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4 Years Ago, A most unusual Marriage took place!

London, 1816

Four years ago, Victor Hawthorn, son of Viscount Blackmar, traveled to the country estate of wealthy merchant, Mr. Thompson. What Hawthorn thought to be a quiet holiday in the country with his parents turned into a betrothal and quick marriage by Special License to a Miss Charlotte Thompson, who was soon to be sixteen.

I can assure you that Hawthorn did nothing untoward, nor was Miss Thompson ruined. Hawthorn married Charlotte to save his family.

You see, Viscount Blackmar managed to get himself so deeply in debt that the family was on the verge of complete ruin. Mr. Thompson had taken advantage of the situation and had purchased every note of indebtedness, which he promised to forgive and provide a substantial settlement if Hawthorn married the man’s daughter. This sacrifice of the young couple meant that Hawthorn’s younger siblings would not suffer because of their father, and Thompson would finally gain a title for his family once his daughter produced a son and that son inherited.

The betrothal lasted all of twelve hours and the couple married the following day. Hawthorn promptly took his young bride north where he deposited her on an estate he had inherited and then returned to London.

For the past four years the ton has anxiously awaited the appearance of Mrs. Hawthorn, but her husband never saw the need to bring her to Town, which resulted in much speculation, especially since it was common knowledge that he had never once visited after he left her all alone in Willanton.

We thought for certain that when the father died and he became Viscount Blackmar that he’d retrieve his wife and do his duty, yet he did not, and one had to wonder if he ever would. 

That all changed one evening at Whites when Baron Percival Jordan was heard telling Blackmar, “I did not know your wife four years ago, but I do know her now. If she were mine, I would not be here.”

I am to understand that Viscount Blackmar hightailed it out of London the following day to retrieve the wife that he had absented himself from these last four years.

One does wonder what he may find once he arrives.

LINKS FOR ENTICED BY A GOVERNESS:  

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Enticed-Governess-Love-4-ebook/dp/B0BNYBL4QC 

Apple: https://apple.co/3WXsHyM 

Nook/BN: http://bit.ly/3WWGKou 

Kobo: http://bit.ly/3GOIuu8 

Smashwords: https://bit.ly/3GOp2xz 

Books2Read:  https://books2read.com/u/b6zdBE 

RELEASE DATE OF ENTICED BY A GOVERNESS: January 31, 2023

EXCERPT from ENTICED BY A GOVERNESS:

     “So, we finally meet.” As a smile graced his lips, a small dimple appeared on the left side.

“It appears so.” Charlotte turned away from him. He was so much more handsome when he smiled. A girl couldn’t think straight looking at him. “You were not supposed to meet me until tomorrow.”

     “Yes, I know,” he said coming to stand beside her. “But my curiosity got the better of me.”

     “They say curiosity killed the cat,” Charlotte mumbled. 

     Victor chuckled. “In this case curiosity only brought relief.”

     Charlotte tipped her head so that she could study him from the corner of her eye, skeptical of his words. 

“Your appearance has been much of a mystery, and after overhearing my parents, as you did, I feared my imagination had me marrying a witch with a huge wart on the end of her nose.”

     Charlotte laughed lightly. At least she wasn’t that ugly, she hoped.

“I do apologize for their words. I can only offer that they are rude and smug for no reason other than they feel entitled to belittle others because they are in possession of a title.”

     “It is not necessary to apologize for what many believe is the truth,” she explained.

Mr. Hawthorn pulled back and opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. He likely wished to insist that they were wrong but could not bring himself to lie to her. 

     “How old are you?” There was hesitation in his voice.  

She looked young, that she knew, but had her father failed to mention her age in all of this? “Fifteen, soon to turn sixteen.” 

He stilled and she could almost feel the tension radiate from him. Was it too much to hope that he would stomp off and refuse the marriage, or insist that it take place when she was older? 

After a moment he heaved a sigh and settled on the hillside and invited her to sit. “As we have been given this opportunity, we might as well become acquainted.” 

“We should not be out here together.” She had never been alone with a man before, let alone anyone who looked like him.

Mr. Hawthorn smiled up at her. “As we are marrying tomorrow, I see no harm.”

Charlotte sank to her knees beside him. “You are still going to marry me?” She couldn’t believe he wasn’t trying to find a way to back out of the agreement. His family must really be in a most dire financial state.

