What a Lord Wants by Anna Harrington Book Tour and Giveaway :)
What
a Lord Wants
Capturing
the Carlisles Book 5
by
Anna Harrington
Genre:
Historical Romance
THE
ART OF SEDUCTION
Dominick
Mercer, Marquess of Ellsworth, leads a double life. In public, he’s
one of the most respected peers in England. But in private, he’s
notorious Italian painter Domenico Vincenzo, a man known as well for
his scandalous lifestyle as his visionary paintings. He’s
determined to paint a masterpiece and put his real name on it, thus
freeing him from this dual existence that’s becoming difficult to
maintain. The problem? His model is the most unusual woman he’s
ever met and the only one fit for his masterpiece. And she’s
keeping secrets of her own…
Eve
Winslow is determined to live life to its fullest by bouncing from
one madcap escapade to another. So when a misunderstanding brings her
to Vincenzo’s studio, she simply cannot refuse the adventure of
being his model, or his rakish charms. Soon Eve’s adventure turns
into scandal, and the only person who can save her is the same man
who causes her downfall—a man who refuses to put anything before
his art, including love.
“Top
pick! Sensual and arousing. Harrington spins her tale with care as
she gives her memorable characters a lively plot and depth of emotion
that captivates her fans, who can’t wait for the next chapter.”—RT
Book Reviews on When the Scoundrel Sins
"The
characters are fabulously crafted and gloriously complicated…the
author balances the dark with a light, witty humor and a sexual
tension that adds sizzle to every scene…How I Married a Marquess is
intense, satisfying, and cleverly unpredictable. Consider me a
freshly minted fan of Harrington’s style of happy ever after.”—USA
Today’s Happy Ever After blog on How I Married a
Marquess
“Harrington
creates fast-paced, lively romances with unconventional characters
and plot. For her second novel, she adds heated sensuality and a
gothic twist. There is little doubt that she is fast becoming a fan
favorite.”—RT Book
Reviews on Along Came a Rogue
**easily
read as a standalone!!**
Taking a deep
breath, Evie approached the carriage house, then hesitated. The green
double doors hung open wide, and she peered inside. She frowned. This
couldn’t be right.
A large room
filled with rows of canvases in wide-ranging sizes and in various
stages of completion greeted her. Worktables lining the walls held
brushes, jars of paint and bladders of pigments, and various metal
tools of all kinds. Through the open doors, the woody scent of
linseed oil engulfed her. A large easel stood in the middle of the
floor, facing a cream-colored chaise longue. Ellsworth’s
man had misunderstood. Clearly. Instead of sending her to the
painting, he’d sent her to a painting studio. “Good
afternoon,” a deep voice drawled from the rear of the carriage
house. And apparently
directly to the artist himself. She caught her
breath as he sauntered forward. He circled her as she stood in the
doorway, half of her in the studio and the other half wondering if
she should flee. He moved slowly, with the natural grace of an
athlete and with the deep attention of a scientist whose dark eyes
coolly assessed her. She swallowed.
No one had ever looked at her this blatantly before. And
certainly not a man so scandalously undressed in shirtsleeves and a
paint-speckled brown waistcoat, with the unbuttoned collar of his
shirt open wide enough to reveal his bare neck and the faint teasing
of dark hair on his chest. So she did what any young lady in her
situation would have done. She looked back. He was handsome, in a rugged, unkempt sort of way, and nothing at all
like the polish of Burton Williams and her gentlemen friends. His
thick, black hair spilled in an unruly mass of curls that framed his
face and accentuated the dark color of his brown eyes and the faint
scruff of a three-day old beard. His mouth tightened in concentration
as he scrutinized her, and her pulse beat faster as she stood
perfectly still, her gaze following him warily. “Eads sent you, then?” Eads … That must have been the butler’s name. “Yes.” “You’ve
done this before, then?” He stopped in front of her and folded his
arms across his chest, drawing the shirt tight across his shoulders
and giving her a glimpse of just how well developed his body was
beneath. “Never,”
she answered honestly. Usually footmen were sent to fetch important
goods. “Ellsworth’s man said that I should—” “Ellsworth?”
