ethical boss, but damn, if he didn’t still want her. Good thing she hadn’t ever indicated any interest in him.    Like that matters. Her rich beauty burned his brain. Worse, his cock got locked and loaded every time he looked at her.  He downed a swig of his champagne and cursed his dilemma.   She was nothing like the women who used to attract him. Lithe, delicate, Anna sported a cloud of rich rosewood hair, sprinkles of freckles on her nose, flawless porcelain skin and the biggest set of hazel eyes he’d ever seen. The yoga and Pilates director at the Texas Gulf Coast spa he owned with his brother Cord and sister-in-law Sienna, Anna moved like a sea breeze. She had firm breasts that stood up without benefit of a bra, her huge flat nipples outlined in the ridiculously thin leotards she wore to work. But what really worked him over were her legs. Long as a gazelle’s, they were beautifully cut from years of working-out. The hollow of her inner thigh was a curve he longed to bury his face in. Better yet, her thighs were supple muscular treats that deserved to be grasped and opened often by a man who knew how to lavish kisses on her and make her purr.   He licked his lower lip, wondering for the thousandth time what she tasted like. He shifted, his cock rising to the fantasy that never left him.   He swallowed back his frustration. He was the host here in his condo, he should act like it. Mix. Mingle. Try to summon some interest in any one of the women in attendance tonight who neither worked for him nor wanted anything from him except maybe a great time in bed.He downed his drink. Like he’d even been able to get interested in any woman except Anna for the past year. He had one night stands. Correction. More like, one hour stands. For all the exercise his cock was getting lately, he might as well become a monk. “Time to think about getting laid with someone you can have.”   “Talking to yourself these days?” His older brother Cord clamped a hand on his shoulder. Mona   Travis, their friend and owner of another chain of spas in the U.S., stood beside him.   Tate shot them both a grim look. “What I do best.”   Cord chuckled. “Only about one subject.”   Mona arched a long thin brow. “Are you drooling over Anna again?”   Tate scoffed. “Should I wear a billboard?”   “Ever since the day you hired her away from me,” Mona taunted Tate, “you’ve had a fever for the lady.”   “Does not compute, you guys.” Tate warned. “The lady is not interested.”   “I do wonder why.” Cord cast an eye at Tate’s auburn hair. “You are a catch, man. Rich, good looking.”   “Says you. But I’m resigned. She’s never given me a second look and my poor damaged ego can’t bear to ask her why. Plus, I am not going to break our rule.” Cord had spoken to Tate frequently lately, recognizing Tate’s desire for Anna was a temptation. But Tate had never broken a trust with his brother—and didn’t intend to. Not for a woman who couldn’t care less for him.Cord nodded. “Good thinking. Me? I’m just saying good night. I’ve greeted everyone. So we are officially in good shape for the opening of the Texas spa. But I’ve got to home. Sienna needs me.”Tate smiled. “Sure. Do it. Those twins are demanding little guys.”   “Sienna’s still exhausted from their birth.”   “I’ve got control here. I’ll show all these folks the door soon anyway. I need my beauty sleep to get an early start in the morning. The boat’s ready, stocked with food and supplies.”   “Mexico?” Mona asked.   “Yep,” Tate said. “They screwed up the plumbing on the first foundation and have to pour a new one.”  “And they’re late,” Cord added with a scowl.   “What else is new?” Mona commiserated, then leaned forward to kiss Tate’s cheek. “I’m leaving too, honey. Early day tomorrow with one of my importers from Monterrey.”   “Take it easy, Mona.” Tate gave her a hug. The older woman had become a good friend over the past few years as well as a business associate. As she walked toward the door, he took stock of the people in his living room. The builders, the architects and suppliers for the Texas Gulf Coast property mixed with the resort spa’s staff, laughing and joking, celebrating the beginning of construction of their Mexican spa and resort.    He glanced at his brother. “Go home to your wife and babies.”   “Give ‘em hell down there, Tate. That new foundation should’ve been finished last month.”   “I won’t pay the next installment until it’s done. No worries, Cord. Good night.” He slapped his brother on the back.   As Cord made his way through the throng toward the front door, Tate saw that crowd was thinning, many drifting toward the door. He spied Anna at the far end of the veranda. Alone. Leaning away from him so he couldn’t overhear her conversation.   Some discussion that was to put that terrified look on her face.   What the hell?   She had no family. He’d learned that much about her during the past two years. Friends. Sure, she had loads of girl friends. He saw them come for her by the carload often to pick her up after work or dart in to the spa to meet her for lunch. Men were another story. She didn’t date. Or no men he’d ever heard of. None he’d ever seen her bring to their corporate dinners or parties. He’d wondered at one point if she preferred women, but his sister-in-law Sienna had soon cleared up that misperception.   “Anna is saving herself for Mr. Right.”   That told him four things that alternately thrilled him and destroyed him. She liked men. Wanted one. One right man. But clearly, he wasn’t a candidate.   He examined her as she argued with whoever was on the other end of that conversation. Was that a man?   Curiosity and jealousy drove him forward. If it was a guy who put that expression on her face, Tate would crush the asshole.   Tate halted in front of her and lifted his chin toward the phone, a question forming on his lips.   She watched him approach, her eyes growing rounder, starker with fear that made Tate narrow his eyes at her.   She put a hand up to ward him off.    He shook his head at her.   “No,” she ordered the person on the other end, “do not do that.”    Tate could hear the person reply, something dark, angry and male.    She fumed. “I told you no. Do not call me again.” She stared up at Tate as she ended the call and dropped her cell in her trouser pocket.  He caught her wrist. “What’s wrong, Anna?”    "Nothing.” She stepped to one side. “Let go.”   “No.” He put two hands to her upper arms. Something he’d never done. But he was jarred by how strong, how honed her triceps were. And the tension rippling there froze him. “Do you always tremble for no reason?”   She jerked out of his hold. “This is none of your business.”   He stepped forward and contrary to that rule about borrowing trouble, he knew he had to do something about hers. “This does concern me. You’re scared. Why?”  “Forget it, Tate.” She yanked away from him. “I’ve got to go.”   Once more, she did what she’d done so well for two years. She’d been impersonal with him. Professional. Putting him in his place.   He fumed silently as she marched toward the hall closet where she collected her shawl and flung it over her arm. On her way, she hugged Mona who was saying her own good–byes to a builder. Then    Anna opened the front door and let herself out.   He’d never seen her afraid. Never seen her angry. She was so even-tempered, happy, throwing back her mane of rich chocolate hair to laugh at most of life. That had been the first thing that struck him about her. Her enjoyment of little things, all things small and joyful. He’d never known a woman like that.   And he liked women. Loved to be with them. Especially in bed. But as years went on, he found fewer and fewer who attracted him. Those he did take to bed were certainly beautiful. Most were spoiled or wanted to be. They were self-impressed. Self-gratifying. Eager to say they’d been laid by   Super Bowl football legend, Tate Ryder. But Anna was nothing like any of those women.   And it gutted him that she couldn’t give a rat’s ass if he ever looked at her. Wanted her. Craved her.   But damn if he was going to let some man frighten her.   He strode over to his caterer and instructed him to go around and signal that the party was over.   The host was leaving and determined to break one of his own rules.  With one of the staff.
AUTHOR BIO :   An author acclaimed for her eloquence and scintillating tales of romance and suspense, Cerise DeLand writes historical and contemporary novels with spice and charm. VisitGet Cerise’s Newsletter: Prizes Every month! 

