The More I Read. . .

Do you remember that part in Disney's The Jungle Book where Kaa (brought to life by the very mellow, slightly Southern accented voice of Sterling Holloway) hypnotizes Mowgli in order to, well, eat him? That's very much like the reading experience I had while reading An Old Passion by Robyn Donald and, truthfully, like quite a lot of those old skool HPs. Like Kaa, they have their "subtle little ways" and before you know it, I'm humming "trust in me, just in me" just like Kaa.

An Old Passion is my latest adventure in HP Land, and it's the first Robyn Donald book I've read so I really wasn't sure what to expect. I'd heard things, but still there's nothing like first hand experience. It has so many of those not-so-subtle "little ways" that make HPs so fascinating: a particularly virulently violent alpha hero, angsty goodness, childhood friends to lovers, lovers reunited after a separation trope, a secret love affair, tons of jealousy, an unexpected pregnancy (yes, I say that with a straight face) a particularly annoying and pitiful other woman, way too many punitive kisses, several scenes bordering on forced seduction, a hint of a past forced seduction or outright rape, and a heroine who, for reasons unknown and not understandable to me, begins to make excuses and/or rationalizes the hero's emotional/physical abuse about half way through the book. Despite all the Harley cray cray, Robyn Donald is an excellent writer, and for reasons I'm still not completely sure of I kept reading and cackling madly. Mostly. 

The bottom line for these two characters seems to be what happens when two people share an obsessive and destructive love/passion. Because Merrin Mowatt Sinclair and Blase Stanhope have that kind of relationship, one that I'm still not completely convinced will survive long term. My crystal ball is telling me that these two will have a team of lawyers and divorce decree looming at some point on the horizon or a team of lawyers defending one or the other against a first degree murder charge. Or failing that, multiple divorces/remarriages a la Liz Taylor and Richard Burton - constant bickering, making up, bickering again, divorcing, wooing and wedding, repeat and rinse. At any rate, I suspect there will be no matrimonial happy ever after pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.

In a nutshell, here's the background: Merrin has been in love with Blase since forever, and despite all the reasons they should not have, they begin a secret affair when she is 17 and he is 23. In Harleyland that's not that bad, nothing to raise the eyebrows to the hair level at all. But Blase is a pseudo "family" member much like an "older brother" to Merrin for much of their shared pasts, a person in authority as her "boss" as well as a "master/servant" relationship in the way she is subservient to him and his aunt. Merrin's position is one that straddles the internal class system at Blackrocks, being neither fish (not a true member of the family) nor fowl (not a true servant/employee) which leaves her vulnerably open to be exploited by someone in position of authority. Anyway, it's the unequal power dynamics that are so troubling. She was the orphan daughter of Blackrocks Station's head shepherd, lived in the same house as "almost" one of the family, and was employed by Blase as his "secretary-cum-housemaid."

Their secret affair gets the kibosh when Blase's cousin, Terry, steals the payroll to buy drugs and frames Merrin for it. He not only stages it so that it appears she gave him the money, but he makes it appear they were lovers. Which makes Blase well, very blaze-y. Merrin tries to tell him that she was watching TV with his aunt, went to her bedroom, discovered Terry putting the key to the safe back in the drawer she kept it. That the kiss he witnessed as well as Terry's damning "Thanks for the money, honey" was all a lie. Unfortunately, Aunt Hope lies to protect her son, Terry, about Merrin being with her, and just like that Blase is the injured party if you can believe it.

What follows is a week in hell for Merrin (beginning with "You little slut!" then seven days of intensely insidious physical and emotional terrorism inflicted on Merrin), an under-cover-of-darkness lucky escape on a bus, an "unexpected" pregnancy, an ill-advised marriage, sexual frigidity, alcoholism, physical violence, a miscarriage, a suicide, and an unhealthy dose of guilt, grief, and overwhelming sadness. I, for one, was glad she ran despite her tragic marriage to Paul Sinclair. After all, how long would Blase have continued with his "sadistic" cruelty and to what lengths it would have escalated doesn't bear thinking about. I do believe he raped her during that week. Phew! And that's all in Chapter 1. *humming* Trust in meeeeee.... Just in meeeee..... I can feel Kaa's coils creeping up, tightening all around me but am powerless to fight.

Following her year of hell, Merrin has been working as an assistant/secretary to a well-known writer, Ellis Kimber, famous for his best-selling thrillers for five years. In that time she has grown in confidence, poise, maturity, and is content, if not happy. Until Ellis announces they will be visiting an old college chum up in the Northlands, the owner of a place called Blackrocks Station, Blase Stanhope. Dun dun duuuuunnn.

One thing about these old Harleys especially the Presents line is that the titles very rarely, if ever, have the word "billionaire" in them and most of the titles are actually, you know, relevant to the characters and the story as well as being lyrical. I love seeing it's relationship to how the romance plays out. An Old Passion follows this tradition very well.

The phrase "an old passion" was taken from a poem by Ernest Dowson, "Non Sum Qualis eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae" ("I am not as I was in the reign of good Cinara" or so Google says.) aka "The Cynara Poem" for philistines like myself. Mr. Dowson borrowed his title from a snippet of Horace's Odes, and the poem also gave birth to the title of Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind. But, fiddle-dee-dee, I'll think about that tomorrow. Blase references the poem first, after yet another of his diabolically cruel "private" conversations with Merrin in which he tells her three very important things:

1.  He hates and despises her (yes, "hates" and "despises" are the word he uses.)
2.  She was a fool to return to Blackrocks. Well, duh.
3.  He would give a "a few years of [his] life to (...) indulge this degrading passion" to screw her silly until he is satiated, to "force" her body and brain "to give up every secret, to become nothing more than an instrument of pleasure" to him.

That's some sexy talk right there, isn't it? Rwar! Let me think about this a minute. With all those tenderly passionate inducements and words of love, why, she wouldn't even need Marvin Gaye crooning "Sexual Healing" to get her in the mood. Though another old song "He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)" was rolling around in my brain. But it's not sex he wants here, it's control, power, revenge. He wants to reduce her to an object without a mind, without emotions. She would be no more than a blow-up sex doll to be used and discarded. Yeah, like that's a big turn on. And he follows up with a quote from Dowson's poem:

'Never anyone like you,' he said on a sigh, mouth twisted in cynical bitterness. 'Never since, never before. I look at you and like the poet said, I'm desolate and sick of an old passion.'

Oh, she knew how he felt, knew too the quotation, 'I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion,' she whispered, knowing now that for them there could be nothing ahead but the ashes of the dead past.

He smiled, cruel mouth without humour. 'Oh, that, too,' he agreed. 'Like committing adultery, each time a nasty taste in the mouth.' (104)

And as is his usual modus operandi, Blase follows his version of sweet nuthins with a "crushing" kiss, overpowering and controlling her physically - a hand painfully tangled in her hair to hold her still, his other hand manacling her wrists, his body heavy on hers preventing any movement - until she stops protesting. He's very good at using his physical strength against her. I lost count of kisses that bruise, cut, and subdue; of the way he appears to hold her hand but is really purposefully and stealthily crushing her fingers until the tips turn white. He wants and needs to hurt her in all ways. Physical harm alone isn't quite satisfying enough, he has to verbally savage her, flail her with words - demeaning, degrading, dismissive, humiliating words. Just don't get me started on how many times he was lying in wait for Merrin in her bedroom or alone in a car or in a secluded spot at Blackrocks to show her exactly how little he thought of her, always using sex as a weapon.

So. I did not like Blase. At all. What a dick. In fact, if he was on fire, I wouldn't spit on him to put it out. But unbelievably this is where Merrin begins to excuse his behavior, to rationalize, to take the blame upon herself for his bitterness, his hatred, his thirst for revenge. Somehow she, the victim, is to blame. Again. And still those HP coils would not let me go.

Here's just a sampling of Merrin's mixed up thoughts:

He had been hurt, six years ago, wounded in some vulnerable part of him so much that he could still only cope with it by hating the innocent cause. Her return had opened the scar, releasing the poison of years. Perhaps after he had humiliated her enough he would be able to love again.

And yet, if she could see him love again, his wounds healed, she would go out of his life happy with that. She had not intended to hurt him, but perhaps it had been inevitable. He had always been possessive, and where there is jealousy there is pain.

It was Blase's self-esteem which had been shattered by what he believed to be her betrayal, and it had been further shattered when he discovered her marriage. (103)

Later, Merrin invokes Dowson's poem after Ellis reprimands her for not being merciful or compassionate or forgiving of Blase as he thinks she should be, and she rakes herself over the coals for holding out against Blase's onslaught. Let's just allow that to sink in for a minute.

What kind of hunger was this, this unbearable starving need? Strong enough to bind them together after six years, consummated not just once but scores of times over a year, and yet still it was not satisfied. (...) Merrin turned her head into the pillow, remembering the lines:

'I cried for madder music and stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara!'

Perhaps Blase was right. Perhaps they should become lovers once more in the hope of ridding themselves of this degrading passion, for degrading it was. No greater shame could be imagined than to love a man who not only despised her but despised himself for wanting her. (165)

After all this, you might have thought I would have pitched this lovely little piece of misogynistic claptrap and victim shaming/blaming against the wall. But I didn't. It shames me to admit that I kept turning pages faster and faster. Trust in me, just in me... I had to get to the bitter end to see if/how this crazy train was going off the rails or not. I had to get to that happy part of HP Land, if there was going to be one, where all conflicts are resolved, where the future looks, if not bright and happy, at least hopeful, where the dick hero pulls that secret weapon from his hip pocket - THE BIG GROVEL - to convince poor HP heroine that he loves her, wants her, that he's abjectly sorry for putting both of them (but mostly her) through hell. Yeah, I'm still waiting for that to happen. I am not hopeful. I am not convinced he loves her or she him. There was no BIG grovel. At all. But I am finally awake and conscious and free of Kaa's, er, An Old Passion's mesmerizing cray cray and running for the hills.

And what of love and happiness for Blase and Merrin? Well, in the words of an immortal philosopher "What's love got to do with it?" Blase admits that he would have "killed" her if he'd been the one to find her after her when she ran. Thank God for private detectives. How's that love in any form or fashion? I hope Merrin gets the counseling she needs desperately. And Blase? Well, I would love to kick his ass into Tuesday, but maybe Amazon has an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator just like Marvin the Martian's. Zap! 

I've seen a lot of coloring books for adults at bookstores recently, but I haven't succumbed to the temptation. Yet. Now it looks like Mills & Boon is coming out with just such a thing in May of this year based on the art in The Art of Romance and sharing the same title. I have the non-coloring book edition and have really enjoyed the historical aspect of cover art for M&B. While all of the covers may not be included, I hope the ones below make it in there. 

Kind of makes me want to break out a brand new ginormous box of Crayola crayons in all their 64 technicolor majesty with a built-in sharpener and channel my inner five-year old. You can read all about the coloring book  here. 

