The WINNER of  a digital copy of THE SINNING HOUR upon its release late June is Anna Bently Tremaine! I've emailed Anna.

My Invitation to Romance blog tour is all about historical romance, and I'm thrilled to have the amazing historical romance author Elise Rome, visiting with me today. Elise writes lush and lovely Victorian romances.  Elise is soon to release her latest book, The Shining Hour, and I'm so envious because one lucky commenter is going to WIN a copy. I can't wait to read her new book, isn't the cover BEAUTIFUL! We are really lucky to get a sneak peak at her June release.

Don't keep us in suspense, tell us all about The Shinning Hour, Elise!

Thanks so much to Bronwen for inviting me to blog today!

In celebration of Bronwen’s recent release of INVITATION TO SCANDAL, I thought it would be fun to write you an invitation to THE SINNING HOUR, my first book as Elise Rome which will be out at the end of June.

*ahem* Please note that this invitation may not actually resemble a true formal invitation one might have received during the Victorian period (the era in which the book takes place).Instead, I take full advantage of the 5 Ws and H form of exposition taught to me in my middle school English class (Mrs. Crawford, you should be proud!). I also beg your forgiveness in advance for the slightly pompous solicitor inside me who wrote this invitation. I swear I never knew he existed until now. *grin*

Dearest Reader,

The pleasure of your company is hereby requested at once (immediately! ignore the laundry; send the children to bed; prepare the bubble bath and chocolate!), or rather, at your convenience upon THE SINNING HOUR’s commencement at the end of June 2012, in honor of the love story between Mr. Simon Astley and Miss Miranda Post.

Who, you may ask?

Simon Astley, the nude portraitist who immortalizes the wickedness of London’s most wicked of aristocratic darlings. He is wicked himself…or rather, he would like you to think so. For behind his hedonist mask, you see, lies a heart only the most worthy of heroines could save. Thank goodness for…

Miss Miranda Post, who answers Simon’s advertisement for a housemaid even though she looks and smells like the slum she’s been forced to live in recently. She’s no faint-of-heart miss, no swooning debutante or even determined bluestocking. She is most certainly, however, hungry and desperate. She may not realize it, but she’s also Simon Astley’s knight in shining armor, the only fair maiden with the courage and backbone to restore to our hero the hope he’s lost and show him love’s most tender of mercies.

When does this rescue take place?

Ah, there is a difficult question, for while our tale begins in September of 1850, the rescue of Simon Astley’s heart unfolds over several months.

Where?

The simplest answer would likely be in the great town of London, but even that begs the question: Which part of London? If we say in Simon Astley’s home, which is located in the West End—far away from his dark past in the East End—shall we mention the study where he first interviews and hires Miss Post? Or perhaps the studio, where he later dismisses her?
What? (Okay, I admit I am bending this W to my own purposes here. <g>)

Yes, he dismisses her. (Do not worry, dearest reader, this is not a spoiler. In fact, it will be included in the book’s new description posted upon the author’s website very soon.)

Why, you cry? Why ever should the hero do such a callous thing to the woman with whom he is falling in love?

I beg you to not think of me as cruel, but his reasons can only be learned once you answer this humble invitation.

How?

By reading the book! If you continue, you will find enclosed in this invitation Chapter One which, if I may be so bold, is a fine first course to whet your appetite until the main dish arrives…

CHAPTER ONE of THE SINNING HOUR

Simon noticed the stench of her before anything else.

His head was bent over the ledgers, his eyes aching from yet another long night with too little sleep. In retrospect, he considered that perhaps he should have exerted more caution when answering the familiar knock of his housekeeper. Perhaps he should have moved years ago to some quaint holiday resort near the sea, where the ocean’s spray drenched the air and succeeded in cloaking the foul odor of humanity. Regardless, this was his state—exhausted, unsuspecting, foolishly believing himself safe in his own house—when the study door opened and a sudden, chilling awareness settled over his skin.

The heavy rose fragrance of his housekeeper, Mrs. Dunworth, swept in first, a scent he could have recognized beneath every layer of sweat, dust, and polish she accumulated throughout the day. It was an aroma to which he'd grown accustomed over time, one he now equated with obedience and efficiency.

Something unexpected soon followed, however—something new. It found him on the opposite end of the long, dark room, sneaking through the air before he could identify the tapping across the threshold as two sets of footsteps rather than one.

Simon ceased breathing, then inhaled again, letting the rancid smell invade his nostrils. A casual flick of his wrist closed the ledgers. After making certain the movement hadn’t disturbed the plate of meat pastries on the desk’s corner, he lifted his head.

His gaze fixed on the stranger standing beside his housekeeper: a woman. At least, he assumed her to be female by evidence of the bonnet clinging to the sides of her face and the existence of the dress she wore. If he were to judge by streaks of grime and stench alone, she would have better matched the description of a gutter rat.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “What have we here, Mrs. Dunworth?”

“Another for the new maid’s position, sir.”

A talent, Mrs. Dunworth had, for being able to give an opinion on any subject without actually uttering the words. Simon already knew she disapproved of his interviewing for the new maid, despite the fact that the last ones she’d hired had fled once they discovered a bit of courage inside their prudish, supercilious little souls. Now, with nothing more than the razored precision of her reply, his housekeeper made it plain that she also objected to allowing such a woman through the kitchen entrance, let alone into his private study.[CLUE NINETEEN:NOTORIOUS]

Simon’s gaze traveled up the length of the woman’s gown, over the faded brown shawl clutched at her bodice, and probed the shadows lurking within the edges of her bonnet. His previous awareness shifted into surprise as he found her eyes lifted instead of meekly cast down, assessing him with the same amount of frankness with which he regarded her. Although her lack of deference amused him, it wasn’t this that kept him from telling Mrs. Dunworth to escort her out the door.