Cerise Celebrates 10 months as #Regency #bestseller for THE STANHOPE CHALLENGE! #99cents box set THANK YOU!

Some delights are just too delicious to believe! This is one of them.

THE STANHOPE CHALLENGE as of today has been on the Amazon Regency bestseller list for 10 straight months!

Previously, it was #1 for more than 5 Weeks and sat on 3 different bestseller lists to start!

Then as time went on and TENS OF THOUSANDS of wonderful readers read the stories of a family cursed to never have a loving marriage, it stayed on the list at lower numbers. And thousands more bought the box set.

I am overwhelmed at the wonderful reception so many gave this series.  YES, many thought it too spicy. BUT YES, many bought it and enjoyed it anyway.

I am grateful!

Thank you to all my wonderful readers. You have made this past year a joy and offered me encouragement to write more Regency romances!

For sale at all these sites:
ARe    AMAZON     NOOK   KOBO   iTunes

TALL, HARD and TROUBLE #box set #99cents 2 Romantic Suspense Tales!

AMAZON BUY LINK: http://www.amazon.com/Tall-Hard-Trouble-Scintillating-Romantic-ebook/dp/B0157CR652/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1442254298&sr=1-1&keywords=Tall%2C+hard+and+trouble
Yes, he's on pre-order for 9/22! He'll be on Kindle Unlimited but also for sale for only 99 pennies!
Yes, I know. A tall, hard and yummy man for only a few cents.

Actually, this book has 2 novels inside. Two marvelous men. Two heroes to die for.

Romantic suspense tales that take you from Houston to Mexico and from Venice, Italy to Rome and a few other places in between.  Are the settings real? You bet! I never write of any place I haven't been.

So you are in for food, wine and men men men who are delicious.

No Night Without YouBook 1
What if a man wants to savor one of his employees after hours—and she’s never even given him the time of day?What if he’s honorable? And he sees her attacked?Tate Ryder chucks his ethics in a heartbeat.But Anna Stevens can’t let Tate protect her. He’s sweet. He’s damn delicious. But he could get hurt. And she knows if shows him how deeply she cares for him, he won’t back off. Good for her that Tate won’t take no for an answer.Good for him that Anna has hungered for him for years.Too bad no one can protect her from the secret that’s stalked her all her life.
No Night Too LongBook 2
What if a man can’t forget one special woman who left him months ago without a word?What if she suddenly appears one morning in Venice at the same meeting with the same agenda?And she apologizes. Explains.Coco Dalton isn’t just a photographer. She’s much more—and because of a job gone wrong, she’s in trouble. Desperate trouble.Grant Warwick is stunned.  Can he help her?
He has to—or she’ll lose her life and he’ll lose his reason to live.

COVER REVEAL! Come drool over TALL, HARD and TROUBLE, #99cents #boxset

I said to my cover artist who is fabulous Syneca I need a man who is ripped. And troubled!
She found him!

This is the first in a series of box sets I will release, all with numerous contemporary romances. The set is called TALL, HARD AND ROMANTIC.

Some are straight romances. Some occur in wonderful places, like Paris and Florence. Some star cowboys or military men.

TALL, HARD AND TROUBLE  is a set of 2 romantic suspense stories with continuing characters.

I hope you love them!

This set will be available only on Amazon in their Kindle Unlimited program. But they are on sale to everyone for 99 cents!

I hope you enjoy them!

Like this cover??? Click here.

True, false? What's in your historical? #Regency facts! Cerise reveals those in HER BEGUILING BUTLER!

HER BEGUILING BUTLER AMAZON    ARe   NOOK    KOBO Say you like historicals and you often wonder what's true and what isn't?
I can't speak for other authors, but I do desperately try to bring you The Real Stuff.

For example, what's real in HER BEGUILING BUTLER?

1. You see a date at the beginning of the book, January 17, 1820.
Why?
Because when I plotted the book, I wanted to note precisely when GEORGE III (he of the American Revolution!) died and what happened.
So I had to work backwards from that.
Yes. You need to read the book to learn how and when the news reached London!

2. The Prince of Wales is not considered a fine fellow by most people in the novel.
Is that true?
Yes. Prinny, by the time of his ascent to his father's throne (not official by the way until a year later at his coronation) was considered a spendthrift and profligate. He'd had so many mistresses and appealed to Parliament to spend so much on his homes and his clothes (as well as other debts), many in the Realm were not happy.
In fact, they rather liked old George, his father.

3. Lady Ranford is being considered by the courts to assume a title on her own.

Is that possible for a woman to inherit a title in her own right?

Yes. And hopefully you'll read the book to learn how that's done!

4. The chiming watch piece that Finnley carries around with him to make certain the house runs on time was a real time piece. I did not invent it.

It was delicately made by Ferdinand Berthoud. His work was very popular, aside from being very expensive.

5. The mourning practices for King George III that most noblemen observed did indeed happen.

What sorts of observances did they  have to employ?

Ah. Do read the book for a description!

6.  Does Dudley Crescent exist?

No. I made it up!  I also made up the man who was given the land by Charles II!

So what is the picture on the front cover of the novel?

Tell me what that stock photo is here in a message and I will send you a copy of RENDEZVOUS WITH A DUKE!

Excerpt, HER BEGUILING BUTLER! Cerise's newest #Regency More fun upstairs, downstairs!