BLURB

Charlotte Hawthorn had everything she could ever want. She lived alone, enjoyed freedoms that few women ever experience, was a governess and an artist, and she had not seen her husband in four years. Theirs was a marriage in name only, a convenience.

Victor Hawthorn, Viscount Blackmar, had not wanted to marry a stranger at the age of one and twenty. However, when a wealthy merchant purchased all his father’s debts, Victor was given the choice to either marry the man’s soon-to-be sixteen-year-old daughter or his family would face complete ruination. Victor had chosen marriage then left his young bride on a small estate and returned to his life.

When he reluctantly returns four years later, Victor doesn’t find the girl he left behind, but an enticing, independent woman who not only creates beautiful art but would rather be a governess than married to him. Will they find their way to love and happiness or will all be ruined by an enemy who sets out to destroy their future?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA Today bestselling author Jane Charles is a prolific writer of over fifty historical and contemporary romance novels. Her love of research lends authenticity to her Regency romances, and her experience directing theatre productions helps her craft beautiful, touching stories that tug at the heartstrings. Jane is an upbeat and positive author dedicated to giving her characters happy-ever-afters and leaving the readers satisfied at the end of an emotional journey. Lifelong Cubs fan, world traveler and mother of three amazing children, Jane lives in Central Illinois with her husband, two dogs and a cat. She is currently writing her next book and planning her dream trip to England. Be sure to join Jane on Facebook @JaneCharlesAuthor for Wine Pairings Wednesdays.

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An older society Dragon does not need a younger lover! Said…no one!

T’is said that a certain older lady who runs the ton is now enamored of a certain young military hero. That cannot be, can it?

I say, I wave my fan at the very idea. How can a lady purport to be one if she encourages a younger man to call upon her in the middle of the night and give her outrageous gifts?

Really! Shameful.

Although I too would really like a fine new pair of horses and a newer phaeton. I say! Wouldn’t you?

LADY, YOU’RE MINE

She’d spent so many years acting like a proper lady, she’d forgotten how to be a woman.

He’s determined to help her remember.

*******

EXCERPT: COPYRIGHT 2022 CERISE DELAND. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

“You avoid me,” he told her with a small smile easing his handsome lips. He brought her a glass of cool white wine and settled beside her in a double chair far aft.

They’d been out to sea an hour or more. The day was pleasant, the sea calm, the air balmy.

Not so her heart to have him grace her with his presence.

 Only two others sat near them. Most were fore listening to the Rensfords discuss the construction of the yacht.

“You rattled me the other night,” she admitted freely. “We knew each other too young to be obtuse in our older age.”

He grinned.

“Don’t look so satisfied.” She cast him quelling glance, yet couldn’t help but laugh at his insouciance. 

He took a drink of his wine. “I’m not only pleased you confess I ruffled your fine feathers, but you are still miffed with me.”

“Angry is the word, Magnus.”

He mashed those fabulous lips of his together. “If you say so.”

“I do.” She took a hearty drink of the wine he’d had the good sense to bring her for this conversation.

“I would think my intentions would be a great compliment.” He lifted his glass in the direction of the Countess of Huntington and her friend. “Some would definitely welcome similar statements.”

She snorted. “What they’d welcome would be a proposal to be indiscreet.”

“I could give you that too if it would bring you closer to the prospect of accepting my desire to make an honest woman of you.”

“I am already an honest woman.”

He looked her over with the careful compassionate eyes of a lover. “I know you are, darling.”

She thrilled to his ardent words and fumed at his audacity. “What I mean is—“

“I know what you mean, Cass. You are a widow. Of independent means. With a sterling reputation. Wealth. All the freedom and power of a dragon of the ton. And you have no need of me. Not my title. My money. My name. Or my hand in marriage.”

“Exactly.”

“What you do need is the man I am.”

She opened her mouth to continue to argue…but halted, stumped over that last.

He stared straight into her eyes. “I know about William.”

That took her aback. “He was a good husband.”

He looked off to the horizon, licked his lips then took a sip of his wine. Finally, he faced her. “How good?”

“He was kind.”

“Left you to your own devices.”

“He was considerate.”

