Monday, March 21, 2011


LADY RAMSEY'S RIBALD CHOICES is a free read included in the back of the book, LADY FEATHERSTONE'S FERVENT AFFAIR.
LADY FEATHERSTONE is the 2nd in my STANHOPE CHALLENGE series, which has been in the top 10 best-sellers on 3 different sites for more than 8 months! (yeah. you read that right. 8 months. 3 lists.)
Color me tickled.
So. You need a nibble of Lady Ramsey's story, don't you? After all, she is a part of the Stanhope clan, their half sister, in fact.
Copyright 2010, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.
Here you go:

At twenty-eight, Lady Ramsey had the distinct privilege of possessing her two deceased husbands’ fortunes, a house in Grosvenor Square, two in the country and a set of race horses who had served as stud to so many mares that she had begun to hire them out to service her neighbors’ breeding programs.

Just before the demise of her second husband, she had broached a novel idea with the old roué. To her surprise, he agreed that for her excellent service to him and his appetites for her cunny and her breasts, she should secure some kind of continued joy for herself after his passing. She did not want to breed. No, no. But she did wish to enjoy herself before she lost her lustrous blonde looks and healthy buxom body. Thus the old man had immediately set about interviewing and hiring staff who would aid her in her quest.

With one butler and his assistant, plus a male cook who also served as man-of-all-work, her masculine household’s uniqueness was noted by the ton. Indeed, her household became a notorious topic and a bane to her more conventional half-brothers, Adam, Wes and Jack Stanhope.

But she told herself she could not care overmuch. Her dear brothers were not exactly paragons of sexual virtue and in fact, lived up the demands of the males in the family that they be accomplished lovers. She, too, was a Stanhope, after all, and could flaunt convention as her ancestors had. True, too, she was also a by-blow of the eighth earl, Lord John, and thus not only on the other side of the blanket but entitled to act like it if she wished. And she did sincerely wish. Plus, like her brothers, she would never find happiness in love or marriage. She was a victim of the family curse that damned all love affairs within the family bounds. So why then should she not give herself what happiness she might take?

Thus tonight, after burying her husband in July and allowing herself two more months to train and be trained by her new staff, Clarice shivered in anticipation of her initiation into a new world of carnal delights. A world described to her by her butler and his assistant. A world she craved for the lonely days of her existence. For if love was not her destiny, if marriage an impossibility and a prison of its own making, if children not her goal, then pleasure would be.

Tonight was her first evening. She trembled deliciously as she rose from her bathtub, stepped over the porcelain rim to the floor and allowed her butler to wrap her naked body in a heated bath towel.

“Thank you, Robert,” she smiled at the man whom her husband had hired for her to embark on the search for her own ecstasies. She adored the man’s luscious swarthy looks, the breadth of his shoulders, the bulk of his arms and his experience as a colonel in the Iberian Campaign. A colleague of her brother Wes, Robert had acquired a leg wound that left him with a slight limp.

“Madam,” he said in homage with that baritone she felt stroke her spine in velvet tones. “You may want to use the French lavender perfume this evening.”

“Really?” she admired his sculpted mouth and allowed her praise to emanate from her eyes. “Where would you suggest I apply it tonight?” she asked. He always had ideas that titillated her senses.

“For the Baron DeVere, I would say the hollow of your breasts.” His voice rumbled as his umber gaze traveled from one areola to the other and sank to the valley between.

“And for Lord Landover?” she asked, recalling that Robert and Landover were childhood friends.

“The hollow between your buttocks.” Robert’s hell-dark gaze locked on hers.

“He likes a woman’s nether place, does he?” she pressed her thighs together as cream flooded her cunny at the prospect.

“Very much. He can show you the joys of it like no other man. You are prepared for this?” he asked, his muscular arms embracing her as he circled and ran his hands down her backbone to cup her cheeks, define the cleft between them, and press inside her asshole with one long index finger.

“I am.”


  1. Wow what a great honor! Congrats.

  2. I simply must retrain my
    Cerise, thank you for the extra steamy excerpt this morning and big congratulations on your Top Ten placings for 8 months in a row!! It's wonderful.
    XXOO Kat

  3. Thanks to my buddies. BUTLERs are men, first of all. WHY did I forget that?


Thanks for leaving a comment.