HER BEGUILING BUTLER, #1 in series about naughty servants and their delightful masters and mistresses!Sign up for Cerise’s Newsletter: Prizes Every month! http://cerisedeland.us7.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=7c62061b8fb7fd1c0fe6b9348&id=bcc5c70484 BUY LINKS: AMAZON :   http://t.co/oieCSFYKji ARe:   https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-herbeguilingbutler-1866155-160.html NOOK:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/her-beguiling-butler-cerise-deland/1122447087?ean=2940150769540KOBO:  https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/her-beguiling-butler BLURB:    The lovely widow at Number Ten Dudley Crescent hopes to lead a merry life without any husband to replace the elderly one she recently buried. Yet Lady Ranford finds herself in a pickle. Her new butler, Finnley, is not only the most obstinate man she’s ever met, but also an enigma.   She’s never been lured to naughtiness with a man. Heaven knows, she certainly shouldn’t fantasize about the tall, dark, scowling creature who runs her household like his finely tuned pocket watch.   But she can’t help herself. She needs to taste him—or dismiss him.Finnley, poor fellow, has a few risqué dreams of his own about how he’d like to handle the delectable widow. Alone in his rooms, he tries to deny how her humor riddles his mind and how her beauty steals his breath away.    None of his solutions are proper.   All of his desires are quite…dear me…scandalous.   But what’s a butler to do when the very life of his beloved employer is at stake? And he cannot control his need to protect her and…ahem…bed her?
Need a Nibble of HER BEGUILING BUTLER?  Copyright 2015, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.“What is your background, Finnley?”He frowned. Why would she ask? His cover was superb. His acting, excellent.“Ah, ah.” She waved a forefinger in front of him. “No prevarications, sir.”He shot ramrod straight. “I told you of my past. You have my reference.”She inched closer to him, so near he could see the purple rays in the glory of her velvet eyes. “I do, dear Finnley. But why do you speak with such crisp precision? Why do you command me with your very presence? Your power?”“Ma’am?”  Was that his voice that sounded like an echo of his own? She should not undo him. But she did.“Wallace Finnley. You have education and breeding. I can tell. Do you know how?”He shook his head, her nearness a magnet to his body, his soul. Her lips, his only lure.“For one thing, you own that very fine, very French Ferdinand Berthoud pocket watch. My great-uncle owned one similar.” She dropped her eyes toward the point on his chest where he kept his treasure. “I can hear the delicate chimes when it rings every quarter hour.”He should have left it in his rooms. But it was the dearest memento he owned from his grandfather. Besides, he ran his daily duties by the precision of it. “I cannot part with it. It keeps me on task.”“It does. I see it.”“May I go now?”“No. Certainly not. I would learn more. You say you come from Yorkshire. But I detect no hint of it in your pronunciation. You went to school. Some fine institution that weaned you from your native speech. Where?”Good god. She was perceptive. He set his jaw. He’d not reveal his year at Edinburgh. He never told anyone of that, he’d hated it so. “The Army was my schooling. Taught me responsibility.”“Your rank?”“Captain.”She smiled at him, her face around her eyes crinkling in appreciation. “So then your family purchased a commission for you?”My father gave me nothing of value. “I ran away. Began as a recruit.”“Noble of you.”“Necessary, ma’am.” He shook his head, thinking them done, moving to rise.She caught his hand. “A moment, Finnley. There is more to your story. From your time in the Army, I see then when and how you acquired your demeanor with those under your command.”He wished to escape her touch and her sound perception. “The Army gave me a good education.”“And war is a demanding teacher,” she concluded.“It was. I wish to never fight again.”“Nor do any of us. My brother died. At Waterloo.”He schooled himself to remain placid. Her brother had been his best friend. What he did here for Alicia was as much for her as for Jerome.“I find it intriguing, dear Finnley, that with such rank in the military, you now offer yourself in domestic service.”Her statement, he knew, was a question and he had to avoid the whole answer of his origins. “Being a butler is an honorable occupation.”She fell back to her cushions, her hand dropping and freeing him of her hold.  Her expression told him she was dismayed with his obstinate ways.He stepped backward and rubbed his wrist. She stared at him, clear-eyed and assured. “Finnley, I will be forthright. I look into your endearing blue eyes and can see that when you speak truth to me, your pupils darken and enlarge.”What?“And when you lie to me, your pupils constrict and your body tightens like a drum.”Well, damn. Foiled by my eyes?Once more, she took his hand and put his open palm to her soft cheek. “Might you care for me, Finnley?”Might?There was no might.“I see in your eyes that you do,” she whispered. “Tell me who you really are, dear sir. And then we can begin again. Anew.”
AUTHOR BIO :   An author acclaimed for her eloquence and scintillating tales of romance and suspense, Cerise DeLand writes historical and contemporary novels with spice and charm. Visit http://www.cerisedeland.com
Sign up for Cerise’s Newsletter: Prizes Every month! http://cerisedeland.us7.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=7c62061b8fb7fd1c0fe6b9348&id=bcc5c70484

FOR HER HONOR, Cerise's #2 in Swords of Passion #medieval #series, #99cents Excerpt!