One of the things I love to search for when reading Betty Neels romances is where and how exactly the title comes into play. And it almost always is hidden in a bit of dialogue or in some internal musings by the heroine. In The Promise of Happiness, it comes late in the book and well after the "Rich Dutch Doctor", Baron Tiele Raukema van den Eck, falls in love with a plain, skinny little mouse of a girl, Becky Saunders:

‘They were all surprises for me,’ he told her, which explained nothing, and put his coffee cup down. ‘You’re growing into quite a pretty girl, Becky.’

She shook her head sadly. ‘No, I’m not, thank you all the same.’ She added quite fiercely: ‘I wish I were beautiful, so that everyone stared at me…’

She looked away, ashamed of her outburst so that she didn’t see his smile.

‘There are so many kinds of beauty—have you ever looked in a small hidden pool in a wood, Becky? It’s full of beauty, but it’s not in the least spectacular, only restful and quiet and neverendingly fascinating.’ He got up and wandered to the door. ‘Someone said— and I’ve forgotten who - ‘‘Beauty is nothing other than the promise of happiness.’’ That’s very true, you know.’

He put out an arm and pulled her close and kissed her gently. ‘Good night, my pretty little mouse.’

A remark which gave Becky a sleepless night. (188)

Though Baron van den Eck cannot remember who said it, the quote - "Beauty is only the promise of happiness" - is from Stendhal's On Love, a series of essays in which Stendhal examines love generally (all while mixing in culture, history, politics and literature) and specifically by trying to exorcise his obsession with an Italian countess who was allegedly not amused by his attentions. The story behind his "crystallization" concept as it applies to love and falling in love is both poetic and weird with an implication of love having an illusory quality, an idealization as well as an unhealthy sense of "perfection" is bestowed on the beloved. Stendhal latched on to the idea while visiting the salt-mines at Salzburg. Miners toss a leafless branch into the works during winter, the salt water works its magic, and in summer, a plain, brown twig is transformed into something which appears to be "scintillating", "dazzling", a "diamond-studded bough" covered in salt crystals. What was once plain is now beautiful. I'm more in the camp of "one sees clearly only with the heart." Physical beauty is just one element and is subjective, but seeing with the heart allows us to look beneath the surface to see honor, strength, humor, honesty, confidence, generosity and a million other reasons why we love. It's the entirety of the relationship that makes lovers see the other as unique and beautiful.

Becky is one of my all-time favorite Neels' heroines. Why? Well, because when we first meet Becky, she's sopping wet, schlepping along the lonely and drizzling moors before dawn with a battle-scarred cat named Pooch in a plastic bag, an old black Labrador retriever named Bertie trudging slowly beside her, and "a pitifully small sum in her purse." She's running away from home, of course, after overhearing her wicked stepbrother, Basil, tell his mother that he intends to murder Becky's pets (drowning for Pooch, shooting for Bertie). Becky, a trained nurse, has for the last year or so been the unpaid housekeeper and general dogsbody to wicked stepmother and evil stepbrother. The only reason she stayed was to ensure Pooch and Bertie were unharmed, but overhearing their fate compels her to take them and run with £30 6p she has saved. She could be depressed. Downtrodden. Morose. Miserable. Overwhelmed. Did I say depressed? But she's none of those things. Instead, she and her faithful friends are finally free. She is optimistic without being a Pollyanna, and happy despite her problems. She has a plan. She is resourceful and refuses to go down without a fight. I love her. She has gumption. How heroic is that?

Of course, it's not a case of love at first sight for dear Tiele. He sees Becky for the first time when she is at her lowest, least attractive point:

She offered a wet hand and he shook it, still with an air of amusement. She really was a nondescript little thing, no make-up and far too thin—her pansy brown eyes looked huge and there were hollows in her cheeks, and her hair was so wet he could hardly tell its colour. (8)

To continue Stendhal's analogy, Becky is just a brown twig at this point without those glittering diamonds of salt crystals to dazzle and mesmerize. Though there's not one bit of sparkle on Becky for Tiele at this point, he has been kindness itself - offering her a lift in his honking Rolls, paying for her meal, treating her pets with amused and gentle tolerance, and offering her a job as a personal nurse to his mother who's recuperating from a broken leg. Over the next weeks, Becky, with regular meals, begins to gain the weight she lost and the Baroness's compassion helps her build up some much needed confidence. Of course, Tiele's sister does a pretty fine job of knocking her down, but Becky holds her own.

The girl’s smile deepened. ‘You said she was plain,’ she observed to her brother. ‘A half starved mouse.’

He gave Becky another look. ‘And so she was—it must be the food and the fresh air.’ He gave Becky a bland smile. ‘You filled out very nicely, Becky.’

He was impossible! Becky hated him, although she didn’t hate him in the same way as she hated Basil. There was a difference, like hating a thunderstorm and something nasty under an upturned stone…

‘If you have finished discussing me,’ she said haughtily, ‘I’ll tell the Baroness that you’re here.’ At the door she paused to say: ‘Such manners!’ (63)

You just have to love her. And if that's not bad enough, Tiele expounds on his thin mouse statement in a later overheard conversation with his mother:

The Baroness looked at him thoughtfully. ‘No,’ she said at length, ‘the child has pitifully few things to put into a bag, she has bought almost no clothes since we have been here.’

‘Very sensible of her. She’s presumably saving for her future comfort.’

‘Don’t you like her?’

He laughed gently. ‘It depends what you mean by that, Mama. I like Becky, she’s a good nurse, and she’s gone through a nasty patch, but she’s hardly a beauty, is she? and her conversation hardly sparkles. Shall we say that she’s not quite my type—I’m not attracted to thin mice."

It was a pity that Becky heard him as she came back into the room. The self-confidence she had so painfully built up since she had been with the Baroness oozed out of her sensible shoes and her face went rigid in an effort to compose it to a suitably unaware expression. (68)

Yes, I know eavesdroppers never hear good things. Blah, blah, blah. But how utterly heartbreakingly painful is that? You can say "sticks and stones, etc" till the cows come home, but words really can hurt and harm. So very sad. Still no sparkle. Still not dazzling. Still just a plain old brown twig. But wait! This is Becky the Valkyrie-in-training. She's not about to take that lying down. Besides, Tiele will be hearing those words parroted back to him until he is sick unto death of them and wishing he'd never allowed the thought to cross his mind, much less say those hurtful things, before any snogging begins and wedding bells chime.

Somewhere after a side trip to Molde is when Becky begins to topple the Baron from his lofty turret of arrogance down into the murky moat to mingle with mere mortals. Could it have began when she called dear Baron on his unfortunate remarks about her thin, mousy person? Or possibly when he realizes that this rather nondescript little female was not going to allow him to use her as a doormat? An object to be taken for granted? Or maybe it was learning that there was more to Becky than her outward appearance? Or maybe it really was her creamy skin and large dark eyes? All of the above? Hard to say for sure, but Becky certainly captured his attention.

"You don't like thin mice," Becky reminded him coldly.

His eyes twinkled and his smile very nearly made her change her mind about him. "I'm not sure about that any more." He eyes her without haste. "And you aren't so thin, you know." (75)

In Stendhal's On Love, he offers an example of which lover a man falls in love with when given the choice between a woman of great beauty and a woman who is thin and scarred from small pox. It surprises him that his friend falls in love with the thin, scarred woman. Love has its reasons, after all. Baron-Not-So-Charming, too, has a choice: the coldly glamorous and tousled blonde Nina van Doorn (I always read that as 'Doom' for some reason.) and plain, mousy, thin Becky. Now Becky isn't a hag or anything, but she is a bit malnourished and just not. . .flashy. Of course, Becky found a place in the Baron's heart instead of Nina van Doorn, who is ideally beautiful but lacking in the character and compassion departments.

Becky is independent, honest to a fault, and dauntless. She should have been the true fish out of water but settles into a city comfortably where everything is twice as hard for her - the language, the customs, a job which is challenging even without the extra stress of being contingent upon her fitting in. She does it all, and without complaint. It doesn't take Tiele too long to begin making the comparisons between Nina and Becky with Becky coming out on top. In fact it is Tiele who is the fish out of water, reeling with emotions Becky lets loose in him. What follows - midnight snacks in the kitchen with buttered rolls and coffee, a quick stolen kiss as Becky passes him in the doorway, an impulsive and impromptu visit at her flat along with an improvised picnic including a sweet Moselle to drink (which he detests but Becky loves), and one toe-curling kiss culminates with Becky's dawning realization that she's in love with the Baron and the Baron fleeing her flat like the hounds of hell were on his tail.

One of my favorite scenes shows exactly how far Tiele has come from his "I am not attracted to thin mice" comment, and is shortly after THE KISS. Things are tense between Becky and the Baron after she blurts out in an alcoholic haze (it was the Baron's best Napoleon brandy that did it!) that Nina is not the wife for him. That bit of honesty only earns her a blast of icy anger and frozen hauteur that freezes her on the spot. She begins to avoid him, but contrarily he won't allow it. When Tiele insists he and Nina give Becky a ride back to her flat and then on to the hospital, the only one satisfied with this situation is Tiele. Clearly neither lady is happy about being pushed into each other's company.

She couldn’t walk away because he had taken her by the arm. Now he turned and said something to Nina which made that young lady sizzle with temper. ‘I’ve told Nina that she can wait if she likes to. Let’s go up.’

But before he did he took the ignition key out of the car and put it into a pocket, blandly ignoring both girls’ astonished faces.

Inside the flat he sat down, watching Becky putting food out and opening the door on to the balcony. ‘And let me assure you, Becky, that I don’t find Nina’s behaviour towards you in the least funny. I’m not sure what I find it.’ He bent to lift an impatient Pooch on to his knee. ‘That’s not quite true, but there is no time to discuss it now. Are you ready?’

Nina had gone by the time they reached the car. ‘Get in front,’ begged the Baron. ‘We can talk shop until we get to the hospital.’

Which they did in a comfortable casual fashion, brought to an end when they were crossing the vast entrance hall together.

‘I should prefer it if you were to call me Tiele,’ said the Baron apropos nothing.

Becky would have stopped if he had given her the chance, but as he didn’t she contented herself with a long look at him. ‘Quite impossible—you’re a Baron and a doctor, and I worked for you…’

‘I wish you wouldn’t keep throwing Baron at me in that inflexible fashion; I was Tiele first, you know. Besides, you told me that you liked me…’

She marched on, not looking at him, her cheeks glowing. ‘I like you, too, Becky.’ His voice was beguiling.

She said stonily: ‘Yes, I know. I heard you telling your mother that in Trondheim—you liked me, but I wasn’t your cup of tea.’

‘And I was quite right—but I do believe that you’re my glass of champagne, Becky.’ (173-174)

*sigh* Isn't that just lovely? From thin mouse to a glass of champagne. I think that means he loves the girl. Despite Stendhal's crystallization craziness, that little quote about beauty and the promise of happiness is quite lyrical and somewhat analogous to the long and winding road Baron Doctor (or is it Doctor Baron?) van den Eck travels to get to the point of really seeing, appreciating and, yes, loving his plain little mouse, Becky Saunders. Tiele comes to know Becky, with knowing her comes loving her and in loving her a fulfillment of the promise of happiness.

I loved One-Eyed Dukes Are Wild, my third book by Megan Frampton. But then, there is such a lot to love about a rather introverted, awkward, very proper but not very eloquent Duke with an eye patch and a young lady who is not afraid to blaze her own path in the world.

