This limited edition box set includes 6 scorching romances that
commemorate the 200th anniversary of the June 18, 1815 Battle of Waterloo.
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.
Coming June 18th from bestselling and
award winning historical romance authors Cerise DeLand, Sabrina York, Suzi Love, Lynne Connolly, Suzanna Medeiros and Dominique
Eastwick.
Our Blog: http://incomparablesclub.blogspot.com/
Our Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/736061146513329/
Read more about this steamy collection!
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.
Daniel Sinclair is a broken man with war wounds that are
physical and spiritual. He’s weighed down by grief and guilt and tormented by
his tarnished honor. When he meets Fia Lennox, a beautiful and brave Highland
lass in dire need of his protection, he sees in her his chance for
redemption…or utter damnation. Because despite his valiant attempts to resist
her, he cannot.
Love After Waterloo by Suzi Love
When Lady Melton and her son join Captain Belling and the last wounded soldiers evacuating from Waterloo to London, she expects clashes with army deserters but doesn’t anticipate how falling in love with the antagonistic captain will change her life.
When Lady Melton and her son join Captain Belling and the last wounded soldiers evacuating from Waterloo to London, she expects clashes with army deserters but doesn’t anticipate how falling in love with the antagonistic captain will change her life.
Paul “Lucky” Sherstone daren’t even let
his wife too close because of his headaches and the living nightmares he can’t
dispel. Hetty hardly knows the man who comes back from war, but one thing she
does know—she still wants him.
A man who is determined to fulfill his duty at the expense of his own
happiness, a woman who wants only one taste of true passion, and a case of
mistaken identity. Can Captain Edward Hathaway and Grace Kent overcome the
guilt that continues to haunt them both and find true love?
Captain Roarke Wooldridge is about to find out that sometimes love does
heal all wounds.But when his need for revenge collides with desires he never
believed he would feel again, will he be able to put aside the scars of
Waterloo to embrace his future?
READ MORE!
Interlude with a Baron
After Waterloo, Drayton
Worth watched the woman he loved suffer because of his failures.
Riddled with guilt he strives to
improve Emma Bedlow's dreadful
existence, while cursing his
never-ending desire for her. When he finally has the chance to
convince her to share his life, she refuses. No man will control her ever again. She desires only an interlude
with the charming baron. But Dray is determined to have much more.
Read an Excerpt!
Cerise
DeLand
Find
Cerise:
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Twitter: @cerisedeland
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Cerise DeLand
INTERLUDE WITH A BARON by Cerise
Deland, THE INCOMPARABLES, 6 heroes of Waterloo and the 6 Ladies They Adore by
6 Incomparable Regency Authors
Excerpt: All rights reserved.
"You're
here at last." Dexter Elgin hailed him with a wave of his hand above the
crowd. His former colleague in Wellington’s army in Spain wore his artillery
uniform, though neither of them still served in ranks. "Spotted you by
that mop of hair, Ginger."
Dray
winced at the boyish reference to his red curls. "I'm glad to offer you
speed and accuracy. Where’s Wellington?”
"In
a meeting with the Dutch. You have news of your quarry?"
“Some.”
Dray needed more absolute proof that Montroy was betraying them to the French.
“I won’t ask for an audience until I learn more. I would say though that he’s
here.”
Dex
raised his dark brown brows. “What gall.”
“Indeed.”
To spy on the British General Staff at their leisure was dastardly. But then,
what else should they expect from a man who had turned coats so many times?
“I
should not be shocked.”
“No,”
Dray agreed. Dex knew of his mission. He’d been in the meeting with Wellington
when the commander had ordered Dray to find proof of Montroy’s treachery or end
the chase once and for all. “Where else would he prosper this evening?”
“Precisely.
In the meantime, let’s get you a drink. You might even take up a set with a
lady on the floor.”
Dray
followed his friend through the crowd. He did love to dance. “Not tonight, I’m
afraid.”
“What
better way to get a full view of those present?”
Dray
smirked. “You have a point. But I’ll have that drink first.”
