Come for virtual tea and crumpets (in the form of Crush-it
SWAG) September 25 NOON EST/9 PST on Facebook for a party with Regency authors,
Delilah Marvelle, Dominique Eastwick, Sabrina York and me, Cerise DeLand!
We’ll talk about why we love to write Regency romances, why
you love to read them (LOL!) and then we will shower you with prizes for
showing up and playing along with us!
What prizes do we have?
One lucky person wins one of these:
Sabrina brings one of her tiaras! (Wow! Look at those pix! I
covet one! My old one is tarnished.)
Dominque has created a FAB.U.LOUS mask! (I would look great
in that. At my next ball, natch.)
Delilah gives us a pair of historical dice, c. 15th century.
(Yep. They are doing the 69, gurl.)
And me? I’m gonna give you all the goods for a wine party,
alone, with someone else, in your bathtub. You name it. But no wine. (Against
state regs to ship that. But you can still party!)
Each of us celebrates the release of one of our Regency
novels. Dominique soon debuts THE EARL AND HIS VIRGIN COUNTESS. Delilah talks
about A NIGHT OF PLEASURE. Sabrina has a few stories to tell you about DARK
FANCY.
And I debut RENDEZVOUS WITH A DUKE. This full length Regency stars a
Cinderella and a prince of a guy, Hugh Lattimer, Duke of Kendal.
Ready for the blurb?
Anna
Fournier never intended to fall in love. Not with any man. Especially not a
duke. But Hugh Lattimer persists in courting her despite the scandal that
surrounds her—and the innuendo that could ruin him.
Can she escape her past and
embrace a future as Hugh's duchess? Or will the man who murdered her father
ruin her future once and for all?
Ready for
that nibble of Cerise’s new cherry?
Of course!
Here is
Hugh Lattimer, Duke of Kendal as he meets Anna for the first time.
Copyright 2014, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.
Hugh Lattimer closed the door of
the piano shop, sighing in relief at the warmth. He’d spent the last five years
freezing his bits to nubbins in every damn parlor and palace from Vienna to
Paris to London and he was sick of the deprivation. Nearly three decades of war
on the Continent had leveled more than the forests. It had destroyed men’s
daily lives and reduced them to rats huddled together in the rubble of their
existences. He had seen it firsthand on the torn battlefields, in the shambles
of the towns—and in the hearts of men, women and children high-born and low.
He unbuttoned his greatcoat and
looked around for the proprietor.
In the far room, he heard murmurs
of a conversation and then spied the owner of the establishment. “Ah, there you
are. Guten morgen. Good morning, Herr
Breyer. How are you this cold day?”
“Your Grace.” The pudgy shopkeeper
beamed at him and inclined his head in greeting. “I am well. And you, sir?”
“Quite well.” In the far room,
someone at the keys filled the air with a melody new and refreshing.
“I am happy to see you again. May I
take your coat? Have my frau make you
tea?”
“Nein, Herr Breyer. Danke shon. I will not stay long. But came to
make my decision.” Here twice last week to examine the pianofortes, he had been
torn between one of Viennese manufacture and another completed in Munich. The
Viennese had been hand tooled by a man whom Hugh had come to know socially when
he had been posted to the Austrian capital after Napoleon’s surrender. The
Munich piano though interested him for its larger keyboard. The tune emanating
from the far room had him pausing to listen. “Who is that at the keys?”
“A young lady has come to buy sheet
music for her cousin. The song she plays is—“
“Pleyel?” Hugh named the popular
composer and went quite still, struck by the facile ability of the pianist in
the far room. The song she played was airy, ethereal, yet of quick tempo and
complex.
“Ja, Your Grace.”
The piece demanded someone who
could be bold and attack the keys with alacrity, yet caress them when the mood changed.
Hugh had not heard anyone play so well since he was stationed in Stuttgart and
the Austrian composer Hummel had graced a consulate meeting with his newest
composition. “Astonishing. She is quite accomplished.”