“And gave you all the money you needed to furnish the house, throw tea parties, visit your modiste and go south to the sea.”

She emptied her glass. He was right. How he had learned this was beyond her. Gossip, she supposed. Heaven knew, no one was free from it. But when what the ton knew was true, it could wound and make one bleed and want and cry.

She got to her feet. The pitch of the boat did not help and she thrust out a hand to catch hold of her chair. “I must go.”

She managed to get across the deck to head down on the steps to go below. She’d found the ladies’ retiring room there minutes ago, but the first door was that to the map room. There she hoped for privacy. It contained one small desk, two chairs and a round flat table. Small enough to compose herself and wipe her tears.

Except right behind her came Magnus.

“No, no.” She put up her hands to ward him off as he closed the door behind him. “Go back up. Leave me.”

“I did not mean to make you cry.” He shook out a large white handkerchief that he’d extracted from inside his coat.

She grabbed it and dabbed at her cheeks. “Well, you did.”

“I want you to allow me to court you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He shot backward. “I am many things. Proud, determined. Never that.”

“I apologize. I mean…” She waved the handkerchief. “I am beyond the age of courting. I will look ridiculous.”

“I don’t care. I want you to have it.”

She glared at him as if he had two heads. “Now you are, pardon me, delusional.”

“Never. I want you to have the joy of it. Dancing and flirting. Being treasured and chased.” He took a step toward her and in that tiny room, they stood together, flesh to solid flesh. He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her. “William never gave you any of that. You should have had it, Cass. Young and beautiful as you were, you would have had a host of young men drooling to dance attendance on you. Be your beau, your beloved. But you never had the pleasure.”

“Oh, you can sweet talk among the best of men.”

“Not so sweet was what you did have.”

The truth bit deep. “Papa had no money for his youngest daughter to debut. William knew it, learned it somehow. He saw me. William saw me. At church one Sunday when we were in town and he offered to Papa for me.” 

She remembered the lazy Sunday afternoon her father had called her into his study and he’d told her of her future. A day so much like today, bright and tranquil. “I was sixteen when William decided I was to be his wife. He’d told my father then, but they both waited two years to inform me. Imagine.”

Magnus put his arms around her and drew her against him. His hands stroking her spine, she rested her head on his shoulder as if it were the most natural pose in the world. She felt the rough wool of his uniform and the point of a medal on her cheek, but she welcomed the succor as she had never embraced any before.

“He paid my father to marry me.”

Magnus grunted. “Cass,” he murmured and held her more dearly to him.

“It sounds hideous, primitive. I was bought. Paid for. Papa took the money to pay his debts. I never knew until William told me years later just before he died. He sought redemption, I suppose, or wished to clear his conscience before he drew his last breath. By then, I had cut myself off from my family and I had no one to scream out my misery or my insult. I vowed then no one would ever disparage me so, not ever again. And they haven’t.”

“They respect you,” he said, drawing back to regard her with sympathy.

She huffed. “My due for being a dutiful wife. Yet William was good to me.” She looked up into this man’s starkly handsome face. “He never asked more than that I be a good hostess.”

Magnus caressed her cheek. “For his political ambitions.”

She dropped her gaze to the red of his uniform. “I did it. That was easy. To check menus and make seating charts. To ensure there was always brandy in the crystal and port on the sideboard.”

“And for you, there were all the comforts.”

“Oh yes, every one.”

“But he was not a friend.”

She bit her lower lip.

“Or a companion.”

She shook her head.

He raised her chin and delved into her eyes. “Or a lover.”

She considered the fact that with this man she could be totally honest as she had never been with any other person in her adult life. “I am not a virgin, Magnus.”

“He had you.”

Those were definitely the right words. Simple possession without any emotion. “He did.”

He lowered his face to hers, his lips a breath away. “Did he kiss you?”

“Sometimes.”

Those enchanting blue eyes of his narrowed on her. His lips brushed across hers. “Did he make you want?”

Him? “No.”

“Can I?”

At his words, the world spun and she was giddy with a need she’d known only once before. Forbidden then. But now hunger fueled curiosity and carelessness. She put her mouth near his and whispered, “Let me see.”

The grin he gave her was in his gaze and the rapture erupted in his fierce embrace. His arms around her bending her over the table, he took her down and spread her upon the cool wood. His hands holding hers, he put his lips to hers in the gentlest of claims. A butterfly’s kiss made her sigh. A marauder’s kiss had her gasping.