The
room was so crowded that working his way through the masses was a challenge.
Worse, he covered his mouth as he coughed at the nauseating mix of tobacco and
sweat, brandy and bad cologne.
"Lord
Lansdowne! Oh, we are honored, sir." The companion to the elderly countess
of Penn appeared at his side, looping her arm through his. In her cups as
usual, Janet Berwyn tried to train her eyes in his and failed. "My Lady
Penn has anticipated your arrival. So has the Duchess."
By
this she meant the hostess of this ball, the illustrious Duchess of Richmond.
But Dray knew this woman's real purpose was to waylay him and lure him to a
corner if she could. She’d tried that before. Often.
Dray
gave her a polite smile, the better to get away from her and on to his purpose.
"Good evening, Lady Berwyn. You look lovely and so far from home, too.”
"Thank
you, good sir. Always a gentleman." She tightened her fingers around his
forearm.
Damn,
she was a grasping creature. But then her actions were his fault. She had once
been in his bed and wished never to leave it, but to tie him to her with vows
and rings and her fortune in the bargain. Truth be told, he liked her
enthusiasm in bed, but sadly, nowhere else. He patted her hand, then extricated
her fingers from him. "I have business here, my lady. I must see the
Duke."
She
sighed, intemperate when she wanted attention from him. "Do you promise to
attend me after you've done your duty?"
"I cannot promise, but I will
try." She deserved that from him. After all, she had taught him much about
the needs and joys of a woman in the throes of passion.
"Very
well," she said with a pretty pout. “Go if you must."
"Come,
my lady," Dex coaxed her. "You know the value of our worth!"
Long
an old joke among his friends in the Royal Artillery, Dray's last name lent
power to his reputation as a man who had been decorated often for his bravery
on the field and off. That he was effective in military maneuvers and business,
he would have liked to have attributed to his doggedness and his analytical
skills. He measured his own worth by his profits in chemicals and spices and by
the good health and rising prosperity of the tenants on his estates.
His
value in the Royal Artillery, however, was measured by his commanding officer,
the newly minted Duke of Wellington. And that man would ask him tonight if he
had caught the traitor in their midst. And if not, when would he?
“We
have the little Corsican to defeat, Colonel.” Wellington had said to him two
days ago, his impatience with the chase doubled. “Get on with it before our
good Englishmen turn the dust of Belgium blood red.”
Now
Dray had to prove his worth quickly—or return home with his comrades in arms,
defeated by the French and despised ever more.
Dex
handed him a glass of red wine and he took it, parched from riding north for
the past two hours and attempting to stay well out of sight of Montroy.
"How
many are here?" he asked Dex. "It is a crush."
"The
Dutch general staff. Twenty or so. The Prussians, too. Another thirty.”
"The
orchestra sounds good." Too bad tonight he was not in the mood to avail
himself of the music. Dancing seemed too light-hearted for the dreariness of
the task at hand. The irony, too. How many men had the duty to prove a man a
traitor—and ruin the man’s innocent wife in the process?
"Supper
will be served soon. I hear there’s beef and fowl."
“I’m
ready.” Dray’s stomach rumbled. When had he eaten last? Breakfast was nothing
but weak tea and an old army biscuit. "Where does the Duchess get her
purveyors? Hell, we are scrambling to supply our troops. Many men are killing
the local farmers' cows and pigs."
"They
are objecting, too. Two dozen farmers came up from the south of the city today
to complain to the old man about how the English and Scots requisition their
animals."
Dray
sighed. "The price of ousting Napoleon from their land is their animals to
our service. Someday we’ll supply an army with their own food, but for now
living off the land is our only means. Better yet, we’ll decide to fight no
more wars."
Dex
nodded. "May we see that day soon.”
Dray
smiled at Dexter but froze at the vision in the far corner.
"What's
wrong?"
Dray’s
stomach turned, angry at what he saw. Anxious, he grew dismayed that the one
woman he had ever cared for would be here in the midst of preparations for the
biggest battle Europe had yet seen in thirty years. "Women. Does it not
seem obscene that we have so many women here nights before we plan a
slaughter?”
