[How
does Cerise manage to write such luscious stuff, every single time?
Enjoy! ~Lisabet]
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?
And here's a nibble from Her Beguiling Butler, as teasing as Finnley himself.
“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.”
Buy
Links
AMAZON:
http://t.co/oieCSFYKji
NOOK:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/her-beguiling-butler-cerise-deland/1122447087?ean=2940150769540
About
Cerise DeLand
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
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