Nibble on Cerise’s medieval?Copyright 2015, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.1210, The Western Marches, England
Men did not mesmerise her. Ever.Yet, William Dunwick, the Earl of Greystone, was so much more man than Blanche Bergeron had been told to expect that she had to snap her mouth shut at his appearance. Indeed, he was so huge, so much more handsome than the rumours of his glory that she found herself agog at his appearance here in her great hall.  To collect her dignity, she had to sit taller, smile like a gracious hostess and bid him approach her. Amazement—she scolded herself as she settled back into in her dais chair—was not the emotion she wished to convey to this emissary from their ruthless King John. True, she’d heard it said that their regent’s loyal adviser was tall and broad. Blond and ruddy. Impaired by the loss of his left eye. Yet suave as a troubadour with men, and seductive as an oriental sultan with women. Blanche had steeled her mind against him. After all, he was sent by that tyrant John to carry her off to marry a man she was too wise to want and too old to need.But to gaze upon John’s emissary—this legendary Crusader and adviser—was to admit to herself that, in some things, her assumptions could be wrong. And her tactics to save herself from Greystone’s charms, she knew now, must change from obstruction to some other course that might escape this wise man’s piercing sight and perception.“Good day, my lady.” Greystone walked forward with the magnetic self-possession that truly powerful men exuded. Clad in his black tabard emblazoned with his own stag crest and Crusader cross on one shoulder, he wore on his chest the Anjevin leopards rampant to denote the sovereign he served. He filled her vision with the breadth of his shoulders, the symmetry of his jaw, the black leather patch over his left eye and a dancing light in his remaining sea blue one. “You do us honour.” He bent a knee to her.“My lord, you are welcome,” she lied as she extended her hand.He took her fingertips with his warm ones and led them to his mouth. Book 1, Out now!
https://www.totallybound.com/book/at-her-serviceDebonair bastard.At his familiarity, she held her breath as he reverently brushed his soft lips upon her nails. She shivered in the warmth of September. Such frivolities are for younger women, Blanche. Women who sigh at a comely man’s regard and know not how boring they will be in bed. Book 3, Out August 18!He smiled up at her, his one blue eye assessing her as if she were a sweetmeat. “I am most grateful for your kind reception of me and my men,” he told her in a voice so low she felt her breasts bead in silly long–dead desires.She tore her gaze from him towards the four men arrayed behind him. Like their lord, they were of enormous size. Meaty hands and arms, they had impossibly huge chests in black tabards bearing only Greystone’s chest and, underneath, chain mail. With tree trunks for thighs, they flanked their master, standing astride like giant Norsemen. Surely, she could not allow the five of them to carry her off to London for she would never escape their strength. Or their determination.“I am happy to welcome you, Lord Greystone. We are simple people here in the marches but we do try to match the etiquette of London.”“I have been told of your hospitality, my lady Bergeron.” He rose to his full height. Even now, one step below her, he was taller. Such presence she had never seen in a man. Her dead husband had been a head shorter than she. Shorter still in other myriad ways. An unsatisfying collection of skinny bones, thin intellect and tiny wit, Mortimer Bergeron had also possessed a penis of such insignificant size that she marvelled she had conceived two children. What does your's measure, William of Greystone? About the Author - Cerise DeLandWhat's a gal to do to if she lives deep in the heart of Texas, travels often everywhere, and adores Paris, Florence, London, Tokyo and all points east and west?Ah.She becomes an author who can write about those romantic places. With a passion for cowboys, spies, rakes, knights in shining armor and their gutsy women, Cerise DeLand is an author who adores an alpha male with a tender heart and a need for a smoldering erotic love affair with the right woman!Cerise is a Top 20 Best Selling author on Amazon with more than three dozen works published in erotic romance, and she is also an award-winning author of mystery, mainstream and romance with St. Martin's Press, Pocket Books and Kensington. Her books are on numerous book clubs, including Featured Selections of The Mystery Guild, Doubleday and Rhapsody. And when she isn't dreaming up fiction or traveling? Cerise is a fabulous cook and an avid history buff. Busy lady. Happy writer.Visit her website for info on all her books.Find her on FacebookGo to her blog for headline news, ~ and email her at cerise.deland@ymail.com too! You can also follow Cerise on twitter

Need a nibble of HER BEGUILING BUTLER? Of course you do! Cerise DeLand's charming servants #1 in Series out now!

