A
few weeks ago, I hosted the release party for The Incomparables,
a limited edition boxed set commemorating the 200th
anniversary of the June 18, 1815 Battle of Waterloo.
The
set includes six romances bestselling and award winning historical
romance authors Cerise
DeLand,
Sabrina
York,
Suzi
Love,
Lynne
Connolly,
Suzanna
Mederios
and Dominique
Eastwick.
From
the Duchess of Richmond’s ball in Brussels to the Battle of
Waterloo and beyond, join these six unforgettable heroes as they
journey back from the physical and emotional trials of war and
discover the passion that thrills the body can also heal the heart.
Today
I’m shining the spotlight on Cerise DeLand’s contribution,
Interlude
with a Baron.
Blurb
Emma
wants only an interlude with the man she’s adored for years. But
Drayton Worth has spent five years riddled with guilt for hurting
her—and he’s determined to have more than a few nights in her
bed.
Excerpt
“Excuse
me, will you?” Dray dismissed himself from the group. He had four
days to talk with all these people at this house party. What lured
Dray was his favorite puzzle. The famous Marlthorpe maze.
He
escaped through the French doors opening to the veranda and the
complex design of the evergreens. He loved this labyrinth, its path
copied from an ancient Greek oracle. For many years, he’d come here
to Marlthorpe’s springtime party and sought out the serenity of the
garden and the mental exercise it afforded. Puzzles were his favorite
pastime when he was not making money.
Starting
down the entrance, he paused a moment to consider the right turn or
the left. He’d tried the left last year and found it led to a
circular route back to the entry. Right then, it would be. The yews
had grown two inches or more since last spring and the enclosure was
quiet, comforting. That is, it was until he heard giggles from
another quarter of the shrubbery.
The
sounds were those of a young child and a woman.
“Come
now, Christine,” the female voice was low, breathless. It had a
distinctive rasp.
Dray
halted.
“You
must put on your mask, dearest. You have the advantage if you can
see!” The woman laughed though she tried to sound stern.
And
Dray swallowed, drowning his instincts about the identity of the lady
who chased her daughter in the garden.
The
child shrieked in delight, then pattered away.
Rustlings
in the bushes gave evidence of the two running.
“I
found you!” the woman said.
“Not
fair. Not fair, Miss Bedlow.” The girl objected but laughed
nonetheless.
Miss
Bedlow? How could it be?
Dray
stared at the wall of greenery.
The
two chuckled and chased each other.
The
woman stopped. “Wait, Christine!”
He
spun around, following the sounds, his head whirling with the shock
and the possibility that Emma Bedlow was a guest at this party. That
she played with a child.
And
that she was in this garden and he was, too. After years of taking
care to never cross her path, how ironic that he could come to a
house party on a spring afternoon in Berkshire and be so near.
He
stood, confounded by his choices. Call to her. See her. In truth,
over the next three days, he would eventually be near her. To
converse. To dine. To dance. Better to face her alone now than later
in a room filled with curious spectators.
So
be it. Following their voices, he tracked her and her charge down one
path and left across another. Luck was with him and he recalled one
lane with the grey stone bench…and another one with the potted
white roses along the east barrier.
The
noises stopped.
The
girl asked a question and Emma answered, walking toward him and
laughing.
Anxious,
fretful, he turned a corner.
Halted.
Let
his eyes revel in the sight of her.
She
was holding hands with a girl and beginning a children’s roundelay.
The
girl broke away from her, racing around like a little animal and not
watching where she was going, she ran right into Dray.
With
a grunt, she froze and peered up at him.
Dray
caught the child with hands to her shoulders. She squirmed and
pleaded with him to let her go.
But
Dray had no presence of mind to do it. He gazed at Em, his soul
drinking in her pale green gown, her fuller figure, her wealth of
midnight hair. He had died of thirst for years to see her—and he
rejoiced that she appeared hale and hearty, even happy, if also at
the moment, shocked to stillness.
What
to say to her? What to call her? He wouldn’t address her by her
title. That was one she’d hated, never wanted. And since the
autumn, she told it about that she wished to discard her married name
for her maiden.
“My
lady, how wonderful to see you again.”
She
gaped at him as she blinked and stepped backward. “My lord.”
“I
had no idea you were here.”
“I—I
was amusing her, tiring her before…”
He
tore his gaze from hers and looked at the girl with a critical eye.
The child was too old to be hers and Montroy’s. Was she ten?
Eleven? Twelve years old, at the very most. When he’d last seen Em
after Waterloo, she’d been married only a year and the anniversary
of that great battle would be five years in June. This child was not
hers.
He
peered at her. “You are invited to the house party?”
Emma
shook her head so forcefully that her shining hair, so thick, fell
from her pins, draping her shoulders with fat curls. “ Yes. But I
will not attend.”
He
took a step nearer. She was as lovely—no, even more beautiful than
she’d been as an eighteen-year-old dancing in his arms at the
Dunstables’ ball. Now she was what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? Her
cheeks were plumper. Her exotic aqua eyes round with shock. Her form
was fuller. A woman, no longer a girl. A woman who had seen too much
agony and deserved all the laughter and light she could garner in her
lifetime.
“I
don’t understand. Are you not a guest?”
“I
am acting governess to the earl of Tunbridge’s daughter. Forgive
me. This is Lady Christine, my lord. My dear, I present Baron
Lansdowne.”
While
the girl murmured how she was pleased to meet him, he took a second
to realize Em used the formal title of Naill Wainwright. Astonishing,
too, was that this child was Naill’s, the one no one ever saw and
often remarked might not exist.
“You
are employed?”
“I
am.”
That
confused him. She had money. He’d made certain of it. His sum
complemented that from her mother’s dowry, which her father had not
been able to throw after bad schemes, grasping mistresses and cards.
“Will you come inside and—?”
“No,
my lord.” She stiffened and never took her eyes from him. “I
cannot.”
“I
am so delighted to see you, Em.”
She
looked as if she were about to cry. But she took hold of her charge’s
hand. “I must go.”
“Wait,
Em. I must talk to you.” Make amends.
“I
do not wish to speak with you. Go about your party, my lord. Say
nothing, I beg you, of this or me to anyone.”
The
Elgin family had invited her. They had evidently accepted that she
needed careful assistance to enter society again. He didn’t
understand why she hung back.
Unless
she was angry at him.
And
he couldn’t blame her. “Em, I mean you no harm.”
She
put up a hand. “Please, Dray. I must do this my way. Let me go in
peace.”
And
since she had had so little of it in her life, he did as she asked
and watched her leave him. As she always did.
INTERLUDE
WITH A BARON is part of
Regency
Romp series
which
begins with
LADY
VARNEY'S RISQUE BUSINESS
followed
by
RENDEZVOUS
WITH A DUKE
and
within a few weeks, the third in series~
MASQUERADE
WITH A MARQUESS.
Not
read the others?
Start
now!
Find
Cerise:
My website: http://cerisedeland.com
My
blog: http://cerisedeland.blogspot.com
Like
me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cerisedelandauthor
Follow
me on Twitter: @cerisedeland
Goodreads:
Cerise DeLand
Pinterest:
www.pinterest.com/frenchcherryred