His face hardened. “You went to Mercer House?” She forced a
smile. “Well, yes. I mean, that is where —” “You’re
never to go there again, understand? You’re to keep absolute
silence about me and my studio.” Well, that
would be easy. “Who are you?” His eyes
narrowed for a confused beat. “You don’t know?” Then the anger
smoothed from his brow, and he laughed. The rich and deep sound spun
through her down to her toes. “I’m Domenico Vincenzo, the man
who’s going to hire you.” No. That was
impossible … He was the famous Italian painter? The man as
notorious for his scandalous lifestyle as for the erotic subjects of
his paintings? She’d been sent to the man himself!
Then the rest
of his statement slapped her — Hire her? “There’s been a mistake,” she ventured breathlessly. “There
was a lot of confusion at Mercer House, and I think —”
“The Pall
Mall picture gallery. That’s probably why Eads got confused and
sent you there first.” She blinked.
“Pardon?” “The Marquess
of Ellsworth is a patron of the Royal Academy of Arts and a noted
collector of art. The British Institution has been trying to coax him
into joining their organization, and so this year they’ve attempted
to flatter him into a membership by asking him to lend several of his
paintings to their old masters exhibition.” An amused gleam lit his
eyes. “If the porters arrived today to take the collection to Pall
Mall, then Mercer House must have been in an uproar.” Somehow she’d
lost control of the conversation. She tried again. “I’m here for
the painting.” He shook his
head. “Pigments and canvases are expensive. We’ll start with a
few sketches first to see if you have the spark to be a model before
I paint you.” Her mouth fell
open. He thought she was …? “I’m not a model.” “So you said, that you’ve never done this before. You’re an
actress or a singer, barmaid, prostitute —” “I am not!” He grimaced.
“And not at all what I expected.” Once again, he raked his gaze
up and down her body, this time much slower than before and more akin
to the one the young man had given her in the alley. While that
man-boy’s leering had set her teeth on edge, this man’s
gaze heated her from the inside out. “But you have
potential,” he murmured as he took her chin in his paint-speckled
fingers and turned her face gently to each side, studying her.
“Delicate bone structure, skin like porcelain, the slight stature
of a waif but with deceivingly ample curves …” Folding her
arms in front of those same curves, she flushed, certain that the
porcelain skin he’d complimented was now scarlet. “I don’t
think —” “Beautiful.”
Beautiful.
She stared at him, her protest forgotten. With a single word,
he’d stunned her speechless. He dropped his
hand away, then turned to step back inside the studio. He grabbed up
a pile of clothes lying across the chaise and handed them to her. “You can change behind the screen in the corner. And hurry up.”
He gestured for her to come inside. “You’ve already arrived too
late in the day. If you waste any more time, we’ll lose all of our
light.” Eve stared,
utterly bewildered, yet oddly excited as a quiet thrill curled
through her. For the first time in two months she felt energized,
adventurous, daring…alive. The roiling mix of emotions
tingled to the tips of her fingers and toes with wild anticipation.
Oh, it was simply divine! And exactly what she’d been missing from
her recently boring life. She looked at
the costume in her hand. She should stop Mr. Vincenzo right now and
explain the mistake and how she was there to retrieve a painting, not
pose for one. That she was a respectable young miss — well, as
respectable as a shipping merchant’s daughter could ever be — and
not someone who was paid to let men look at her, on stage, in a
painting, or otherwise. But if she explained herself, the precious
freedom she’d found this afternoon would be snuffed out, and the
oppressive dread would press in around her once more. Yet if she
remained … An adventure. And anyway, what harm was there in missing the breakfast and
pretending to be a model? Society women paid thousands of pounds to
have their portraits painted, and there was certainly nothing
scandalous about that. They bragged about it, in fact. No one would
ever know that she’d been here. And what was the worst that could
happen, that he would be angry with her when he learned that she knew
nothing about being a model? If he was going to be angry and send her
away anyway, then — “Well?” he
called out. “Are we going to do this or not?” With a deep
breath to tamp down the excitement coursing through her, she stepped
inside.
I love good stories that end in happily ever afters, and if they’ve made me cry along the way, even better. That’s why I love to write romances and to share those special moments. Dashing heroes, indepedent heroines, and romantic settings in a some English country estate or elegant townhouse, perhaps a masquerade...all the things I love about historical romances, all the things I hope you’ll enjoy when you read mine.
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