 I'd like a butler, please. Especially one like Mr. Finnley. Tall, dark, handsome, mysterious and oh, so obliging!
He's out everywhere and I will get you the links. In the meantime, here is the AMAZON link:
http://www.amazon.com/Her-Beguiling-Butler-Delightful-Crescent-ebook/dp/B0135ZLZAU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1438449574&sr=8-1&keywords=Her+Beguiling+butler

He is the first in a series about delightful, impertient servants in Dudley Crescent, London. Others to come include a FAB.U.LOUS group created last month by so many readers who came to a FB Party I gave with my buddies.

Look for them in coming months.

In the meantime?

Here's your nibble:
Copyright 2015, Cerise DeLand.



She should not undo him. But she did.“Wallace Finnley. You have education and breeding. I can tell. Do you know how?”He shook his head, her nearness a magnet to his body, his soul. Her lips, his only lure.“For one thing, you own that very fine, very French Ferdinand Berthoud pocket watch. My great-uncle owned one similar.” She dropped her eyes toward the point on his chest where he kept his treasure. “I can hear the delicate chimes when it rings every quarter hour.”He should have left it in his rooms. But it was the dearest memento he owned from his grandfather. Besides, he ran his daily duties by the precision of it. “I cannot part with it. It keeps me on task.”“It does. I see it.”“May I go now?”“No. Certainly not. I would learn more. You say you come from Yorkshire. But I detect no hint of it in your pronunciation. You went to school. Some fine institution that weaned you from your native speech. Where?”Good god. She was perceptive. He set his jaw. He’d not reveal his year at Edinburgh. He never told anyone of that, he’d hated it so. “The Army was my schooling. Taught me responsibility.”“Your rank?”“Captain.”She smiled at him, her face around her eyes crinkling in appreciation. “So then your family purchased a commission for you?”My father gave me nothing of value. “I ran away. Began as a recruit.”“Noble of you.”“Necessary, ma’am.” He shook his head, thinking them done, moving to rise.She caught his hand. “A moment, Finnley. There is more to your story. From your time in the Army, I see then when and how you acquired your demeanor with those under your command.”He wished to escape her touch and her sound perception. “The Army gave me a good education.”“And war is a demanding teacher,” she concluded.“It was. I wish to never fight again.”“Nor do any of us. My brother died. At Waterloo.”He schooled himself to remain placid. Her brother had been his best friend. What he did here for Alicia was as much for her as for Jerome.“I find it intriguing, dear Finnley, that with such rank in the military, you now offer yourself in domestic service.”Her statement, he knew, was a question and he had to avoid the whole answer of his origins. “Being a butler is an honorable occupation.”She fell back to her cushions, her hand dropping and freeing him of her hold.  Her expression told him she was dismayed with his obstinate ways.He stepped backward and rubbed his wrist. She stared at him, clear-eyed and assured. “Finnley, I will be forthright. I look into your endearing blue eyes and can see that when you speak truth to me, your pupils darken and enlarge.”What?“And when you lie to me, your pupils constrict and your body tightens like a drum.”Well, damn. Foiled by my eyes?Once more, she took his hand and put his open palm to her soft cheek. “Might you care for me, Finnley?”Might?There was no might.“I see in your eyes that you do,” she whispered. “Tell me who you really are, dear sir.And then we can begin again. Anew.”

AT HER SERVICE, Cerise's #medieval in reign of that dastardly dude, King John! Out today! #2 next week! #3 following!

https://www.totallybound.com/book/at-her-service
AT HER SERVICE out today! New and expanded and here is your nibble of my cherry!