“She sight reads very well.” Breyer
nodded, pleasure on his face. “The piece is new to her just now. And I must
tell you that she plays the Stein pianoforte from Vienna, Your Grace.”
Hugh lifted his chin, listening to
her with concentration. “Does she? How wonderful.”
The German rocked on the balls of
his feet, clasping his hands before him, closing his eyes in contentment.
Hugh drifted toward the inner room.
He moved quietly, drawn as he was by the melody that spoke of eloquent delight,
a pastoral scene, perhaps, or a meeting of lovers. The woman at the piano was
absorbed in her effort. Eyes upon the sheets, leaning forward now and then to
ensure she read the notes correctly, she swayed in a tempo that spoke of her
devotion to conquer the song.
Absorbed in her challenge, she did
not notice him. Her bonnet, a brown leghorn of straw, capped her dark red
curls, and the brim cut her side view. Unseen, Hugh could admire her at
leisure. He reveled in her rapture as she opened her mouth on execution of one
passage or wrinkled her brow at another. She ran her hands along the keys,
strident or delicate, as the notes required. She cast up the lieder as it’s composer would have
admired—with flair and panache. And at the end, she widened her eyes, and sat
back on the stool, hands to her lap, sighing in satisfaction at her own
accomplishment.
And Hugh applauded.
She startled, turned and snared him
in her amber gaze.
That striking color, he had not
expected. Hazel would have been his first assumption because it would
complement the river of rich auburn that was her hair. Grey, even, to match the
faint tones of pink on her cheeks or the blush on her lips. But the tawny was
riveting.
“Sir?” She cast glances from him to
Breyer.
The proprietor scurried forward,
clapping himself. “Wunderbar, wunderbar.
Permit me to introduce you.”
Hugh strode forward himself,
ignoring the demands of etiquette. “Allow me to say how marvelous that was.” How gorgeous you are. How accomplished.
“Oh, I—I thank you, sir.” She
managed to get to her feet, pushing back the stool and clasping her hands
together. “I dabble—“
“On the contrary, you are a
musician of talent.”
“She composes,” Herr Breyer said
with as much pride as if she were his prodigy.
“Do you? How enchanting.” He stood
over her now. She was taller than most women, the top of that terrifying hat
reaching his chin. She was lovelier than most, too, her complexion flawless
ivory and brightened by the warmth of the shop’s fire. Or was she flustered by
his surreptitious observation of her?
Whatever the cause, he wanted her
at ease.
“Forgive me for startling you.” He
took her hand and stunned as she was, she let him. “I do not usually shock
women.”
Those compelling eyes of hers
melted to mellow tones, even as she sought to retrieve her hand from his. “That
is good to know, sir.”
Hugh kept her hand in his. “I had
told Herr Breyer long ago I wished to hear someone play this instrument who had
the ability to draw out its full potential. I did not expect my wish to be
fulfilled by accident nor to see such a lovely woman do me the honor.”
“Oh, sir, thank you. You are too
kind.” She blushed, her cheeks turning a delicate rose.
The porcelain perfection of her
skin suffused with a fair tint that inspired him to imagine her breasts
budding, her body bare to him. He smiled at her, hopefully covering his
magnetic attraction to her with some politesse. Certainly, her talent and her
beauty belied her diminished means. She was a study in dramatic contrasts. And
soldier, spy, peer of the realm that he was, he was rarely fascinated by a
person. Hardly ever by a woman.
“I have heard many play,” he told
her, “but few with such verve.” Or
beauty. “And Herr Breyer tells me you have not seen the composition before
you sat down here to play.”
“That’s true,” she admitted with a modesty that pleased him.
Humility was not a quality many young women cultivated, though God knew, most
should. She attempted again to pull back her hand.
Reluctantly, he let her go. “You must have had a good teacher.”
“I did, sir.” She clasped her hands together, her expression only
briefly showing relief at her escape. “My mother was accomplished.”
“She must be very proud of you.” To play so well is such a rare quality among those in society. And most
young women use it as a lure to secure a fine match. “I would be, were you
my daughter.”