His kisses became long luxurious explorations, his tongue insistent, probing and thorough. Her hat fell off, the pins pulling her coif with it. But he was ardent, reverent and she cared for nothing but his tender lips and ravenous fingers. 

He bit her earlobe and laughed at her shiver. He licked his way down the column of her throat to her cleavage. She arched in abandon, her desire for more, a compulsion she could not sate. He swept two fingers inside her bodice and pulled at the fabric. She wiggled beneath his heavy weight and rejoiced at the urge to find fulfillment.

But he was no novice at seduction or ladies’ gowns. He had the silk down, his hot mouth upon the hard begging point of her breast. She moved and he gave her what she wanted and shoved the fabric beneath her other heaving breast. With both his hands on her naked flesh, he spread wet lavish kisses from one to the other. 

A knock came at the door.

Fright blasted her bliss.

He grumbled about intrusions as he pulled her upright. “We will have more of this. Soon.”

She and he tugged her gown back to its original position. Her heart hammering, she told herself to be grateful to whomever was on the other side of that portal. Yet the adventurous girl in her—shocking as it was—did not wish to be saved. 

She stared at him as he ran his fingers through her disheveled hair and pulled at her little curls over her ears. 

Then he bent and dusted off her broad-brimmed chip hat, quite crushed. His smile was totally evil as he pushed the thing into her hands. “Here, before you go, don this.”

In the hallway, people conversed. 

“Good god, how many are out there?” she said as she fought with her hair and her hat.

“Whoever it is, we will stare them down and dare them to babble about this.”

Should she laugh or cry? “You have not been in society very long.”

“You have not seen how frightening I can be.” He chucked her under her chin. “Ready now?”

“No! Button your coat.” She righted him as best she could, then tried to get nearer the door so that she did not appear to hide behind it. Even that was silly. She would either look like a young girl compromised alone with a man—or a complete coward. “Now. Do it.”

He nodded and yanked open the door.

“Ladies,” he greeted whomever stood there while Cass figured her future in London now would be selling fish on the docks. 

As if he were in this room merely consulting on navigation of the seas, he gave their intruders a most courtly bow, then ran two meaty hands through his long tousled golden locks. “The cousins, I see. Good of you to find us.” 

Cass nearly fainted with delight that those outside were Adelaide and Laurel.

He paused, threw them a half smile and turned toward Cass. “Breathe, my darling. You’re saved.”

He swung wide the door and the two young ladies to whom she had appeared only as a regimented fire-breathing dragon gaped at her. She could picture the image they saw. Her eyes dreamy. Her cheeks aflame. Her lips swollen from kisses. Her bodice awry and skirts rumpled.

Welles pulled his coat to, then threw her a wink.

Addy and Laurel rushed inside and shut the door. They did not ask her anything nor did they comment on her disarray. They went to work to straighten her gown and pin her hair so that minutes later, the three emerged and rejoined the party on deck.

The Countess of Huntington, that bird of rumor, was—blessedly—nowhere in sight. 

******

LADY, YOU’RE MINE, BOOK 4 in NAUGHTY LADIES

Lady William Downs revels in her reputation as a Society dragon, a Diamond (still!) at her age, too—and a widow of independent means.

Colonel Lord Magnus Augustus Welles is home from the savagery of the wars. Heir to his ailing father the Duke of Ruscombe, Magnus wants a wife. He knows just who that will be. But the lady doth protest far too much.

To woo her is easy.

To win her he’ll persuade her with the best gifts of all—a new phaeton, horses—and, yes, himself. In all the racy ways she’s never enjoyed!

THE AUTHOR, CERISE DELAND

Cerise DeLand is the USA TODAY Bestselling author who has written more than 70 novels in her nearly 4 decade career. Find her on Amazon, Bookbub and her new YOUTUBE CHANNEL, Travels with Cerise!

On a mission…

Abigail Danvers watched the dancing with a frown. On a mission to find any sort of possible gossip for the Teatime Tattler, she had become frustrated that time to find anything newsworthy was passing her by. But that was only the start of the problem. Abigail had begun to wonder if her life wasn’t also becoming meaningless. An anonymous reporter for Mr. Clemens wasn’t going to provide her with a husband and children to fill her home.

