HER BEGUILING BUTLER, #1 in series about naughty servants and their delightful masters
and mistresses!
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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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