His fingers curled into the arms of the chair until the tips turned numb. Seconds stretched in deepening silence, yet she never once looked away. If it had only been defiance, he would have sent her back to the streets; Mrs. Dunworth was correct in believing the woman to be far from suitable for his household. But it was the emotion she tried to hide—that which showed through at the pinched corners of her mouth, in the convulsive ripple down her throat—that kept him from obeying his impulse to eject her immediately.
Defiance and desperation… Such an intriguing combination.

He tilted his head in invitation. “Come closer, Miss…?”
She stiffened. “Post.”
“Miss Post, sir,” Mrs. Dunworth corrected evenly. “And mind your curtsy.”
Simon’s gaze flicked to the right. “You may leave us, Mrs. Dunworth.”

In addition to the housekeeper's loyalty, her swift obedience made her worth every farthing he paid. After she retreated beyond the study door, he continued his examination of the woman who, contrary to Mrs. Dunworth, had made no move to accede to his wishes. She remained in the same spot as before, her face a mask of shadows, the colors of her clothing mere variations of the gloom ushered in by the waning sun. Indeed, she blended in so well with the aged paneling that he might have dismissed her as equally dull if not for her stare and that persistent, irritating odor which seemed to have now crawled inside his lungs.

Fucking hell. 
He’d have preferred hanging his head over a chimney stack for an hour.

His jaw tight, the muscles across his back and shoulders knotted painfully, Simon tensed even further in recognition of his rapidly fraying temper. And yet, despite his reaction to the almost nauseating bouquet of poverty and despair—perhaps because of it—he stifled a second impulse to send her away.

He’d believed himself safe. Because he owned a town house with gilded ceilings instead of moldering ones? Because the rooms weren’t infested with cockroaches but with servants anxious to do his bidding? The idea of safety became more ludicrous with each inhalation. Here was evidence of how near the grasping tangle of East End streets still lay, of the cobblestones made slick with blood as much as human excretion and vomited gin. Here was a warning of how far he had yet to go, of how much he had yet to do: this small, drab woman who, after probably walking a mere two or three hours, had emerged from the realm of his nightmares and brought the stench of his own private hell with her.

Gesturing lazily, Simon chose to pretend for the moment as if this reminder of his past was no more bothersome than finding a bone in a slice of mutton pie. He’d become quite adept at pretending over the years. “Well, Miss Post? Let us see you curtsy as a proper maid.”

She complied without hesitation. The movement was quick and rough, a graceless fumble of limbs and skirt. Except in terms of entertainment, Simon found it exceedingly difficult to watch. It became even more so when she tried to rise; for a moment he feared she would go tumbling to the floor, though she saved herself—and him the discomfort of having to act the hero—at the end. Finally, after she straightened, her gaze wavered only a little before locking once again with his own.

Simon steepled his fingers together. “Are you ill, Miss Post?”
“No.”
“Sir,” he reminded idly. “One would think you’ve never had occasion to curtsy before.”
Silence.
“Do you refuse to answer me?”
“You did not ask a question…sir.”

He blinked, then smiled slowly, seductive as silk. “Come closer, Miss Post,” he said, repeating his earlier instruction.
This time she did as he asked, but the single step brought her only inches nearer. Still too far away for him to discern much inside the darkness of her bonnet. There were eyes, a nose, mouth, but these were ill-defined shapes any stranger might possess.

“Closer.”
Another step.
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “You do make a convincing mouse, though regrettably I have no intention of catching you. I prefer my prey to have bathed within the past month, not to reek of refuse and stale liquor.”

At last, a satisfying response: another notch of her chin. Why he should feel such a rush of pleasure at the gesture, he knew not.

“Allow me to be specific,” he drawled, lifting a brow. “Come here, Miss Post.” He motioned toward the swath of carpet in front of his desk. All of the other curtains in the room were kept closed, but here the sun poured through the high, narrow window and framed the Savonnerie rug in a slanted rectangle of light. It was one of his favorite places in the house, serving to blind his guests while simultaneously leaving them exposed and illuminated for his regard.

Though he was willing to accommodate her smell for a little while, and though he could generously indulge her less-than-subservient demeanor—for now—he would not tolerate outright disobedience. Let her come to him and stay for his questions, or let her refuse and be sent away. He possessed neither the time nor patience for further games.
At least, not this kind.

He watched, not yet willing to be pleased, as she strode down the length of the room in answer to his summons. When she reached the ornamented center of the Savonnerie, she came to a sudden halt and, as if to compensate for her earlier failure, sank into a curtsy low enough to give homage to the Queen.

(To read the rest of Chapter One, please visit www.eliserome.com

Of all the invitations you’ve ever received, what has been your most favorite invitation of all? (Mine was to a friend’s surprise baby shower.) One random commenter will win a digital copy of THE SINNING HOUR upon its release late June.

Contest closes 15th June, and is open internationally.

WOW-This book is definitely on my list to buy upon it's release.  Thanks so much for sharing your new work with us, Elise. Don't forget to read Elise's post thoroughly for clue number nineteen in the Invitation to Romance blog tour.