I loved Lasham. I loved his very proper demeanor - carefully and correctly groomed within an inch of his ducal self - from the top of his head to the toe of his shiny boots - with not a whisper of scandal attached to his name. How refreshing it is to read about a Duke who is neither especially glib nor eloquent nor especially comfortable being the center of attention at ton events. More, I loved how he had this hidden very sweet, very irreverent (at times) and funny internal dialogue going on in his head that was at odds with how he is perceived by those who do not know him. Like the conversation of sorts he has with Lady Dearwood and her fellow "amateur daubists" at the National Gallery:

"Are you a fan of the visual arts, Your Grace?" She gestured to the group. "We are here for our monthly visit, we come once a month" - as the phrase "monthly visit" would imply, Lasham thought - "to gaze upon the majestic beauty of the pictures and become inspired in our own artistic efforts." She leaned forward, as though confiding in him. He resisted the urge to draw back. "We are all amateur daubists, you see, Your Grace."

"I see," Lasham replied, wishing he hadn't given in to his desire to visit the gallery today himself.

(...)"Are you a painter yourself, Your Grace

?" Lady Dearwood's voice interrupted his thoughts. Just as well, it wasn't as though he could actually have any of the things he had been imagining.

"No, I just -" How to say it without sounding as though he were as insufferably pompous as Lady Margaret no doubt thought he was, although these ladies might be pleased at how ducal his approbation - or lack thereof - was. "I appreciate art." And left his words sitting there, hanging awkwardly in the air between them.

Wonderful, Lasham, he thought. No wonder he usually kept silent in company beyond the minimum of polite conversation. He was clearly terrible at saying anything without sounding like a prig, a snob, or a . . .or a duke. (27-28)

I really enjoyed the surprise of his piratical, rakish appearance hinting that he is mad, bad, and dangerous to know but that he is in reality quite different. An introvert.

And when had he become this awkward thing who didn't know what to do with himself?

Ah, of course. He could answer that, even if he didn't know where he should be standing at this exact moment. Forever. He had been this awkward for as long as he could recall, from first being sent off to school and then at his family's various homes, and in the House of Lords.

Always wondering just where he fit in, knowing he did, of course, because of what he was, but never because of who he was. (204)

And, I loved how Lady Margaret Sawford loosened him up a little and mussed him up a bit - the way she boldly discards his carefully tied cravat, ruffles his hair, and leads him into one adventure after another - from acting as 'the muscle' when she ventures into dangerous areas of London, to calming a rabble rousing crowd in dusty pubs, to dancing the night away at a dance hall, and to smoldering kisses in the back of the carriage.

"I was thinking that if you were amenable, we could enter into a reciprocal arrangement."

A what? And why did that sound both scandalous and wonderful?

He couldn't mean what Margaret immediately though he meant.

"What kind of arrangement?" she asked, acutely aware of Annie snoozing in the corner. Just as she'd thought, however, Annie emitted a soft snore that was either an actual snore, or the kind of snore she might emit if she wanted her mistress to continue an inappropriate conversation.

He glanced over at her, a spark of - mischief? - in his eye. "I have come to realize that I am not perhaps the most adventurous of souls." He turned away to gaze out of the window on the other side of the carriage. "In fact, some have accused me of being a stick-in-the-mud. If you would, I would like you to accompany me on some . . . adventures." (122)

For me watching a very proper man unravel and let go a bit is a fascinating and very satisfying reading experience. Like Sebastien in Judy Cuevas's Dance and here with the Duke of Lasham. I truly loved Lady Margaret for the way she took a very painful and embarrassing thing like Lasham's given name (which is a mystery even to Margaret for a good bit) and made him laugh at himself and at the ones who teased him about it, and even turned his hated name into a term of endearment.

"Why did your father choose Vortigern, anyway?"

Now it was his turn to groan. "He thought his son should have the name of a ruler. Why he didn't just choose George or William or even Arthur is beyond me."

"I like it. It's different."

"That it is. You can't imagine what young boys can do to turn your name into an insult."

Margaret laughed. "I can't imagine. Tell me."

"Wartigern was one of the most popular ones. Fartigern was also a big favorite. Hern, a few times. Then, Gernie for some reason. That one doesn't make sense, but it was used nonetheless."

"Gern sounds as though it is a boulder or something - 'The trees are just a few paces past the gern.' Like that." She hoped he would laugh.

Thank goodness he did. "Or something that is unpleasant, like an illness - 'The gern was responsible for three farmers' illnesses; hopefully it is cleared up now. That gern can be a nasty business.'"

She laughed, delighted he was comfortable enough with her to join in with the joke.

"You can't gern here, you have to go over there if you want to," she said, adopting a broad London accent. (254-255)

Margaret affectionately teases Lasham about his name when she takes him to Cremorne Gardens. Though he has absolutely no idea where he's going or what Cremorne Gardens is, he's comfortable with her, and trusts her, and is determined to step outside his comfort zone.

He settled back inside and nodded to her: "On our way. A garden, you say?"

"Much more than that," she replied. "It's got restaurants, and balloon ascents, and dancing pavilions. It will be too early for dancing, but we can wander about for a bit, perhaps find something to eat, like oysters or eel pie." Her eyes sparkled in delight, and he found himself smiling in response, even though he most definitely did not want an eel pie.

"It sounds enjoyable," he replied, trying to keep his voice from being stiff.

"It is, Gernie," she said, her face alight with anticipation. (280)

Lasham's given name is not the only mystery surrounding him. There's also the matter of how he lost his eye. Many possibilities are bandied about - in battle, a duel over a lady, a riding accident, an object tossed through a window, even an encounter with a bear.

I enjoyed watching Lasham's confidence in himself grow and how pleased he is when he recognizes he is not nearly as tied in knots as he was before he met Margaret. His progress is very evident in his encounter with Lady Dearwood's at her soirée:

"Thank you for the invitation," Lasham replied. "It is a lovely night for a party, isn't it?"

Lady Dearwood's expression faltered. In truth, it was raining quite hard, so much so that Lasham's feet were squeaking because of the water that had gotten into his shoes on the short walk from the carriage to the house.

"It is, Your Grace," she said firmly. Apparently she'd decided it was better to agree with the duke than debate how "a lovely night" would be defined.

"And this is a lovely party," he continued, deliberately using the same word so as to make his entire opinion suspect in her eyes.

When had he got so devious? And more to the point, why hadn't he started before? It was fun to watch Lady Dearwood wrestle with the information that he had just provided - that he categorized a rainy evening and an evening party into the same description, which must mean . . .

He saw when she gave up parsing it. "Your Grace, the beverage table is over there, and of course, I can summon someone to fetch a glass, if you could tell me what you prefer." (295-296)

For a man who struggled mightily choosing the right words for any given social situation, this is progress indeed for him to control a tedious, unwanted social encounter by injecting a heaping dollop of his own particular brand of devilish humor. I was cheering him on actually. Lasham will probably never enjoy being the center of attention, but he's learned to manage his discomfort and take a bit of fun along the way.

I was almost as invested in the outcome of the "Georgiana and the Dragon" (authored by A Lady of Mystery, aka Lady Margaret), the tasty little snippets that led off each chapter as I was in the slow-building romance between Margaret and 'Gernie." I enjoyed how these passages served as a whisper of things to come between Margaret and Lasham, and I did wonder if Margaret and Lasham didn't share more than a little with the dragon who did not want to be a man.

One-Eyed Dukes Are Wild is a mix of light and frothy with a little serious food for thought thrown in. I especially appreciated how the story of the "Absolutely Unattainable, Not To Be Wanted Anyway, Piratical and Awkward Duke" and the "Slightly Scandalous Lady of Mystery" kicks off with such simple, yet thought-provoking questions: "What would you do if you could do anything you wanted?" What is happiness? How do you find happiness? I think the best answer is what Vortigern discovers:

"There is a difference between not knowing what happiness is and not being happy, though, you understand," he said, gripping her shoulder more tightly to punctuate his words. "I might have been happy. I am, I suppose, sometimes." When I am with you. "I just am not certain what it is, precisely. Or how to recognize it when it occurs to me."

She drew back from him, her mouth curling into a warm, soft smile. "That is why we are adventuring, is it not? Happiness is an adventure. Does this," she said, gesturing to the hall behind them, still filled with dancing couples and loud music and chatter and common folk, "make you happy?"

He glanced over her head at the hall, then returned his gaze back to her and slide his hand down her arm to take her hand in his. "It does," he replied, hoping she understood precisely what he was trying to say. (222)

The Vampire Viscount by Karen Harbaugh 2.5 stars

I was interested in reading this because I read somewhere that this was the first "vampire" Regency so I guess it has some historical value, but it was a little disappointing because there didn't seem to be much substance to the developing romance. Nicholas, Viscount St. Vire, is the eponymous vampire, searching for a "willing" and "virginal" bride. She must be both according to the spell in the ancient grimoire he found in order to, well, I'm not exactly sure what his goal is, but here are a couple of choices:
a. Preserve him from the insanity which infects vampires after so many years
b. Reverse the vampire curse and return him to being a mortal man
c. Both a and b.

Sheesh, sorry to say I'm not very sure which one led him to seek a bride because it changed throughout the book. At any rate Leonore Farleigh is sold to the Vicount St. Vire as payment for her father's gambling debts, they meet, they court, and they wed. Nicholas is a bit vain, a bit of a flirt, and seemed only interested in Leonore for the "cure" he sought.

I never got the impression he fell in love with her at all. Leonore falls in love very hard and because she believes Nicholas to be gravely ill, this added a mixture of angst and frustration. Angst because she truly loves him and can't imagine life without him and worries about his pale complexion and inability to withstand sunlight. Frustration because you know he's just deceiving Leonore about so many things. When his "maker", Mercia, reappears in his life to make mayhem, things really fell apart for me. I lost count of how many times Leonore offers to help him, begs him to be honest with her, etc, but when he does (finally!), she turns from him. She wishy-washyed (is that even a word?) around so much that I finally just lost patience and couldn't wait for the final confrontation to be over.

The HIghland Countess by Marion Chesney 4.5 stars

I loved this one because of its surprising depth of characterization, the way it grabbed my attention right away and wouldn't let go, the way the many characters in this book could have been stereotypical and boring but were not. Though Morag is a "virgin wife/widow", the reasons for her sterile marriage made sense to me. The old Earl, her husband and a hound dog who was apparently, uh, stymied by a lady's genteel manner and could only respond to serving wenches and scullery maids, had fathered illegitimate children all over the Scottish countryside but when it came to bedding his wife... Well, he did try at least. Lord Toby and Morag's star-crossed romance really added a lot of humor as well as tension and conflict, especially when Lord Toby believes Morag is more sexually experienced than she is. There is a very funny but frustrating scene (because of the repercussions) in which the old Earl demands Morag pull his abscessed tooth. When Toby, already half in love with Morag despite her married state, skulks around the earl's apartments and overhears a bed creaking, "grunts of exertion and the earl's wild groans culminating in a great shout of relief" and then Morag's laugh, he assumes the sweet, innocent Morag is really a lying, scheming, licentious harpy. Uh, Toby dude. Even if she was shaking the sheets with the Earl (AND SHE WASN'T), they're married for crying out loud. Yes, it's a BIG MIS, and yes, it causes the two to separate for several years, but it was written with such great fun, a big wink really from the writer, that it was more for comic effect and not nearly so frustrating as it could have been. The old Earl showed surprising compassion for Morag's broken heart, and I found myself liking him more than I thought possible.