“I
agree,” Dex said, downing another swig of his wine. “But you know we may need
them to nurse the wounded. Others argue it improves morale."
"Does
it? I doubt it." The dark-haired beauty he was focused on did not appear
to be enjoying herself. In fact, she looked dismayed. Her unusual aquamarine
eyes, so large, so expressive scanned the room and came to land on the empty
wine glass in her hands. Her gown, a lustrous white column, swept down her
slight form. She was a sad angel amid this sea of brightly colored magpies
chattering to men in brassy regalia. Em,
dear woman, why the hell are you a hundred miles from London? You should be by
a fireside where it's warm and safe.
He
stifled his urge to go to her. He had business. And she was too much a
distraction. A young woman Emma’s age joined her and both smiled. Enjoying
herself, she talked with her friend and leaned back to chuckle. He rejoiced
with her. She’d known little laughter in her life. An only child, she’d grown
up with a doting mother until the woman died when Emma was twelve. Her father
had been a tyrant of the first order. Dray had the villainous evidence of that
the day that man had refused Dray’s suit and ensured in a most heinous way that
she marry a man with greater title and supposedly huge wealth.
“I
say, Dray, it’s not good for you to wish for what you cannot have.” Dex
frowned, well aware of the sad history between Dray and Miss Emma Bedlow.
Dray
drained his glass and set it on a nearby tray. "Wellington. Lead me to
him.”
Dray
focused on his mission. Better to forget
her, his step-brother Victor Cameron urged him often. “Lose yourself in
other females. You’ll find one you can adore. I promise you." The paradox
there was that Victor himself had never fallen in love with any woman, though
one couldn't predict that from the vast numbers who had graced the Marquess
Cameron's bed.
Dray
felt a tug at his sleeve. As he turned, he heard Dex warn him not to stop and
talk.
But
there stood Emma before him. Her wide-set eyes pleading, her mouth so sensual that
young bucks in London clubs had bet on how well she kissed. None of them knew.
But Dray did—and she had responded to him like a woman in love.
Dex
sighed. “I leave you alone.”
Emma
drank him in with limpid eyes. “Good evening, Lord Lansdowne. Or should I
address you as Colonel?”
He’d
not seen her since last August in Paris after her marriage. Then she appeared
at a court reception with her new bridegroom for the new Bourbon king. She was
still the ebony-haired siren whose ripe red lips and rare blue eyes made every
man stop dead in his tracks with lust. But she’d taken one look at Dray and
become subdued, teary-eyed, a gorgeous creature laid low by her father’s
shameful sale of her virtue and good name.
“Madame
le Comtesse.” Dray bowed as much for etiquette as to hide his surprise and
delight that she’d taken the risk to address him. He rose and dare not kiss her
hand. To hold it was more than temptation to crush her close and run away with
her. “You are ravishing this evening.”
“Am
I?” she asked barely above a whisper.
“Always.”
“I
do not feel lovely.”
“You
shine above all others in the room, my dear lady.”
Her
plush lips turned downward. “I live for your praise.”
Christ, if only I could give
it to you every day. “You should have it often
from your husband.”
“I’ll
savor what I gain from you.”
Complimented,
anguished, Dray dropped her hand.
She
put it to her bosom. Her eyes danced over every detail of his face. “How are
you?”
“Well.”
Broken. Lonely. “Busy.”
“I
came tonight hoping to see you.”
His
breath died in his chest. Jesus. “Em,
you must not say such things.”
“I
must.” She took a step toward him and the distance between them was much too
close to be proper.
A
purple blotch above the line of her bodice distracted him. What was that?
She
leaned closer. “Dray, listen to me. I have to tell you that I wish you to live.
To live well. To please take care the next few days. If anything were to happen
to you, I would—”
“Please,
Madame.” He stepped backward. Propriety might foster some sanity. His mind
awhirl with her sentiments, he focused on the bruise at the top of her breast.
