Everyone loves a wedding...

Nothing lifts our hearts like the joyous peal of wedding bells. Or the sight of a happy couple being showered with confetti and good wishes. Now the most exciting new names in romantic fiction and the bestselling author who started it all -escort you down the aisle to a place of honor at four glorious celebrations of everlasting love:

KATHLEEN E. WOODIWISS reintroduces us to the beloved characters from THE FLAME AND THE FLOWER including Jeff Birmingham, who seals an impetuous proposal with one brief, precious and passionate kiss.

CATHERINE ANDERSON calls us to meet a tempestuous pair of wild western hearts, in a tale of a frontier revenge that backfires.

LORETTA CHASE melts our hearts with a story of an unconventional young woman's offer of marriage to a "mad" and presumed dying earl.

LISA KLEYPAS shows us how true love will always win in a romance about one stubborn lady -and the persistent suitor who opens her heart.

So come join the celebration and experience THREE WEDDINGS AND A KISS

Love for now...and always.

Heart pounding in her throat, Rachel Constantine stared at her intended victim as he drew abreast of her on the opposite boardwalk. She would have been pleased to see him stagger just a little, anything to assure her he had indeed been drugged. As it was, it was difficult to tell he'd even had anything to drink.

With a sigh, she plucked her wire-framed spectacles from her nose and stashed them in her skirt pocket. From here on, she would have to settle for looking at Rafferty through a blur. Better that than risk being seen wearing eyeglasses. Most men didn't find ladies with poor eyesight attractive, and for tonight, at least, it was vitally important that Rachel be a femme fatale. Drat! Why did he look so sober? Had something gone wrong inside the saloon? Maybe he wasn't drugged, after all. just the thought made her pulse race even faster and her knees go weak.

Biting her lip, she casta glance at the saloon. To her relief, she saw Dora Faye standing inside the doors, signaling just as they had planned, to let her know everything had gone smoothly. Unless Matt Rafferty had the constitution of an ox, he would be unconscious in a few minutes. Rachel smiled into the darkness. From her hiding place in the shadows, it would do no good to wave back at her friend, so she made a mental note to stop by the saloon tomorrow to thank Dora Faye profusely. None of this would have been possible without her help.

As Rafferty moved past the mercantile, he slowed to a stop, standing 'in silhouette against the moon-washed glass. Rachel squinted to see him better, then wished she hadn't. He seemed taller than she remembered, maybe a little broader across the chest and shoulders as well. just a trick of moonlight and shadow, she assured herself. Don't go letting your nerves get the best of YOU.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. Matt Rafferty was walking, talking trouble, definitely not the type a decent young woman approached without some measure of trepidation. Nevertheless, the man couldn't be allowed to go around humiliating young girls and breaking their hearts. At the very least, he deserved to be taken to task. Because her fourteen-year-old sister Molly was his latest victim, Rachel felt that it was her job to do just that. Hence, the plan she'd concocted with Dora Faye's assistance.

As surefooted as a prospector's mule, Rafferty stepped off the boardwalk to cross the street. Watching him come toward her, Rachel felt her mouth go dry. This was it. Going down the list of dos and don'ts Dora Faye had given her, she stepped out from the shadow of the general store. "Well, hello, Mr. Rafferty!" she called, trying for a flirtatious twitter. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Evidently taken off guard, he broke stride and came to a slow stop. Without her eyeglasses, Rachel knew she tended to look a bit owlish, so she tried not to open her eyes too wide. As she closed the distance between them, his blurry edges took on better definition. No doubt about it, the man was bigger than she cared to admit.

"Rachel Constantine? Rachel Constantine, the marshal's daughter?"

Giving a throaty laugh, just as Dora Faye had taught her, she said, "How many Rachel Constantines do you think there are in Shady Comers, a baker's dozen?"

He seemed baffled by the question. Clearly, his thought processes were muddled, a sign the valerian Dora Faye had put in his whiskey was taking effect.

She drew up a few feet shy of him and struck a -seductive pose. It was hard to remember all that Dora Faye had taught her-how to move, stand, and smile.

"Trust me, sir," she informed him in a twittery little voice, "there is only one Rachel Constantine, My pa says that after me, they broke the mold."