The star of the book, however, is Rory, the old Earl's son by a maid who is adopted by Morag and the Earl and passed off as their son. Rory is a brat who terrorizes the serving staff and wraps Morag around his little finger so tightly that she can't see his faults. He lies and cheats with equanimity and without fear of retribution from Morag, and he's not above a spot of blackmail to get what he wants. The best description of the little 7-year-old terror was this line: "It was like looking into the hard,flat calculating eyes of a forty-year-old dwarf." He should have been the most disagreeable little fictional moppet I'd ever read and ruined the book for me (lesser evil children have done so in the past), but he did not. Rory was a little scene-stealer who eventually is redeemed very believably. I'm not sure he'll ever be a "nice" boy or man, but he would be a very interesting to know.

The Promise of Happiness by Betty Neels 5 stars

Because it's Betty Neels doing what Betty did so well: great Cinderella story for a truly heroic "thin mouse" of a girl, Becky, her Rich Dutch Doctor rescuer/Baron not-so-Charming, Tiele Raukema van den Eck (say that three times as fast as you can!), an old dog named Bertie, a cat named Pooch, a mean stepmother, and a serial-killer-in-the-making stepbrother named Basil, who apparently gets his kicks torturing and killing animals. This has some great "vintage Betty" moments like Becky overhearing Tiele telling his mom he's "not attracted to thin mice"and Baron not-so-charming ogling that thin mouse's behind a few weeks later, the evil other woman who didn't cause too much heartburn/ache, and a sweet proposal in a tea room under the watchful eyes of a "fierce dragon with a light hand at pastry." Loved it!

Sister To Meryl by Nerina Hilliard 2 stars

This one has everything except the kitchen sink: Spoiled rotten younger sister, (Meryl) deluded older sister (Christine) who really believes Meryl is angel, a not so asshat-y, very misunderstood & lonely millionaire playboy archaeologist (Julian Galveston) alpha hero (You are mine/You belong to me featured in his vocabulary several times) falling in love at first sight despite the "loathing" in her eyes, hero's "magnificent rearguard" defense against South American natives (This whole episode just made my eyebrows say hello to my hairline for some reason. It was so OTT in the melodrama and just so outlandish.), hero laying near death after being peppered with poisoned darts, suffering a cracked head, and then amnesia. Heroine's dawning realization of love over H's death bed and a grand finale of an almost BIG MIS that's quickly defused and honestly should have been taken care of long before the last 10 pages.

I think Christine's stupidity, bullheadedness, blind prejudice and willful, blissful ignorance about Meryl just turned me off from the beginning. Did I say she was intractable? It colored every interaction between Christine and Julian, and it was the flimsy reason behind all the misunderstandings. Oh, this one had all the HQ cray cray but very little satisfaction for me.

The Savage Marquess by Marion Chesney 4 stars

I enjoyed this so much! Marion Chesney (M.C. Beaton) has a wonderful writing style that made the pages zip by. Rockingham wasn't as savage as I imagined though he did drunkenly ride his horse through his front door and up the staircase (causing the horse so much distress that a horse-sized mess was deposited on the stairs), and he does throw things like an inkwell or three and, um, bacchanalian parties. That temper, his drinking, and his infamous parties has resulted in a constant turnover in household servants. Now he has no servants, no agency will send applicants his way, and his home is a pigsty. It's such a miserable hellhole even he can't abide in it for long. He wants to restore order to his home, have a house full of servants to clean up after him, and, yes, it's time he went about the business of begetting heirs. Somehow Rockingham must acquire a bride though no one wants him. Except Lucinda Westerville.

I loved Lucinda who appears at first to be merely a gentle, subdued, very quiet woman but she also has a spine of steel and quirky sense of humor. After Rockingham deserts her right after the wedding for partaying hardy in gay Paree, Lucinda rolls up her sleeves and tackles Berkeley Square, Number 205, like a Green Bay Packer tackling the running back of the opposing team during playoffs. First order of business is showing dear mama-in-law who the new boss is. When the Duchess of Barnshire, Rockingham's mother, descends upon the house, demanding the whereabouts of her son and insulting Lucinda, Lucinda lets her have it with both barrels:

"Your grace, your son went off directly after our wedding, leaving me alone in a house without either food or servants. I have much to do. I suggest you take your leave and I shall inform my husband on his return of your call. He will no doubt be pleased to explain his reasons for marrying me."

The duchess stood up, quivering with rage. "You are a nobody, my pert miss. A nobody. And if you had any hopes of cutting a dash with the ton, you had best forget it. No one will receive you without my approval. No one."

"Good," said Lucinda. "For Rockingham's idea of a pigsty for a home is not mine, and he has left me much work to do. Humphrey, the door. Her grace is just leaving." (92-93)

Lucinda has, as my mother always said, gumption. I like the way she began as she meant to go on. I admit I was a bit surprised by Rockingham's ex-mistress's bloodthirstiness, and the murder of a lady's maid as well as the attempted murder of another felt a little jarring in the midst of this Regency "romp." Lucinda and Rockingham have great chemistry together, and the way these two work out their differences and fall in love was a delight.

The Vintner's Luck by Elizabeth Knox 20 million stars

So there's absolutely no way I have inside me what's needed to do justice to this book. At least not right now. It's emotionally gripping and sad and lovely and filled with some of the most beautiful prose I've read in a long time. All I can say is that I read it in two sittings, the last one ending at about 2:00 a.m. this morning. It's a book that left me questioning and pondering some pretty heavy questions about heaven and hell and all points in between, God and Satan, good and evil, angels and demons, what it means to be human, what love is in all its forms. Plus, the structure of the book, centered around winemaking, its processes and its jargon, added so much to the central story of Sabron the vintner and his angel, Xas. At some point, I hope that I can write a proper review, but it's still too close in my mind and my heart. I hope you take a chance and read this marvelously unique and thought-provoking book.

Leigh Dormet is 25, a secretary/assistant to the CEO and owner of Meredith's (some type of unspecified factory), from a large family (3 younger sisters and a brother) of red heads (except for younger sister, Stella. More on Stella in a bit), engaged to love of her life Bruce Jermyn ("dear, big, clumsy Bruce" who everyone except Leigh sees as a man who needs to "lean on" someone stronger than he is). Bruce popped the question at Ricki's diner in front of the tea urn whereupon Ricki decided to gift the couple with "Ernie" (the tea urn) when they marry. She is the perfect secretary: efficient, calm, cool, impersonal. So much so that to her boss she blends right in with the filing cabinets, desks, and typewriters. I kind of like that Nerina Hilliard was flipping the boss-secretary trope so popular with those early Harlequins by having neither one of these characters think "romantically" of the other at all. In fact, Ruiz notes that Leigh is "no believer in the secretary-boss romance." *wink wink*

Ruiz Diego Palea de Aldoret is 34, said CEO and owner of Meredith's of the unspecified factory, has been estranged from his only family, an elderly but forceful grandfather, in Mexico for 10 years. As a young man he met and decided to marry the love of his life, Mercedes Lastro, "a dancer in a less than third rate cabaret", but grandfather would not hear of a dancer becoming mistress of Carastrona and mother of any future Aldorets so he gave Ruiz an ultimatum: Forfeit the tart or your heritage. He chose Mercedes.

Unfortunately, she valued Ruiz's money and position more than she valued him because when she found out he'd been disinherited, Mercedes danced right out of Ruiz's life while he's out buying flowers for their wedding. Mercedes did a reverse Harlequin equivalent of "Honey, I'm going out to get cigarettes" but then is never heard from again, leaving poor Ruiz heartbroken, wiser, and more cynical. So Ruiz leaves Mexico and travels to his mother's family in England where he inherits Meredith's. To Leigh, Ruiz is not romantic despite his Latin good looks. In fact, she declares there's "more romance in the leg of a chair" than in Ruiz's whole body. Why, he "wouldn't know how to make love to a girl if he tried", and, in fact, to him, women are "useful appendages for holding pencils and such like, to take down letters and attend to other clerical duties of the firm." He is most likely a "woman-hater" and a "walking iceberg." I'm not sure he's a woman-hater, but he definitely had no desire to marry especially after the fiasco with Mercedes.

And then two things happen to shake up the status quo: Stella, Leigh's beautiful younger sister by one year, with her glossy raven hair (the only one in this family of redheads), the acknowledged "beauty of the family" and film star extraordinaire comes home to Korveston Heights for a visit. Stella is pretty close to being a sociopath in my opinion. She cares for no one except herself, she uses her beauty to charm others into doing what she wants them to do, admits to herself that she has no "feelings" for her family (or anyone, really) except for the way they stroke her vanity and ego. Only two characters see Stella for what and who she really is: Kerry, Leigh's best friend, and the large white family dog named Leigh affectionately describes as the League of Nations but answering to "Snooks." Stella seems to have no conscience at all and has a history of taking the things Leigh loves for her own merely to ruin and destroy them once her interest in them has waned. Like the teddy bear (found later with eyes ripped out and stuffing erupting from its belly) or Leigh's beloved doll (minus the head, it's china body smashed). So what does Leigh have now that Stella wants? Bruce, the fiancé. Dear, big, clumsy Bruce. And like Lola, whatever Stella wants, Stella gets.

So Stella throws out her lures, and Bruce is caught in her net very easily. A more appropriate marine/fishing analogy would be Stella the Shark gobbles up Bruce the chum in about five minutes flat. I really admired Leigh for her self-sacrificial nature, but giving up Bruce and breaking her engagement so that her "beloved" sister would be happy bordered on martyrdom, I think. The only thing I enjoyed about this is that I knew Bruce was going to try to stick like glue to Stella so that seemed just desserts for her treachery and betrayal.

The other event is a letter Ruiz receives from his grandfather's attorney, advising him of his grandfather's death and that he has inherited Carastrano, the family estate in Mexico, after all. With one proviso: Ruiz must marry within three months or lose it all. Again. Fate can be so cruel in these Harlequins at times. But Ruiz discovers a loophole. He must marry but nothing in the will says he must stay married. So he concocts a business proposition type of proposal and immediately thinks of Leigh as fitting his requirements of a temporary wife to a T, "cool, so composed she sometimes hardly seemed human."