“Stop scowling, sister, or you’ll scare away any gentleman who even remotely has the thought of asking you to dance,” Prudence whispered in her ear. “Who are you watching, anyway?”

Her attention on a couple only caused her displeasure to deepen. “Sophie Templeton with the Earl of Wilmott,” she said with clenched teeth. “She’s younger than I am and it looks as though those two will be engaged by Christmas if I read all the signs right.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Prudence asked.

“Just another titled gentleman who will be off the market. I thought by coming here to the country we might find husbands of our own or at the very least something noteworthy to send to Clemens.” Abigail shook her head to clear her melancholy mood.

“Maybe it’s time to start looking out for ourselves instead and not be so determined to provide Mr. Clemens with the latest gossip,” Prudence replied with a small smile. “I say we wish Miss Templeton and her earl the very best and start looking out for our own interests instead.”

“Perhaps you’re right, sister,” Abigail proclaimed.

She looked once again at the couple and nodded. They looked so happy gliding across the dance floor to a waltz and Abigail could only wish to find her own happiness someday, too. As two gentlemen began to head toward her and her sister, Abigail smiled. Clemens could find his own gossip to report in his morning rag. She had a new quest in mind and this could be the start of her own happily-ever-after!


This is a short original piece by Bluestocking Belle Sherry Ewing. It refers to Sherry’s latest characters in her novelette, A Mistletoe Kiss in the Belles’ Christmas boxset Belles & Beaux. Read on for an excerpt from Sherry’s story and happy holidays, dearest readers!

Excerpt:

She began playing again. One tune after another until she grew bored with the keyboard. What difference did it make how well she played if Spencer wasn’t in the room to hear her? As if she conjured the man up with her thoughts, the men returned to the parlor causing Sophie to lose her breath when Spencer came to stand by her chair.

“I am sorry to cut our evening short, but I must return home. In my eagerness to visit with your family, I completely forgot that I had agreed to dinner with my parents,” Spencer stated looking a bit embarrassed. “I’ll have some explaining to do.”

“Let me get your coat and hat. I’ll inform a lad to bring your horses out to the front.”

She left the room, delivered her message to one of the staff, and then went to a closet to retrieve Spencer, and Lord Charville’s things. Taking hold of Spencer’s jacket, she held the fabric up to her nose and inhaled while the heavenly smell of spice filled her senses. She heard footsteps coming closer to the foyer and didn’t want to be found out, so she quickly retrieved the other coat and their hats.

Spencer came into view, took Evan’s things and handed them to the man who returned to the parlor to say his farewells.

His hand brushed hers when he reached for his coat. “Will you walk me out, Sophie?”

Her heart would never be able to stand being this close to him, but she would take the chance she might survive their brief moment of privacy. She took her own redingote from the closet but before she could slip her hands in the sleeves, Spencer took the garment from her.

“Allow me…”

He went behind her to assist her with putting on the garment, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders caused her to tremble. He then went to open the door giving her the opportunity to bow out if she felt so inclined. Nothing could be farther from her thoughts.

The night was cold, and Sophie could see her breath in the air as she exhaled. The clip clop of horses was getting closer causing her to realize that he would be leaving her soon. Plus, Lord Charville would be exiting the house at any moment. She didn’t have much time!

“Spencer… I—”

He took her hand this time bringing it to his lips. “Ah… there it is…”

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“The sound of my given name passing your lips as though you are happy to be alone with me,” he answered tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow. He began walking toward the road. “I have waited years to hear such a sound, if I am being perfectly honest.”

“You have?” she gasped out.

“Yes, I have. It’s been torture waiting for you to grow up,” he said caressing her hand.

She halted their progress to the road not believing he was speaking the truth. “You’ve been waiting for me?”

“Yes.” A simple answer with so many possibilities.

“Why me?” Her eyes widened when she realized she had spoken the words aloud.

He took his hands to caress her cheeks. Leaning down, he stared into her eyes. “Because you were worth waiting for, my dear.”

She closed her eyes hoping for her first kiss. But she was to be disappointed when the front door opened, and they broke apart.


Belles & Beaux: A Bluestocking Belles Collection
Available Now!

