Thursday, August 27, 2015

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!


Friday, August 14, 2015

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!
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BUY LINKS:
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

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Wednesday, August 12, 2015

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-service
Debonair 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 DeLand
What'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 Facebook
Go to her blog for headline news, ~ and email her at cerise.deland@ymail.com too! You can also follow Cerise on twitter



Wednesday, August 5, 2015

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.”