"...a girl who would be willing to enter into such a cold-blooded arrangement, a girl who was enough like him to have no use or place in her life for romance and who could be counted on to keep sentimentality out of the arrangement for the time they would have to spend together in Mexico." (27)

Ruiz calls her into his office and puts the proposition to her. I found this passage pretty funny as Leigh has no idea the reason he buzzes for her to come into his office. She brings her steno pad and pencils and "automatically took down what he said without actually realizing what it was." Of course, she turns him down, explaining that she's already engaged which floors Ruiz as he was sure she not capable of feeling the finer emotions like love and passion. But after she catches Stella and Bruce together, Ruiz's proposal is an answer to her prayer, a way to let Bruce go so that Stella will not feel guilty. (Oh woman, please! Stella wouldn't know what guilt was if it bit her on her shapely and firm little rump!) So Leigh breaks with Bruce, accepts Ruiz's proposal except she asks him to make it look like a "love match", which is another kind of authorial flip on the boss-secretary romance, with the truth of their union known only to them. Before long, however, their "secret" is not really a secret after all - Leigh ends up spilling the beans to both Kerry and Bruce. Plus, even Tess, Leigh's youngest sister, smells a rat too. Stella, of course, didn't just fall off the turnip truck so her radar is picking up blips like crazy.

I really liked Dark Star quite a lot. I liked that the romance between Leigh and Ruiz was slow and steady, not insta-lust. They really got to know the people behind their respective professional masks and learned they had more in common that at first thought. As they get to know each other, their mutual attraction grows naturally from that point so it felt realistic and one of a longer-lasting nature.

There were parts of Dark Star that reminded me of a few Betty Neels' books. The large rambunctious, loving family (except for Stella), the dog Snooks and the way he exuberantly greets the Dermot family members (except for Stella), Flix the cat and her ginger and white kittens in the kitchen (who wisely ignores Stella), and the village/suburb of Korveston Heights across the river from the more modern "semi-metropolis" Korveston. Nerina Hilliard juxtaposes the sleepy old market town with its more modern counterpart of tall buildings and bustling businesses.

The old town still existed, on the other side of the river - which was still as sleepy and meandering as it had always been - but facing it, with the old and new again in evidence, this time in the shape of the old wooden bridge and the modern steel structure, were the tall buildings of the new town centre, with its luxury flats as well as its office buildings, it's smart shops and large suburbs, with their neat little streets of houses, but on the other side of the river, further out, were the older suburbs, still retaining their rural, tranquil air. Some of them were even like detached, independent little villages, even to the traditional village gossip.

Korveston Heights was one of the latter, regarding modern Korveston somewhat in the light of a precocious child that had sprung up while the mother's back was turned. It was here, on top of one of the highest hills, known throughout the whole of the Heights, that the Dermot house, with is quaint name of Jingletop, was built. It was a friendly house, constructed of weathered grey stone and rambling all over the hill top, as if it had grown rather than been planned, standing in its own somewhat overgrown grounds. (65)

Plus, Ruiz gives Leigh a sapphire engagement ring worthy of any Rich Dutch Doctor engagement ring in a Betty Neels book. The only thing lacking were a few faithful family retainers for the Dermots and a WI meeting at the vicar's house. Since I'm a HUGE Neels fan, this made my romance reader's heart feel like it was coming home.

The foreshadowing of the upheaval Leigh was to face with Bruce and Stella's love affair, when she discovers her sister in her fiancée's arms in a very "compromising" position and the trouble Ruiz and Leigh have to face as a couple before getting to the "and they live happily ever after", though not subtle, was very effective at adding quite a bit of tension and conflict. During Stella's two-week visit, Leigh began to have feelings that something was off between her and Bruce, that something was just not quite right. Until THAT DAY. Dun Dun Duuun!

Then everything changed...everything became different."

The house seemed quiet and still when she arrived home. Julie and her mother had intended to go to a film during the afternoon and had apparently not yet returned. The twins were remaining a little late at school practising for some parade. By the quietness, Stella was also out or she was lying down, or perhaps reading.

Leigh opened the lounge door.(41)

Now, of course, you know what she saw. But still, my heart was sad for Leigh. Sad, that is until she decided she would be magnanimous and self-sacrificing, giving up her true love/teddy bear/favorite doll so that Stella could find happiness. As I said, these are not exactly subtle hints of an upcoming time of turmoil (I experienced a similar reaction to the very circuitous path the damning letter in The Scars Shall Fade took to land in the hands of Andrew Dalwin) but still effective in ratcheting up the tension.

Or like the fortune teller at Teotihuacan Leigh visits while on her honeymoon who tells her ominously that "sadness mists the water", "...there is a dark star in your life, my child, and not until it has set can the sun rise and lasting happiness take its place." Dark star, Stella. Stella, dark star. Well, you see what I mean.

I chuckled a bit at the two conversations Ruiz overhears about himself at Ricki's diner and his consternation at the way Leigh has sold him short. Leigh details quite elaborately how Ruiz does not fit her ideal of a romantic hero, and he is forced to sit and listen to all his deficiencies in the sexy boss department. I laughed a bit reading about the "hooter" that sounds off to signal lunch and quitting time at Merediths. I really loved that both Ruiz and Leigh don't allow Stella's poison to separate them. In fact, they kind of double team her manipulations and schemes. Leigh finally sees Stella clearly and in time to decide to fight for the man she loves. Of course, Ruiz comes to the same conclusion at just about the same time and throws that hussy right out on her keister PDQ when he's presented with proof that she is out to sabotage his relationship with the woman he loves.

I enjoyed Dark Star tremendously. It's a charming book with a fair amount of angst, surprising depth of the characterization (despite the one-dimensional quality of evil other woman, Stella) of the main characters in such a short book, and a really sweet romance. I'm not sure why I had only ever read The Scars Shall Fade by Nerina Hilliard, but I am definitely going to keep my eyes open for used copies of the scant half dozen or so of her other Harlequins that I haven't read.

Ugh! What an execrable title for such a good book! I've read a few reviews of HTSAB that were really quite critical of Daisy and Lee. But for me, these two are the shiny bits in this book. Though the story is not so unique as far as historicals go, I loved both Daisy and Lee and found them each unforgettable in their own separate ways as well as together.

Daisy Tanner is unusual in that she is a convict who was transported to Botany Bay in New South Wales because she aided her father in poaching from a neighbor's estate. On board the ship, her father essentially ordered 16-year-old Daisy to marry one of the guards, the brutish much older Tanner, who would "protect" her from the other guards and prisoners. But Tanner sorely abused the young Daisy, and thankfully she has been widowed for two years and looked forward to enjoying her freedom. But Daisy is very attractive and very rich and is soon beset by any and all eligible males in Botany Bay trying to lure her into wedlock or affairs of the heart. So she decides the only way she'll be left alone is to marry again but only a certain type of man, a husband who won't be interested in all that "cuddling and knocking nonsense." Yes, she has issues regarding physical intimacy. She returns to England to find just that man, the "bookish, reclusive" Geoffrey Sauvage, Earl of Egremont, a man with a "gentle nature" and one man she considered a friend at Botany Bay. To Daisy, he is perfect for two reasons: he is much older than she and thus not interested in sex (or so she believes) and he already has an heir.

She didn't plan to marry for love or money, just for security and a place to belong, a place where she could stay on in peace, unmolested. She'd never be free until she was married, and then if she had a husband who simply cared for her like a father or a friend, it would be bliss. (41-42)

Daisy has justifiable reasons to be bitter and cynical - Tanner shouted, ordered, beat and struck her for speaking and then again for not speaking, for a million and one reasons known only to him but mostly he hit her "for being who she was", a a young lady of "superior breeding, knowledge, and spirit." But she is neither bitter nor cynical. Instead, she has an indomitable spirit, is honest to a fault, bright, cheerful, exuberant even, but with a very healthy dose of realism. Daisy knows what's what. I really did fall in love with her almost immediately.

Leland Grant, Viscount Haye, has a way with women. I loved that he is not handsome in the accepted sense of the word. Instead, he is just past 30, tall, very thin, "with a long, bony, elegant face, and was languid and affected in speech and movement." Though he appears not to have a care for anything, Leland is a kind and gentle man with an even stronger "sense of justice." He also has a reputed "killing wit." I confess, I loved his sense of humor which more often than not was directed at himself. For instance, when the Earl of Egremont introduces him to an old friend from Botany Bay, a beautiful and seductive actress, Leland takes advantage of their mutual attraction and pursues the actress. But he heeds Geoffrey's amused warning not to drink anything she doesn't drink first. The next day, he learns that the actress had a "fair hand with a lethal flying object" not poison as Geoffrey implied.

Leland laughed. "Score one for you! I took your bait and ran with it. Though we parted on amicable terms, she must have thought me a strange fellow, because brave I may be, but I didn't dare take wine with her." (15)

His attraction to the opposite sex is puzzling to most people, even, at times, to his friend, Geoffrey.

"I don't know how you do it, Lee," he commented as the butler went to show his guest in. "But you have a profound effect on females."

Leland wore a rueful expression. He shrugged. "Actually I don't know why, either. I see no reason why a lovely creature like that should fling herself at ridiculous, long-nosed, affected creature like me. It can't have been for money. She isn't a courtesan; she has talent and fame and earns a comfortable living. Mind, I do have my ways, and if I set a trap I expect to catch something. If I don't, I start worrying why anyone would want to catch me. It's what made me effective in France when I went there on His Majesty's behalf. I suppose it's also why I'm still single." (16)

Leland is soon lassoed into helping Daisy find a suitable companion for respectability, locate proper lodgings, and ordering new gowns. Leland, you see, is also a "tulip of the ton", the "very pinnacle of frivolous knowledge." And, willing or not, he is fascinated by Daisy. Daisy, in turn, recognizes the curiosity and amusement in his watchful eyes and admits that he makes her "uncomfortable" though she's not sure exactly why.

The banter and badinage between Daisy and Leland made me smile time after time. When Geoffrey asks about her plans now that she's back in London, it turns into a back and forth between her and Leland, with Daisy playing her cards close to her vest about any marital possibilities.

"That's just it," she said. "I don't know. My greatest plan was to get here. I can't believe that I actually did that. Now? I suppose I want to find a place for myself."

"Not a husband?" a cool, amused voice drawled. "That is what most single females I know are after."

"But I'm not one of them, am I?" She replied as sweetly. "And you don't know me."

"Alas, my loss, which I feel more acutely each moment," the viscount said, a hand on his heart.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "How many ladies do you number among your acquaintances who were jailed and then sent to the Antipodes? Not a whole lot, I'd wager," she said with a roguish wink at Geoff. (29)

For the first time in a long time, Leland is surprised that a woman appears not to be interested in him. Instead, she has eyes only for Geoffrey. I enjoyed the part where Daffyd, Lee's half brother, teases him about Daisy's lack of interest in him, comparing his haughty look to his "famous offended camel look."

When a mysterious person brings a charge of murder against Daisy and produces a witness to that murder of her first husband Tanner, the only way to protect her from jail or transportation again is for her to be married to someone whose name and title can protect her. Daisy is then forced to choose between Geoffrey and Leland. I really wasn't sure which man she would choose as the entire passage leading up to her marriage was written in such an ambiguous fashion so as to keep you guessing until you know for sure which man is the groom and which is the best man. Of course, by the time Daisy and Leland are married and alone for the first time as man and wife, she is a bundle of nerves. Leland doesn't help matters when he undresses down to his skin in front of her, and then his trademark self-deprecating humor comes to the rescue once again even as Daisy begins to worry about a naked male body and how it can be used as a weapon.