Just in time for Christmas 2022 comes this boxed set of eight charming stories of love, family, and miracles. Each Belle has contributed a tale set in the festive season–one just long enough to fit in between tasks at this busy time of the year. The tales are unrelated, except by the festive season.

Some have been written for this collection, some are made-to-order stories never before published, some have been used as fan giveaways. All are delightful.

Belle Sherry Ewing’s A Mistletoe Kiss Blurb:

All she wants for Christmas is a mistletoe kiss…

Miss Sophie Templeton has been waiting a lifetime for the one man who owns her heart, but he seems to court a different woman every Season. As Christmas approaches, Sophie’s one wish is a kiss from him beneath the mistletoe.

Spencer, Earl of Wilmott has quietly watched Sophie through the years, holding her in his heart, and biding his time until he can offer for her. He appeases his parents by being seen with a variety of eligible women. But Sophie is grown up now, and he must put aside his worries that she’ll find him too old and make his offer.

One chance encounter, one dance in which he all but claims her; can Spencer convince Sophie to make this a Christmas romance that will last a lifetime?

So order your copy now for the opportunity to pour the drink of your choice, find a favourite chair, and step into one of our worlds: https://books2read.com/BellesBeaux

About the author:

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. An award-winning and bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.

 

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Our great hero weds a widow and promises only companionship?

Dear Reader, 

I have it on best authority from servants in the house of a relative of the bride-to-be that our illustrious Hound of the Cavalry, decorated as he is and a newly minted earl, weds a widow today!  This is such a loss to our many younger ladies who had hoped for a chance to enchant him!

We understand however that he has made promises to his new wife that they shall be forever just friends. Friends?

Does he not deserve more?

The comfort of a loving wife? The joy of children? The certainty that his  line will be continued?

We are astonished that the lady would agree. But then, we’ve also heard that she requested this celibacy herself? What could possibly be her reason? Did she love her first husband so much? Did she promise him abstention? If so, where is her duty and her loyalty to her new husband?

Where is her love for him?

THE LYON’S SHARE by Cerise DeLand

She’d spend every last penny to marry again for security, comfort—or even friendship.

He’d win her wager, possess her, keep her for himself—even if he’d never win her love.

Excerpt, All rights reserved. Copyright Cerise DeLand 2022.

(Their wedding day in London.)

Sydney’s good friend and now his new brother-in-law, Henry, Lord Norbridge, handed him a whisky. “Welcome to the fold. Marlowe women are a unique brood.”

Sidney emptied his glass. Nerves were not a condition in which he usually indulged. “I’m pleased to be among you.”

“Do not say that too loudly.” Henry considered the three men younger than he who stood to one side of the bishop by the piano. “Our other brothers-in-law will have a thing or two to add to buck you up for the challenge.”

“Come now, Henry. You don’t want to frighten me off. I’ve had enough trouble getting this done.”

Henry clinked glasses with him. “Good job, too. However, I understand from my best source that we are still denying how good this union can be.”

Sidney frowned even as his heart swelled with the sight of his bride who stood across the room talking with her four sisters. “Adriana appears happy and …” Blast it. “Resigned to the match.”

“I hope you have plans to hasten her along. She’s been at this mourning business much too long and I dare say, it grows tedious. She needs to buck up.”

“I do agree.” I’d have her forget about Paul and focus her every thought on me.

Across the room, his new wife threw back her head to laugh at some remark of one of her sisters. Sidney vowed one day he’d make her do that whilst talking to him. She was a glory when happy. 

“Give yourself joy in this too, Sidney. You deserve it. Don’t let her cow you into a friendship with no…”

“Benefits? Yes.” He absorbed the delicate beauty of his bride. How tall she was, how elegant, her long fingers and lithe limbs. Her lovely firm breasts. Her troth was his. Her vows. Her honor. But he had yearned for decades for more. Without hope too had he pined. Like a schoolboy. Watching Paul take her hand, help her to mount her horse or a carriage, embracing her in jest or passion. 

His gaze swept down her form, her plump breasts spanning a gown of citron green velvet. She shifted to speak with one of her nieces and one long leg pulled the fabric taut to accentuate her limb. He wanted to run his hands up her leg, her arms, each inch of her. And how long could he wait to have her like that?

