What a Lord Wants
Capturing the Carlisles Book 5
by Anna Harrington
Genre:
Historical Romance
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…
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.
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
—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
—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
—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.
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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