He emerged from the dressing room holding two nightshirts. One was plain and white, the other was cream-colored with embroidery on the neck.

"Now this one," he said, holding it up in front of him, "is classic. Very simple, very tasteful. But this one," he said, switching hands and holding up the other, "is the latest word in France, or so I hear. Which do you like?"

"I don't know," she managed to say. "Either."

"Well, to tell you the truth I don't care for either," he told her. "You see, I don't like to sleep in anything but my skin, but I am trying to be sensible of your sensibilities. Wait a moment, I think I have just the thing!"

He disappeared into the dressing room, and came out holding his hands out as though he'd just pulled a rabbit from a hat, like a magician on the stage about to take a bow. Now he wore a colorful red silk dressing gown, sashed in gold. "Voila!" he said. He turned for her, head high, nose in the air, like a fashion model at madame's shop. "What do you think?"

She didn't know what to say.

"I agree," he said sadly. "Outrageously opulent, not my style at all."

He turned, very dejected, to go back to the dressing room.

"Wait!" she said. "Do you really think what you wear to sleep is important?"

He looked at her in shock. "My dear," he said, "a man of taste never slacks off, even in his slumbers. And, I remind you, I can't have you thinking your new husband is careless, can I? It's obvious this doesn't impress you, but I have a blue satin one that I thought was too simple. Now I think perhaps it will be the very thing."

She just sat and stared at him. That was how she saw his lips quirk. "Good God!" he said. "Your expression!" And then he began to laugh.

She joined in, as relieved as she was amused. He came over to the bed. "Well, I had to think of something to unknot you," he said with a tender smile. "You looked as though you expected me to come out with whips and chains." (321-323)

Lee's humor and patience and his willingness to listen, to just listen, to Daisy is the healing balm she needs. Though he longs for a physical relationship with Daisy, he doesn't push her in any way or make her feel threatened. Instead he shows Daisy in the best way he can that she can trust him not to hurt her and he does that at first with just "quips and laughter." Leland is a man who understands insecurity and lack of confidence and the way people hurt others. He learned early in life to use a sense of humor for his strength. He'd been "gangly and awkward" as a young man, just as likely to trip over things and stammer as not. Being heir to his father did not insure a long list of young ladies panting to take him on. He'd been an object of fun and ridicule for them. So he began acting the fop, developing a cynical air, an "acid wit", a man who cared for nothing but fashion and frivolity. By the time his father had died, Leland had perfected his new persona and now ladies of good reputation (and not so good) were drawn to him. Unfortunately, his lovers didn't want to know the real Leland and so the mask he wore in public became a mask he continued to wear in private. But he always longed for someone who will laugh with him, not just at him. And that person is Daisy.

"...he'd hung his heart on the whims of a female with an angelic face and a devil of a body, a criminal past; a widow who feared men and who wasn't sure if she wanted so much as his hand, even in marriage. But she also possessed a spirit as fiery as her hair, and a code of honor that could shame a parson.

Was he mad?

He hardly knew her - but no. He smiled to himself. He knew her better than most of the women matchmakers had thrown at his head all these past years. He knew her better than any of the young things he'd danced with at Almack's and partnered at too many social events. He knew her far better than most women he'd bedded, even those he'd stayed with as long as a month.

Daisy, he thought, he could stay with forever. He liked her conversation; he admired her courage. He could amuse her, but she could make him laugh, too. And most important, he felt at home with her. (263-264)

5 unabashed stars

I hope everyone has a lovely holiday and many splendid blessings in the New Year! 

First person POV works for me so rarely that I tend to avoid most books written in that POV, except if it's written by Alexis Hall. Alexis Hall knows his characters (and his readers as I learned in Glitterland and Waiting For The Flood) so I find myself easily pulled in to the stories and characters in such emotional ways. For Real has, in fact, dual 1st person POV, but Toby and Laurie each have such a very different way of speaking and thinking that I never had to backtrack to figure out which one was "speaking." Toby's voice - young, exuberant, cheeky, passionate - was recognizably distinct from Laurie's - quiet, measured, calm - and vice versa, and I love both characters almost equally. I couldn't choose which one I identified with more because, frankly, I saw parts of myself (at one time of my life or another) in Toby's self-doubts and vulnerability and in Laurie's dissatisfaction with the state of his life and his self-preservation instincts. Part of the beauty in Alexis Hall's writing and characterization is that I could hear each character very clearly and their individual voices.

For Real is an erotic romance with kink, a kink that may not be for everybody. I haven't read a ton of BDSM erotic romance, though some have made it to my "In Case of Fire" shelf, but a lot have not. But hey, the kink here worked for me. Go figure. Maybe whether it works or not for me is a little like that exchange between the Pope and Michelangelo in that old Monty Python skit, "The Penultimate Supper." The Pope calls the artist in to berate him for using artistic license in "The Last Supper" because there are 28 disciples, 3 christ figures (one skinny and two fat to balance), a possible kangaroo, and maybe a trampoline act. The Pope yells that he wants a painting that has 12 disciples, one Christ, no kangaroo, no waiters, no friends, no cabaret, yelling "I may not know much about art, but I know what I like." Michelangelo counters all of the Pope's objections simply and enthusiastically selling his vision because "It works, mate!" So that's what I'll say. The kink in For Real just works, mate!

If I have to come up with a more thoughtful reason as to why it works for me, I think it's because the sex was more than just a series of titillating kinky sex scenes. It was merely the way Toby and Laurie give and receive pleasure. It moved their story forward, it was an integral part in how they maneuvered other aspects of their relationship, and was that needed link, a bridge connecting them in an elemental, personal way, one that allowed them to build their relationship emotionally as well as physically. It was never just for titillation, not a prop, and not the star of this show.

My guest, my shame, my fantasy princeling, was tucked at one end of the tub, legs drawn up to his chest, so all I could see were the pale humps of his knees and shoulders rising from the bubbles. He grinned at me. “I wouldn’t really make you read Winnie-the-Pooh.”

I sensed some kind of trap, but I had no idea what form it might take. “I’m glad to hear it.”

There was a brief pause. He trailed a finger idly through the foam, making ribbons. “I’d make you read something else.”

I was determined not to ask him what. That would have been entirely foolish.

“How about . . .” His eyes gleamed at me. “How about . . . ‘Thou shalt bind his bright eyes though he wrestle, Thou shalt chain his light limbs though he strive; In his lips all thy serpents shall nestle, In his hands all thy cruelties thrive.’”

I curled an arm over the edge of the bath and hid my face in the crook of my elbow. I couldn’t bear him to see me right then, stripped tenderly to the bone by the blade of his voice.

“‘In the daytime thy voice shall go through him, In his dreams he shall feel thee and ache; Thou shalt kindle by night and subdue him. Asleep and awake.’”

The sound I made, muffled though it was, echoed off the tiles until it seemed infinitely loud, infinitely helpless. I had no idea what he was reciting, but the words hooked into me like thorns.

And, yes, for his wishing and for his pleasure, I would have recited them. For my merciless, smiling prince” (29-30)

The heart of For Real is the romance: finding love, working through those new relationship conflicts and differences, negotiating the physical and emotional needs of the couple in the relationship so that both become comfortable and at ease with each other, learning to trust each other. Toby and Laurie have lots of issues to work through due to their age differences (Laurie is 37, Toby is 19) as well as disparate social and professional lives (Toby works in a diner as a cook and a university dropout, Laurie is doctor). Their differences are never more apparent than during this conversation about Toby's "five fathers."

“Good God,” Laurie mutters. I’m kind of worried about how he’s taking this, but I’ve started so I have to finish.

“Anyway, a bunch of them came forward afterwards, because it was all scandalous and cool, and about five of them stuck around on a sort of irregular rotation.”

“And you didn’t think to get a DNA test?” I don’t like the careful way Laurie says it.

“Dude, I didn’t care about whose spunk it was, I just wanted someone to stand up and say, ‘Me.’ When I was like nine or something, I was so sick of it I called everyone together, and I was like, ‘No more part-time dads. Choose.’” I need something to do with my hands, so I take a big gulp of wine I don’t want. And then I grin as I deliver the punch line. “So none of them stayed.” (212)

These roadblocks alone would be enough to bring a snap/crackle of tension and heart wrenching emotion into the mix, but they also have to work out a Dom/Sub-relationship-with-a-twist: Toby - much younger, lacking self-confidence, less physically imposing - is the dom, Laurie - older, taller, more experienced - is the sub. Of all these obstacles - the age difference, the social and professional differences, the basic personality differences - things that just about guarantee a very rocky road to get to "happy together", their sexual relationship is the one that fell more easily and quickly into a mutually satisfying place. Honestly, I spent more time being worried about whether Laurie was ever going to allow himself to love Toby and whether Toby would really allow Laurie to truly know him. Toby had a few surprises for Laurie over the course of the book and really catches Laurie off guard during a trip to Oxford.

“Jasper pushes away most of his crumble tart—a serious waste, if you ask me—and pulls his wineglass closer. He rests an elbow on the table, which you’re not supposed to do, and cups his chin in his hand as he looks at me with his pretty eyes and this faint, unreadable smile. “I’ve decided I adore you, Tobermory. Which poets do you favour?”

He makes it easy to forget there’s a whole world beyond him. “All sorts, really.”

“Don’t play hard to get. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh, all right. I like . . . the metaphysical poets, especially Donne and Marvell. And the Earl of Rochester. And François Villon. And Byron. And Gerard Manley Hopkins.” (214-215)

Even the secondary characters are so very well drawn. For instance, I adored Toby's grandfather and loved the relationship between these two that was at times funny and poignant but always so very positive and supportive. Toby's relationship with his grandfather is a testament about how someone can change, become a better person. Jasper and Sherry are very intriguing characters whom I hope will be revisited and explored in a future "Spires" book, especially Jasper. And, of course, Sam and Grace, Laurie's friends. Even Robert, Laurie's ex, felt more than merely a placeholder for the ex that broke Laurie's heart.

I lovedlovedloved the part when Laurie begins to admit to himself how important Toby is to his happiness, how essential, how Laurie's focus sharpens from impersonal to very personal materializing in the way he "sees" Toby much more clearly:

“I usually rationed my looking, not wanting to reveal too much of my foolishness, my fondness, but now I indulged. Revelled, even. He looked different in daylight, paler and brighter and sharper all at the same time, as though he was finally fully in focus. I could even see traces of the man he would become in the set of his jaw and the curve of his cheek. But for now, he was just Toby, my Toby—blue-sky eyes and fading acne, his generous smile, his slightly retroussé nose.” (178)

The dynamics between Laurie and Toby - the way they work through their issues - the passion the romance (and the Rochester references and Swinburne's "Dolores" snippets didn't hurt one little bit either), and all the angsty parts just worked together so well and very effectively in showing how these two need each other, complement each other. And it becomes "for real" for Laurie when he and Toby dance on the quad at Oxford.

“I’ve never called myself a gentleman.” He sounds stern, but then he smiles and kisses me lightly. “I like watching you dance.”

