Thursday, August 14, 2014

Mastering the Marquess - Blog Tour

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Written by Lavinia Kent
Published by Loveswept
July 29, 2014
ISBN: 978-0-553-39416-0

One night of fierce passion and unbound pleasure leaves two strangers craving much more in Lavinia Kent’s sumptuous novel of sensual discovery.

The time has come for the widow Louisa, Lady Brookingston, to move on, but she refuses to remarry at the cost of shaming her late husband’s memory. Their six years together were wedded bliss—even if a war injury prevented him from fulfilling his marital duties. Only one woman can help Louisa: Madame Rouge, the discreet proprietress of a club where London’s elite explore their wildest fantasies.

Geoffrey, the Marquess of Swanston, has no intention of agreeing to deflower an anonymous virgin. But when Madame Rouge tempts him with the absolute power he’ll have over a woman who knows nothing of carnal delights, he’s intrigued. Control is the one thing he cannot resist—and control is what he loses during his night with the blindfolded beauty. He longs to take her further, to leave his mark upon her perfect behind, but the mystery woman refuses to see him again. Instead Geoffrey reluctantly agrees to take a wife, the widow of his dear friend, Lord Brookingston—fating them both to a wicked surprise.

Mastering the Marquess is an erotic romance intended for mature audiences.

(Chapter Three)
The handle on the door turned and he stepped in.
She had only the impression of largeness and gray silk before she hurriedly shut her eyes.
She wasn’t ready. Heat rose on her face. She would tell him it was a mistake, tell him she’d made a mistake.
“Is everything to your liking?” His voice filled the room, vibrating about her, husky and deep, a river cascading over rocks.
She opened one eye and saw his mask, white cotton and plaster covering his whole face, dark, unruly curls rising above it. She remembered what Madame had said, how she’d worked to ensure Louisa both privacy and comfort. “Can you see anything?”
“Not a thing. There is a halo of light at the periphery of my vision, but that is all.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t see her. See this silly, transparent gown. See the deep rose darkening her cheeks.
“I’ll ask again: Do you like what you see? Is everything to your liking?”
Louisa opened her other eye—and stared. He couldn’t see her. He didn’t know if she was staring at him or at the ceiling. She could look as much as she wanted and nobody would ever know.
It was freeing in a way she had never imagined.
He was large. Well, not so much large as tall. She’d never considered herself short, but next to him she felt small, fragile. And she was in her bare feet. Not even an inch of heel to help.
She stepped forward and looked at his feet. They weren’t bare, but shod in black velvet slippers. Very large—almost huge—black velvet slippers. They didn’t add much height, but still . . .
“Take off your shoes?” she said.
“What?” Had he growled?
“Would you please take off your slippers?”
What was so difficult about this? A minute ago she’d felt free, and now suddenly she felt she was doing something wrong. Perhaps men didn’t take off their shoes when they . . . She’d always thought they did, but perhaps she’d been wrong. She’d never really thought about it. She was sure that they didn’t need to take off their shoes to use their—their penises. She should have asked Madame more questions. Madame was correct: She did need more experience if she was ever to pretend to having had a normal marriage. “I am sorry, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, if you don’t normally . . . I really don’t know . . . I just thought . . . You’re just so tall . . . I thought you’d be less frightening without your slippers. I don’t know why. I guess feet seemed calming.”
“Feet seem calming?” His growl turned to a chuckle.
“Are you going to question everything I say?” This was not going at all the way she had planned—in fact, she could never have imagined its going like this. She turned and paced away, trying to decide what to do next.
“Don’t go,” he said.
“I thought you said you couldn’t see.” She turned back, suddenly frightened.
“I can’t, but I can hear.”
Had she made noise? She supposed even with bare feet there’d be some soft treading upon the carpet. “Oh.” She stood there not knowing what to do next. She’d hardly glanced at him beyond his slippers.
She let her gaze slide up. Black trousers. Silk. Very loose, not at all the normal fit. And a robe—gray, some type of brocade. Very thick and soft. That was what she’d seen when he’d first come in.
“Do you still wish me to remove my slippers? Will it make you feel more at ease? Even without seeing I can feel how stiff you are.”
He could? “Yes, please, but only if you customarily do. I want everything to be normal.”
Normal. I told Ruby I wasn’t the man for this,” he said in a whisper surely not meant for her ears. And then much louder, “I can assure you that I do remove my shoes, although on occasion I enjoy keeping on my boots.”
She swallowed and hoped he couldn’t hear. He kept on his boots? Shoes she could almost understand, but boots? Why would a man wear boots when he . . .


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About Lavinia Kent
Lavinia Kent is a former two-term president of the Washington Romance Writers and a four-time Romance Writers of America Golden Heart nominee. She lives in Washington, D.C., with her family and an ever-changing menagerie of pets.

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