Forever, man. You vowed.

He put down his glass on a footman’s tray. “I have plans to draw her to me. But I have promised myself and Dove-Lyon, if she never wishes it, I will not pressure her.”

“A damn lonely way to live your life, my friend. You are Middlethorpe now. You have responsibilities.”

“That I know.”

“And needs.”

His gaze locked on Henry’s. “Never worry about that.”

“But I do. It is not natural what you promise. And I know how you truly regard my sister-in-law.”

He went to dust. “You will never say.”

“No, never. I would not break your trust. But damn it, Sidney, I like you as you are. I don’t want to see you turn bitter because you sold yourself into a bad bargain.”

“I fought one war, Henry. I can fight this one, too.”

“Can you?” His friend shook his head, weary. “It’s one thing to fight a foe with sabers and pistols. This opponent is yourself. Your very nature. Your every des—”

He clamped his hand on Henry’s shoulder. He’d had many women for a night, for the comfort and relief. One lovely French countess he’d kept in Paris last year for a month. “I will be well. I have girded myself with my own forbearance.”

“Which is strong, I do hope.”

Love. “The very stuff of life.” He smiled at his friend. “Forgive me now. I must take her away.” And begin my next campaign. The hardest one of all will be to become her best friend—and remain celibate.

The Lyon’s Share, the story

Adriana, Lady Benton, has many regrets—and one hope. To wed a good man to gain a life to which she is entitled. One free of sorrow, penury and ridicule. Appealing to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, Adriana hopes to attract one man who may appreciate her assets. But never need her love.

Colonel Sidney Wolf, once hailed as the ruthless ‘Hound of the Horse Guards’, vows to end Adriana’s hardships. He’s home from the wars and faces the daunting task of filling his father’s role as the Earl of Middlethorpe. Believing only Adriana will do as his helpmate, he strikes a deal with Dove-Lyon that brings him the one woman he admires. The one woman he tells himself he can live with—and never touch.

But the nearness of his funny, charming, beautiful bride drives him mad. Knowing she will never love other than her first husband, can he keep his hands—and his heart to himself?

And if he doesn’t, can she ever forgive him?

Cerise DeLand is the USA Today Bestselling author of romantic fiction starring sassy ladies and the charming men who adore them!

In KU on Amazon:  https://amzn.to/3bc6ri3

 

 

Tell no one! A lady calling upon a gentleman in her nightrail?

I write to you today to tell you of a most outlandish tale I heard. That of the Whiskey King’s daughter. (I dare not say her name.) And that she visited the Duke of M—’s son in her nightrail!

Now I know that seems impossible, but one of her neighbors swears it was she who scampered out of her house toward the duke’s.

Who else could it be? That man has no other girl so bold.

Or I do believe it to be so. What say you of his second child?

***

THE RAVEN’S LAST BET in THE WEDDING WAGER

BUY LINK: 

https://books2read.com/u/3JZQLJ

 

Desperate Sara Fleming decides the only way to escape her father’s plan is to make her newest betrothed a bet he can’t refuse.

Never good at gambling, Harry Seymour bets he can find a better way to win her heart! 

But he better hurry!

 Harry Seymour is home from years of fighting abroad to clean up the mess his roguish brother left upon his untimely death. Worse, his father, the Duke of Meredith, demands Harry honor a deal he made with his best friend to marry the man’s eldest daughter…for money.

Harry, who’s loved Sara Fleming since she was four, has no problem marrying her. He never did, even when she was denied him because she was the Whiskey King’s daughter. But not for money. 

Sara cannot accept the bargain her father made with the duke. She’s already left two men at the altar because she didn’t love either one. And if she can’t wed Harry for love, she’ll marry no one. But she wagers she’ll walk away happy if Harry will do her the favor of ruining her. It’s a bet Harry can’t refuse.

Can he?

Excerpt, All rights reserved. Copyright Cerise DeLand 2022.

        “Listen to me, Sara. I have a plan. It won’t be one either of our fathers likes but it might work.”

She pulled away. Peering into his magnificent eyes clouded her judgement. His green-brown orbs reflected a sadness in the faint lights that matched her own. “Tell me.”

“We announce that we intend to marry others.”

“I’ve already left two men alone before the vicar. Now there’s this gossip in the Gazette—?”