“Dance with me. It’s way more fun.” (223-224)

(...)
“I talk him through the basic steps and then guide him into them. At first he doesn’t trust me, doesn’t trust himself, won’t relax, or can’t, falls over my feet, his own feet, bits of perfectly flat ground, and he stands on my toes, like, a lot. (224)

I’m just starting to think I’ve made a terrible mistake when he . . .there isn’t another word for it . . . he surrenders, and we’re dancing. Slow, slow-quick-quick-slow, slow-quick-quick-slow, slow-quick-quick-slow. He even lets me throw in a couple of natural turns and a back lock without freezing or stumbling or mushing my feet into the dust.” (225)

(...)
“I told you, I can’t dance.”

I pull him back into hold. “Nuh-uh, you don’t dance. There’s a difference.”

“Not to me, there isn’t.”

I try to think of something that would be good for a quickstep and hum the opening of “Walking on Sunshine.”

Laurie turns into marble. “And certainly not to Katrina and the Waves.”

Apparently not. I peer up at him—the man I love and can’t call boyfriend. I think of him on his knees. How he touches me. How he looks at me. The sadness in him and the secret joy he gives only to me. All the ways he makes me powerful.

All the ways he doesn’t really know me.

Now I know what we should dance to. “‘Dear, when you smiled at me, I heard a melody . . .’”

And Laurie smiles, and we dance, and it’s a fucking disaster. Since I kind of have to concentrate a bit on singing, I can’t count at the same time, and so Laurie keeps getting lost, and it’s like our bodies have completely forgotten how to move together.
I’m just about to call the whole thing off, when—

“‘Zing! Went the strings of my heart.’”

Another voice joins mine. A way better voice, an effortless tenor belonging to someone who can actually sing. It’s Jasper, leaning in the archway that leads back to the cloisters, wineglass in one hand, cigarette in the other.

Laurie and I collide. Stare at him. He gives us an airy little carry on gesture, like this is totally normal.

So we put our arms around each other again. I lead and Laurie follows and Jasper sings, and there’s moonlight, and we dance and dance and dance until we fly and my heart is so zing, I can’t even.” (225-226)

*sniffle* I can't even either. Your really need to read For Real, um, for real. Now.

I read Stygian by Santino Hassell a few weeks ago, and immediately read it once more, just to allow the story, the characters, the layers of meaning and superb writing to sink in. Though this is my first book by this writer, it surely will not be the last. Stygian has elements I would normally not be drawn to - it's YA (not that I'm a snob about it, it's just not my fist choice in sub-genres), and the main characters are members of a rock band (again, nothing against it, it's just not my preferred poison. I'm more a historical gal with the pretty frocks and balls and musical evenings and men in cravats and waistcoats. Oh, and kisses stolen in a shadowy garden). Plus, it has paranormal elements, specifically vampires, which, again, is not a thing I actively seek out in books these days. Once upon a time I lived and breathed only for vampire stories, but I may have OD'ed on them back in the day. So how did I end up reading this book and loving every word of it? I read a review of Stygian at Inglorious Bitches (https://ingloriousbitches.wordpress.com/2015/11/11/stygian-by-santino-hassell-a-rocking-gothic-paranormal-romance/) and was curious to read more from a writer who could elicit this very enthusiastic response from one of the reviewers:

"The old man who speaks to Jeremy in the parking lot is described “The man had a Benson & Hedges voice” – I mean that’s seven words and Hassell has created a complete character with them and that, in my book is absolute talent."

My reader's heart went boom boom boom when I read that sentence because I could immediately visualize that old man without ever having read one page of the book itself. It was just that vivid and succinct. The reviewers also spoke glowingly of how the horror element was centered more on the psychological thriller aspects rather than a reinvention, or worse, a repetition of, the vampire mythos. Yet again. Yawn. But the big hook, the ultimate reason I decided to give this writer and this book a try is because the reviewers remarked on its Southern Gothic atmosphere. I was on full alert by this time and cautiously eager to read something from a new-to-me writer.

I dearly love Southern Gothic though it's probably not the most well-known genre. I dare say if you ask 100 people what Southern Gothic is, you would get 100 different answers. However, the funniest and truest definition of Southern Gothic I’ve ever read is embodied in this quote by Pat Conroy:

“My mother, Southern to the bone, once told me, ‘All Southern literature can be summed up in these words: On the night the hogs ate Willie, Mama died when she heard what Daddy did to Sister.”

Yes, indeed. That's it in a nutshell. Carnivorous homicidal swine, a questionable relationship between father and daughter culminating in a tragic death of a mother figure. Perfect. It's dysfunctional family stories on steroids, it's bizarre and weird, it's dramatic in a way uniquely its own, it's tangled up in history and tradition and challenges to tradition. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes heartbreakingly sad, and sometimes it's both at the same time. But always, always entertaining. And so, here I am.

Stygian is a truly wonderful book. Santino Hassell created complex characters in Jeremy, Kennedy, Watts, and Quince. Jeremy is the "outsider" in the group, the new kid trying to fill the shoes of a long-time member who died in a car crash and feeling like a failure most of the time. Plus, he's in love with tough, emotionally closed off Kennedy who appears not to return those tender feelings even a smidge. Jeremy fits the SG hero to a T: the outcast, someone who is outside the norm. Though he was close to his brother, Luke, Jeremy really has no family left after Luke committed suicide. He has had little or no contact with his "mentally unstable" father or that side of the family. His mother shipped him off after Luke's death to a religious fanatic uncle who attempted to exorcise a demon from Jeremy after his emotional meltdown.

Jeremy woodenly raised one shoulder: "My mother's family is full of religious fanatics, and the Black family, my dad's side, is made up of drunken, depressed lunatics who...believe in weird mystical shit." (34)

Religious fanatics and drunken depressed lunatics? Yep. That's Southern Gothic at its finest. If you haven't read Flannery O'Connor's The Violent Bear It Away, you should. Crazy zealot uncle is present and accounted for in that story too.

However, all of them - Jeremy, Kennedy, Quince, and Watts as well as Laurel and Hunter Caroway - are all outsiders. The members of Stygian are truly people who have no roots to ground them, no family to speak of other than each other, nobody who will miss them if they just...disappear. Like Watts, moody as hell, who appears to be such a jackass with his unending sniping at Jeremy, treating Quince as if he's his personal sex toy, an object to alleviate his boredom or frustration, having conniptions at the drop of a hat, and generally just acting like a prima donna blaming everyone but himself for the mess the band is in and their lack of progress on a sophomore album. A trust fund baby whose "family" cared more for the trappings of wealth and status. But that's not all Watts is.

"Why the hell do you think he holds on so tight to this band and freaks out when he thinks things are going wrong?" The sound of a striking match followed the question, and the smell of sulfur filled the air. "Whether the crash was his fault or not, I do know Watts is barely keeping it together. The music and the band, me and Quince - we're his glue. Even if I'm tired of the responsibility." (37)

Or Quince whose child-like enthusiasm is so engaging and heartbreaking, whose past includes a string of foster homes, a propensity for larceny, and yet so trusting and so very vulnerable to anyone who might value him for the really sweet open person he is.

Quince plopped down on a hard-backed chair, running his hands over the velvety fabric. His face lit up, making his blue eyes and sun-bleached strawberry blond hair the brightest points in the room. (6)

He leaped to his feet and grabbed an object from the dust-coated clutter of pictures and figurines. After brushing it off, he held up a large silver watch. Only a kid who'd done a dozen stints in juvie for larceny would spot something of value amid all the antique junk. (7)

Quince put his arm behind his back. Sometimes he seemed like a sad-eyed little kid, even though he had about four or five years on Jeremy. (10)

"Stygian wasn't just a band. We were like a family, and we need that. All of us." (11)

Kennedy's past, like the hard bodied dude himself, is a more of a mystery. His family is dead, and beyond his devotion to helping at-risk kids at the youth center, it's difficult to know for sure what kind of family life, or lack of it, he experienced. Although I have my suspicions. Kennedy has both feet on the ground, very realistic versus idealistic.

...Kennedy was a complete enigma. He was an untouchable brooding mass of simmering discontent, but strangely accessible when he was trying to be helpful. (20)

Santino Hassell took the time and care to develop such a startling depth to Watts, Jeremy, Quince, and Kennedy, and he did it in the simplest, most effective way of all. Showing, not telling.

Southern Gothic has its roots in Gothic style fiction and the motifs, though very different, serve much the same purpose. An isolated, abandoned, dilapidated plantation house surrounded by trees dripping Spanish moss as opposed to a forbidding castle situated on a craggy mountain top. Swamps, alligators, snakes, oppressive heat instead of a dense forest, wolves, and biting cold. Wealthy plantation owners as a Southern equivalent of aristocracy. Secrets and lies and dirty nasty little things that make the imagination sit up and say "Howdy!" It's mysterious and otherworldly. It's atmosphere. Stygian has atmosphere in spades.

Jeremy's description of the Caroway place at first glance sets up the scene perfectly: "dangling Spanish moss", a crush of trees to obscure and help hide the pale yellow wood of the old house, "grass scraped past Jeremy's ankles", "tall enough to hide yellow-jacket nests and fire ant mounds", surrounded by land "bleeding into the wooded area" which led to the swamps. Shriveled plants resembling tiny brown skeletons. Such a delicious description of the claustrophobic sense of some, as yet, unknown, unseen threat. A musty, cobwebby interior that appears as if time passed it by decades ago, creaking stairs, a weird "hushed silence" leaking from an upper floor, an entire wing sealed off, a draftier than usual hallway leading to the bedrooms, and a "faint creaking from within the bowels of the house."

The devil is in the details as they say, and the details placed with such care and so tantalizingly really add so much to the creeping sense of dread and set up the horror to come perfectly. Plus, the atmosphere, the setting, the tone, the characters all work together to unify Stygian into a taut, spine-tingling story. I admit to a few cold shivers down my spine when Jeremy begins to have strange dreams almost immediately upon moving into the Caroway house.

Somewhere in the depths of his dream, someone was playing the piano. The notes were faint, but with each quiet step down the hallway, Jeremy could hear more. The increasing tempo, the growing intensity, the way something so beautiful could almost sound like a threat - Liszt. The piece about the gondolas. The one Luke always played.

The music washed over him, halting his careful footsteps. It grew louder, more sinister, and his stomach coiled before the piece ended abruptly. The notes faded, and from somewhere close by, someone whispered his name. Jeremy spun around.

"Luke?"

The hallway behind him stretched long and empty with only a faintly moving shadow at the far end disrupting the stillness.

He ghosted toward it, but a sinking feeling told him the shadow was not his brother, and there should have been no strangers here.

(...) The shadow started to detach itself from the darkness, but before it escaped it's veil, the whisper returned, and Jeremy opened his eyes. (28-29)

It's not a coincidence that Jeremy's brother, Luke, played piano, and piano music features in his dream. I have two theories about Liszt's La Lugubre Gondola (The Black Gondola) which I could almost hear playing in the background of Jeremy's dream. Jeremy admits to a connection beyond death with Luke in dreams (part of the reason his mother sent him to Weird Religious Zealous Uncle to be exorcised), and this music is very dark, very morbid, very gloomy, very somber. The dark, low notes are slow and haunting, adding even more gothic atmosphere. If it hasn't been part of a soundtrack for a horror movie, it really needs to be. La Lugubre Gondola is, after all, a lament by the composer for his son-in-law Richard Wagner and was written after Liszt had a premonition in a dream of Wagner's death.