He would kill the man who’d done that. Rip him apart in tiny pieces for it.
“Dray,
please.” She put her gloved hand atop his and squeezed. “You must live well and
laugh and love. Do it, Dray. Do it for me.”
“Em,
do not say this.”
“Why
are you talking with this man?” A tall grey-haired man stepped to Emma’s side
and wrenched her hand from Dray’s.
Dray’s
gaze bored into the crystal blue glass of his adversary’s eyes. “Take your hand
from her wrist.”
The
man snorted. “As if you have the right to tell me how to treat my wife.”
Dray
seethed. “A gentleman always has a right to protect a lady from brutality.”
“She
is mine, Lansdowne. I do with her as I wish.”
Dray
checked Em’s expression. She glared at her husband and Dray rejoiced. She had
gained courage in the past months since her father had let this creature abduct
her and ravish her, then force her to speak vows before a minister. “She is to
be treasured.”
“I
treasure her, don’t I, ma petite?”
The man said with a flare of his large nostrils.
She
wrenched her hand from her spouse’s grasp. “I’m going to our lodgings.”
Dray
said farewell to her with his heart in his eyes.
Fortunately,
her husband did not make a scene and recapture her. He shot his cuffs instead.
“Do that.”
Two
tears dribbled past her lashes to her flushed cheeks. Catching up her skirts, Emma
swallowed hard.
“She
should not be here,” Dray told her husband and she shook her head at Dray in
warning.
“She
is my loyal wife. Are you not, ma chérie?
She does as I say. And I want her here. She will be a good nurse, won’t you?”
The man gave Dray a salacious wink. “Wouldn’t you like her tending your wounds,
hmm? Bathing your…brow? Your aching—”
Filthy roué.
“Enough!”
she spat at her husband.
The
man cursed in French and caught her upper arm. “Come, come. Show us your finest
manners, wife.”
“You
show us none,” she replied.
“You’re
a little—”
Dray
seized the Comte de Rambouillet by the neck of his dusty Royal Foot Guard
uniform. Raise him another iota and Dray would have him on his tiptoes. “Shall
I dismember you here or in the street?”
With
one hand, the man caught up Emma.
She
yelped.
Grabbing
the man’s other lapel, Dray shook him. “Unhand her.”
The
man peered up at him. Since Dray had more than four inches in height and two
stone in weight on him, the bastard demurred. He released her.
With
a small cry, Emma hastened away.
Dray
peered down at her husband, the animal whom he would gladly murder with his
bare hands. “Cease your abuse of her, Montroy.”
“I
may do as I wish with my wife. No man would stop me.”
“I will.” From hurting her or our cause here, I vow I will stop you.
“Ah,
Monsieur le Baron, but then I would counter you because your pitiful heart is
broken. Touch a hair on my head and I will put it abroad that you do it to gain
her in your bed. That it was you who absconded with her and it was I who saved
her reputation and saved her from ruin.”
“As
if I would care what you say of me.”
“Certainement. You have no regard for the ton. You are a petit bourgeoisie who makes his living by trade.”
“Better
than to make it by cheating at cards.” And
by treachery.
“I
have taken what was available from men of little intelligence.”
“To
steal what is not yours and call it acceptable because it was possible is to
live a lie.”
“I
have no fears.”
Dray
thought of the firing squad that awaited Montroy when Dray finally proved the
man had betrayed not only his native country but also his adopted one. “Isn’t
that a bit short-sighted on your part?”
Henri
Montroy, the eleventh Comte de Ramboulliet, great-grandson of the Sun King,
scoffed. “Never.”
Dex
appeared at Dray’s side. “Wellington asks for you. He’s received a message of
troop movements.”
Montroy
shot Dex a look of alarm. “I must see the Duke myself.”
Dray
stared the man down. “He asks for me. But do remember, Montroy, that never is
like most absolutes, it does not exist.”
Dray
would ask Montroy how much he feared again one day soon when the skinny bastard
stood before a gallows or a firing squad.
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