She looked him over so intricately that he was certain she meant
to buy him and serve him on a platter for supper. “Sir, you are not old enough
to have a daughter.”
“Old enough,” he corrected her with a grin. “But not capable.”
She blinked, shocked at his risqué inference.
He shook his head, grimacing but apologetic. “I am not married,
you see.”
“Ah.” She inhaled, joining in on the joke. “I am certain that is a
challenge to every young lady in London.”
He sent her a look of pain.
She laughed shortly, her mirth a vibrant match to the contralto of
her speaking voice. Then she turned her attention on Breyer. “I must go, sir. I
will buy this lieder and any two
others you suggest.”
The shopkeeper took a step toward her, while Hugh warned himself
not to stare at her. Not to scare her off. “Will you play them before you buy
them?”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Her gaze flittered from Breyer to him.
He had flustered her.
Good. The feeling is
mutual.
Breyer advanced toward her. “But your cousin needs a simple song.”
“She does.” She feigned a smile at the little German, but she
returned to focus on Hugh—and her golden gaze lingered there in his. “But I
trust your judgment, Herr Breyer.”
“Please,” Hugh pleaded, “do stay. It’s rarely that one can hear
another play and enjoy it.”
Her face lit with a sudden glee that transformed her into a glittering
beauty. “I not only agree with you, sir, I have suffered myself.”
“Have you?” He took her hand once more and she allowed him the
pleasure of holding her in his care. Why
have I never suffered with you? Why have I never seen you in the same salon? “Pity.”
“Yes,” she said on a breathless whisper that fell over his skin
and seeped inside him like good Scots whisky. Her gaze locked on his until she
roused herself and yanked away. But she put a hand to the piano, as if to steady
herself. “I must go.”
No.
She firmed her mouth.
“Herr Breyer, if you please, I will buy my sheet music and leave.”
“But—but your aunt and cousin await you, do they?” Breyer asked
hope in his tone.
Was the German stalling her? Hugh examined the man. Of course, he was.
Perceptive of him to detect my interest.
Hugh had to learn her name. Where she—
“No. I am out today on my own. But they will expect me shortly,”
she told him as he disappeared into the back storage room. “You know how they are.”
“Ja, Ich weiss.”
But I don’t. “May I escort you to the tea shop
across the street? It is very cold outside and—“
“Thank you, sir, but no.” She strode toward the entrance to Breyer’s
back room and called to him. “How much will the music cost, sir?”
Hugh put his hand on her wrist. She was the most extraordinary
creature he had met in a long time. The endless parade of women who strolled
past him, whether by chance or by his mother’s plan, bored him to a raving
madness. They had neither wit nor voice other than what their mamas had
inculcated. The alternative, a paid companion, was not to his taste either.
He’d sampled a few of those abroad and the affection endured for a fortnight or
so, then turned shallow. And while he was interested in a quick relief to his
manly urges now and then, the prospect of lying down in a bed with a woman he
didn’t care for while standing up, did not appeal.
“Permit me to offer my carriage and to escort you home.”
Her attention drifted from his hand to his eyes. Her own gaze swam
in his, and he longed to place his lips there upon her lovely lids, to allow
her long red lashes to tickle his lips, to allow her perfect skin to rest
beneath his mouth.
“Thank you,” she murmured, that deep voice of hers brushing his
senses. “I mustn’t.”
“Why not?” He heard himself. His voice was a plea, a prayer.
Beneath his fingertips, she suffered a frisson. Worse, she looked
desperate. “I should not take up with a gentleman.”
He had never frightened a woman before. Chastened, he tried to
soothe her with a lopsided grin. “I doubt you take up with men who are less
than that.”
She stiffened. “I take up with none at all.”
RENDEZVOUS WITH A DUKE, Regency Romp #2
KOBO
Coming within days!
iTunes
Coming soon!
LADY
VARNEY’S RISQUE BUSINESS, Regency Romp #1
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