Autumn, 1190.Cumbria, The Marches, England.
   Elise picked at the rope wound tightly around her wrist. Lashing her to the iron ring on the wall in her nurse’s alcove had not been wise. Yet her father had commanded it. Little did he know of her perseverance. Because she was small in stature and slight of build did not imply she was weak of mind or ingenuity.   She smiled to herself as she plucked at the fraying hemp. She would not—nay, could not—miss Simon’s departure. He would take it amiss if she failed to wish him Godspeed on his journey to join their good King Richard in Italy. Simon de la Poer was her life, her breath. Only months older than she, Simon had fostered with her family. He’d learned the arts of swordsmanship and the finer points of archery from her father’s men. A friendly boy, Simon had won the loyalty of her only brother, Maurice, and the two had grown to consider each the other’s shadow. When that was cut by the cruel death of Maurice from dysentery last spring—and Simon’s own estates had been gobbled by raiding Welshmen—all in the family had thought enough tragedy had befallen them and de la Poer. God would not take more from them.   But they were wrong.   Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she remembered the horrors of the last few months. Her mother’s death days after Maurice’s. Her father’s rage when he discovered Elise in the arms of Simon. His decree that Simon leave their castle. And then the worst, when he betrothed her to an ancient man.   She caught back a sob, wiped her tears from her cheeks and returned to working the strands of hemp.   She cocked an ear. She heard them in the courtyard, the horses’ hooves clattering on the cobbles, the shouts of men hailing each other.   “Hurry, hurry,” she urged herself.   Her fingers sore from the pricking of the rough hemp, she bit back the pain.   And the rope came free.   She pushed to her feet. Headed for the door.   And stopped.   Her head spun. She’d risen too quickly. A hand to the stone wall, she shut her eyes and prayed for strength to go on. She’d been ill these past few days. Morning until midday, she’d not been able to eat or drink. And she had worried that her nausea came not from a flux that had killed her brother and mother—but from the rapture of lying in Simon’s arms.   She swallowed her fear of her father’s censure and focused on her despair of missing Simon’s departure. Debuts August 11!   Putting an ear to the wooden door, she heard no sounds on the stairs. Slowly, she pulled the heavy thing open and peered out.   No one.   Smiling, she eased her slim body out the door and listened again for anyone who traveled the stone steps.   She glanced down. No, she dare not hurry down these main tower stairs. Her maid, her father’s retainers would travel them. She must take the set hidden in the far corner of her mother’s solar. The secret ones few knew of would be best. Quick too.   She picked up her skirts and took the winding steps at a run.   At the next landing, she pushed open the solar door and slid inside. No one was here. Her father refused to sit here since her mother had died. Only she had found any comfort in this room since that day her mother had breathed her last.   She pushed the door shut and rushed to the far corner. The slim door creaked as she pulled it open and she winced at the sound. But no one came—and she flew down the sharply winding stairway as if the devil pursued her.   At the bottom, she halted again. Her back to the wall, her ear to the crevice, she listened for sounds in the buttery. No laughing maids, no surly baker, no irritable cook seemed in evidence.   Were they outside, too, bidding adieu to her Simon?   She pressed her forehead to the cold stones, inhaled and yanked open the door.   No one was about.   And she scampered through the kitchen and the scullery to skid to a halt at the threshing room.   Two, three, four men talked together in the yard. Their voices were young, lacking timbre—save for one. She peered around the edge of the door.    There he stood. Taller than the others, broader of chest and kinder, sweeter than any boy she’d ever met. Even her brother Maurice could not compare to the beauty of her stalwart Simon.   Dare she run to him now? She maneuvered this way and that to view as much of the courtyard as the slit through the door might permit, but chance was everything.   And so was valor.   She flung wide the door and grabbing up her skirts, she ran like one afire.   “Simon! Simon!”   She hurled herself into his open arms.   Still, he put her back to her feet. “Don’t, Elise. Your father will come soon.”   “I care not,” she told him and did not temper her tone. She loved him and her father was sending him away. “I had to see you. Bid you farewell.”   “I am humbled by your kind wishes, my lady.”   Oh, he was so courteous. But then he’d always been in the presence of others. Aware of her status as his liege lord’s daughter, he had often told her he could not compare. He’d told her that as a lowly baron’s second son, he’d been proud to be fostered here in her family as companion to Maurice.     “I want you to return to me, Simon.” She clutched his wool tunic. The black of it matched the glistening black of his hair and contrasted with the bright silver in his eyes. “Promise me.”      “I fight the Infidel with Richard, my lady.” He grasped her hands and tore them from his garment, but in his gaze stood fierce tears.      “Kill them. Take Jerusalem. Come back to me.”   “Listen to me, my lady—”   “Call me by my name, Simon. None of this politesse for us.” Debuts AUGUST 18!   “Aye.” He shook her, his expression gone to stone. “I know not when I return.”   “But when you do, I will be here.”   “You are promised to another, my sweet girl,” he whispered, but his voice broke.   “I will not go.”   Simon set his jaw. All compassion in his demeanor died. His friends strode away, looking back at them, frowning and feigning care of their horses’ bridles.   “I tell you, Simon, I will not wed him.”   “You must. You will.”   “Nay. Return to me and take me as your bride.”  “Sweet girl, your father will not allow it, and I would not defy him. Not any more than I already have when we…”   She sank against him. The warm wall of his chest was a bulwark against all horrors of this world.   “What if I carry a babe? Yours?”  His silver eyes stared into hers. “Say this is not so. I would curse myself if this were true.”   “What’s this?”   The bellow of her father’s voice echoed around the courtyard.  “Leave her, de la Poer! “   Simon’s tight grip on her wrists numbed her hands. “Tell me you lie.”   “I cannot.”   He grimaced. “Then marry the man your sire names for you, Elise. Do it quickly. Never think of me again.”   Shocked at his dismissal, she stood helpless, hopeless. What had she expected him to do? Carry her away to the Crusade?    She stared while he turned to do his duty and bowed to her father.   Her sire was a burly man of round belly and staunch constitution. Always jovial, he’d become somber of late. Deaths and illnesses in the castle had robbed him of his good nature. Discovering his fifteen-year-old daughter naked in the arms of the seventeen-year-old whom he loved as well as his natural son had robbed him of the remaining cheer in his soul.   Elise stepped backward.   He stood before the four young men and nigh unto sneered at Simon. “Get you gone, de la Poer. Our good king needs your audacity to reclaim Jerusalem. May you fight like a heathen and reclaim the purity of your soul. But as you value your life, never come near my daughter nor me again.”   Simon glanced from her father to her and back again. “Aye, my lord. For your kindnesses to me lo these many years, I thank you, sir. Someday I hope to assuage your anger toward me with a good deed you may applaud.”   “I doubt it, Simon. Go. Your name is henceforth banned in my home.”