“Forget those other two men. And hang them at the Gazette.”

She put a hand to her hip. “We’ll send them new stories. Marvelous. I dislike your thinking, Harry. Totally. Marry another? Ba! Precisely who did you have in mind?” 

He gave her a look that said he had the right answer. “A man who makes you tingle.”

“Of whom there is no one.” Which is a lie.

“For each woman, there is a man. A perfect match.”

“I’ve not found him in four years. Why now?”

“You will lure him.”

 By some folly, to be sure. “How?”

A wicked gleam lit those iridescent eyes. “With kisses.”

“You expect me to kiss men?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “How else will you discover the right fellow?”

“How else will I go down as a scarlet woman? I’ve climbed enough fences barring me because I am of the dreaded merchant class. Papa’s money might continue to buy me entry, but if I degrade myself further, no one will touch me!”

He tipped up his chin. “You will be discreet. I will help.”

“You’ll bar doors?”

“And divert traffic.”

She scowled at him. “You’ve been away much too long, sir. You think me so brave. I am different from that child who tagged along behind you and tucked frogs in your pants.”

He scoffed. “Remind me. Who came to me night before last in her nightrail?”

”Dressing gown.”

He waved that away. “Exactly my point.”

Exasperated, she huffed. “The fault, dear Harry, is not in our stars, but in myself.”

“I agree.”

Oh, he infuriated her! “I do not know how to kiss.”

“And so you will learn.”

Only one way. She could barely say it. “By doing.”

“Indeed.” He winked. “With me.”

That way lay disaster and hopeless ruin. She’d should return to this party, because this was hopeless. She’d given up wanting him so long ago. Or thought she had. She threw up her hands. “Absurd.”

“Is it?” He took a step toward her, so near she inhaled his scent, imbibed his familiar allure that she could not allow to thrill her. “You said my kiss left you with no…what is the word?”

“You know perfectly well the word.”

“Tickle?”

If only. “Tingle.”

“Well then, my darling.” With one hand he caught her wrist while he swept his other hand around her waist. “Let’s see if this fits the bill.”

“No, stop!” Wonderful. Now she sounded like the village crier. 

“There, there. Don’t be shy. An experiment, eh?” He lifted her hand toward his mouth. “Or shall we call it…” he murmured, as he put her index finger, fully gloved, against the neat cleft in his chin, “…a demonstration? Visible to the naked eye.”

He smiled. Or was that the show of teeth of a predator? A creature who…gloated? 

He caught the point of her glove between his long white incisors. The act of a male bent on taking a bite of her, he tugged. The fabric slid along her finger, silk on silk, a glissade of shivering delight. Her glove glided from her elbow in a silent skim of her nerves. She shivered.

He halted. Glanced up at her, those long dark lashes of his rising to reveal the facets of a Harry she’d never known. A ravenous devil appeared there, one who pulled at another fingertip, starving for more of her until her hand was bare. Nipping her third finger and the next, he sent tremors up her spine. Her mouth fell open as he took her smallest finger, fabric and all, and bathed the whole of it in his hot moist mouth. His tongue served as succor—and as torture. 

She panted as if she’d run a mile. Her gaze glued to his voracious teeth, she dare not look away or lose a second. What he gave, she took. If it was instruction, it was also a revelation. Though she knew not how to interpret his lips to her fingers as lips to lips, she reveled in whatever he’d choose next. 

With a yank of his teeth, he pulled and her glove slid slowly down her arm and fell to the floor. She was bare to the night air, chilled and burning, as he caught her fingers and pressed them to his open mouth. He cupped her elbow, and her wrist was once more his. Bare skin gave him no pause, but encouragement to lift her hand once more. 

He groaned and crushed her torso fully against him. His possession, from her breasts to her hips, left her pulsing. 

He put her palm to his lips and licked the hollow of her hand. She moaned at his luscious homage and her knees gave way. As he caught her up, he bit the heal of her hand. She yelped. He gave a grunt, nigh unto laughter or triumph, she knew not which, then wrapped her arm around his waist. As he sweetly backed her to the wall, his hair fell loose over his brow and he focused on her lips. 

Then he took them.

Cerise DeLand is the USA TODAY Bestselling author of more than 60 historical romances…and a few other bits, too! 

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