Like butlers? Every gal needs staff! Out Now with #Regency #facts too! HER BEGUILING BUTLER by Cerise DeLand!

http://www.amazon.com/Her-Beguiling-Butler-Delightful-Crescent-ebook/dp/B0135ZLZAU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1438449574&sr=8-1&keywords=Her+Beguiling+butler We love historicals so that they take us away to another time and place. But as we were taught by our high school history teachers, we like our romantic fiction appealing to our sense of time and place. In my bangin' butler—pardon me—HER BEGUILING BUTLER, I give you background that is indeed true.

Like what?

First, the January 1820 weather was atrocious!  Minus twenty degrees or more in various parts of England. Snowy and icy. Makes it tough to get around, doesn't it? Especially on foot or driving poor horses.

Secondly, King George III did die January 30, 1820 after more than sixty years on the throne of England. He passed away at approximately 8:30 at Windsor Castle and the news was taken to London by riders on horseback! 

Mourning for the late king was required for nobles. Men wore black attire and/or black armbands, depending on how old their titles. Noblewomen wore black gowns and coats. Intense mourning garb was the rule for at least three months, with an easing after that. The Season was subdued.

In HER BEGUILNG BUTLER, my heroine Lady Ranford, Alicia Blindon, goes to the funeral of her governess. This is unusual and she knows it. But she goes as a sign of respect for the lady she loved. It is true that women did not attend funerals, even those of their family. Nor did they go to grave sites.

When a servant was hired did they get hired through Registry offices or training schools? Yes. While references from a previous employer were required to go from one household to another, many servants were employed initially through services or schools.

One other bit you may like to know is that in BUTLER, my hero visits a hatters shop. Locks in St. James Street. The shop still exists!  Do go and read about this establisment which is now more than four centuries old!
Here it is on the web:   http://lockhatters.co.uk/

My heroine visits a modiste shop which also existed in 1820. I know because we have records of Miss Pierpont's shop in Covent Garden. If you'd like to see them, too, do buy this marvelous book! 
Buy Link:Fashions-Era-Jane-Austen-Ackermanns