So I'm torn between believing Luke was trying to warn Jeremy to be on guard against the Caroways and wondering if it was the first volley in Hunter Caroway's Machiavellian machinations to bend Jeremy to his will, to color his perspective of not only his band mates but the person closest to him, Luke. Because how better to gain a foothold into Jeremy's psyche than by distorting his memories of Luke and tainting that precious connection with his brother, making it all the easier to assume complete control of his thoughts and actions? I want to believe it was Luke, but after a second reading my fear is that it was the beginning of Hunter's influence.

The horror in Stygian is definitely not merely due to the nightmarish images of the bloodsucking duo, Laurel and Hunter Caroway, feasting on the blood of Quince or poor Amy. Rather it's in the way the members of the band, especially Jeremy and Quince, begin to lose control of their thoughts, their will, to the sinister influence of these two predators, the way they are manipulated, the way paranoia was fomented and allowed to run rampant amongst the four.

While reading what happens to Jeremy and to Quince, in particular, I couldn't help but draw comparisons between these characters and two characters from Bram Stoker's Dracula - Mina Harker and Lucy Westenra. Jeremy, like Mina, is more innocent than Quince. He's introverted, reflective, a character that brings all the pieces together, unites these four to defeat the threat. He is a much more complicated character than Hunter as Mina is in comparison to Dracula. Jeremy has a softer, gentler quality, but with a hint of steel hidden beneath the vulnerability.

"I know the deal," Jeremy snapped. "But those people are a bunch of strangers. I guess it's asking too much not to be treated that way by my front man."

Watts rolled his eyes, but instead of shooting back a snide remark, he crossed his arms over his chest. Nobody else spoke.

Having no interest in patting them on the backs and reassuring them that he wasn't so mad after all, Jeremy left the room It was a pitfall he'd fallen into early on - taking crap and then apologizing for being visibly upset. Like he was the one with the problem. Jeremy had gone so far trying to fit in with Stygian that somewhere along the line he'd given them the impression that he was a subservient doormat, and he didn't know how much more he could take. (19-20)

Quince, like Lucy, is more sexual, more extroverted than Jeremy, more child than adult, less reflective. He placates Watts' surliness, he tries to "fuck the aggression out of Watts" to no avail, and he takes his insults and Watts' lack of respect generally without objection. Quince embraces Laurel's seductive influence very much as Lucy embraces Dracula's seduction. Quince's inherent passivity and lack of self-examination leaves him more vulnerable to the threat that Laurel poses much in the same way that Lucy loses herself in Dracula.

What the original members of Stygian were was family in the truest sense of the word, that indefinable "glue" that held them together. That family was fractured after the loss of Caroline, as death and loss often do in all families. But it's also what all of the remaining members want to recreate, to preserve. All of them have dealt with loss in their lives, all of them have experienced disappointment in ones they loved, and all of them have very good reasons for their anger. Ironic then that the thing that brought them together initially - their fractured pasts - is the barrier to getting what they need now. Each man looks through a distorted prism, exacerbated by the sly, cunning manipulations of the Caroways. They cannot see clearly the others for what they are and could be: four of the best friends as well as a pair of lovers.

I do wish Stygian had been a bit longer; it would have allowed more development for the romance between Jeremy and Kennedy. For a time I wondered which man - Kennedy or Hunter - really cared for Jeremy. Honestly, I did feel a little sorry for Hunter (even as I abhorred the way he messed with Jeremy's mind) because I believe Hunter was truly lonely.

My initial disappointment in the cliffhanger ending was somewhat assuaged when I discovered a follow-up providing a few answers. Take You Farther, available in the anthology Lead Me Into Darkness is free at All Romance. Here's the link:
(https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-leadmeintodarkness-1914049-166.html). I really hope this is not the last I'll read of Jeremy, Kennedy, Watts, and Quince. And yes, I can't help but wonder about Hunter, too.

Stygian, in the same vein of all really good Southern Gothic tales, draws from that very dark pool where houses fall apart, towns fall apart, and people fall apart; where the threat of violence is always lurking like an alligator in the swampy waters of rivers like the Sabine, just waiting to reach up and take a bite out of an unsuspecting victim. Where issues of honor, love, and trust are juxtaposed against mistrust, abandonment, and loss. I am so happy to have read this lovely book and even happier to have discovered a writer of the caliber of Santino Hassell. Bravo, Mr. Hassell!

ETA: Isn't that a wondrously beautiful cover???

How could I not love Slightly Dangerous with its echoes of Pride & Prejudice? I first read this book in 2008 or thereabouts, and as I carefully thumbed through my very well worn copy this week for yet another reread, I saw dialogue I'd underlined and notes in the margin or happy/sad faces nestled close to those places that made me smile or shed a tear or three, maybe an exclamation mark here and there or a heart encircling a page number of a well-loved passage. My copy is so well read, pages are falling from it. I simply love Wulfric Bedwyn and Christine Derrick, and this final book of the "Slightly" series never, ever disappoints me. I believe Slightly Dangerous holds the distinction of a finale book in a series that did not fall to pieces or disappoint in any way or excise all the interesting aspects of that one character you've been glimpsing throughout a series, and each peek just whets your appetite for that book when he/she is the star.

I remember when I read Slightly Tempted, and Alleyne Bedwyn was thought to have died at Waterloo, I was so moved by Wulfric's very private and very heartfelt grief. It was shortly after Morgan returned to England, right after Alleyne's memorial service, and she wanted the comfort of her oldest brother's presence. She finally finds him in his library, his head bent, leaning on the fireplace, weeping. She does not disturb him or let him know she had seen his loss of control. But it is a very important scene in that book and an integral part of his character arc over the series. He has always appeared to be cold, aloof, uncaring, detached from the mortal realm, more concerned with his social consequence than emotions like love or compassion or frivolity. But there's that scene in the library at Bedwyn House and glimpses of other moments in this series that hints at the intriguing idea that there is quite a bit more to the Duke of Bewcastle than what is clearly visible on the surface. Wulfric Bedwyn has layers and facets and complexity. One of the scenes that reveal his depth and vulnerability is when Wulfric refutes Christine's accusation that he wears a mask.

"I chose the duke's role, and have been making similar choices ever since. I will continue to do so until I die, I suppose. I am, after all, that aristocrat, and I have duties and responsibilities to hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of people that I cannot and will not shirk. And therefore, you see, I cannot assure you that I will become a changed man in order to fit your dream. You find me cold, reticent, hard, and I am all those things. But I am not only those things." (328)

"I cannot offer you anything that I am not, you see," he said. "I can only hope you are able to see that any person who has lived for almost thirty-six years is vastly complex. You accused me a few evenings ago of wearing a mask, and you were wrong. I wear the mantle of Duke of Bewcastle over that of Wulfric Bedwyn, but both mantles are mine. I am not less of a man because I choose to put duty first in my life. And then you wondered if I am a cold, unfeeling aristocrat right through to the very core. I am not. If I were, would I ever have been first enchanted by you and then haunted by the memory of you? You are not at all the sort of person Bewcastle would even notice, let alone choose to woo." (329)

Such a great scene, there at the dovecote, that very private sanctuary for him where the Duke of Bewcastle can remember that he is the man, Wulfric Bedwyn, too.

How and why Wulfric ends up at a house party (and he detests house parties) where he is besieged by noise and frolic and nonsense and chits just out of the schoolroom flirting with him also offers hints of vulnerability. How did he get there? Well, because he experienced a touch of self-pity and loneliness associated with empty nest syndrome now that his last sister, Morgan, has married and moved away, and his mistress of ten years had recently passed away. He is not naturally a solitary man even though he has grown accustomed to that state.

He had always been alone in all essential ways - since the age of twelve, anyway, when he had been virtually separated from his brothers and put directly under the care of two tutors and closely supervised by his father, who had known that his death was imminent and who had consequently wanted his eldest son and heir to be properly prepared to succeed him. He had been alone since the age of seventeen, when his father had died and he had become the Duke of Bewcastle. He had been alone since the age of twenty-four when Marianne Bonner had rejected him in a particularly humiliating manner. He had been alone since his brothers and sisters had married, all within a two-year span. He had been alone since Rose's death in February. (86) (my emphasis)

And that's the beauty of this book. He is a very complex, fascinating character as is Christine. Though she appears happy-go-lucky, sparkles from within, the life of any party, there is a darkness in her at times. A darkness that Wulfric recognizes while others do not. May I add perceptive to his many sterling qualities?

At the same time he had learned something interesting about Mrs. Derrick. She was made up of more than just sunshine and laughter. There was a darkness in her too, deeply suppressed, though it had come bubbling to the surface while they had walked together just now. She had tried her best to provoke a quarrel with him. (121)

Wulfric is all those things that people find so off-putting, but he also has a dry, subtle humor, an underlying loneliness, and a surprising vulnerability. Christine is more than just an effervescent, slightly clumsy, always happy lady. She feels the snubs by the ton very deeply, she is wounded by the gossip that ruined her relationship with her brother- and sister-in-law, she still feels the heartache of the problems associated with her marriage to Oscar. There's more to both these characters than meets the eye.

And speaking of eyes, I admit it. I love that whole quizzing glass affectation Wulfric was so fond of. After all, it was Christine's very direct gaze and one of his infamous quizzing glasses that brought these two together in the first place.

And then all Christine's complacency fled as her eyes met the Duke of Bewcastle's across the room and she had instant images of jailers and jails and chains and magistrates flashing through her head.

Her first instinct was to efface herself utterly and lower her eyes in an attempt to fade into the upholstery of the chair on which she sat.

But self-effacement had never been her way of reacting to the world's ways - except perhaps in the last year or two before Oscar died. And why should she seek to disappear? Why should she lower her eyes when he was making no attempt to lower his?

And then he really annoyed her.

Still looking at her, he raised one arrogant eyebrow.

And then he infuriated her.

With his eyes on her and one eyebrow elevated, he grasped the handle of his quizzing glass and raised it halfway to his eye as if utterly incredulous of the fact that she had the effrontery to hold his gaze.

(...) She looked steadily back at him and then compounded her boldness by deliberately laughing at him. Oh, she did not literally laugh. But she showed him with her eyes that she was not to be cowed by a single eyebrow and a half-raised quizzing glass. (38)

One of the scenes I love to bits in Slightly Dangerous is the quarrel Christine and Wulfric have after she inadvertently rolls down a hill. Yes, I said "rolls down a hill" and yes, it was inadvertent, though entirely predictable. Don't ask. Just read the book. All will be clear.

"And you, Mrs. Derrick," he said, taking a few steps away from her and then turning to look back at her, "know no other way of fighting your attraction to me than to convince yourself that you know me through and through. Have you decided, then, that I wear no mask after all? Or that you were right last evening when you said that perhaps I was simply the Duke of Bewcastle to the core?"

"I am not attracted to you!" she cried.

"Are you not?" He raised one supercilious eyebrow and then his quizzing glass. "You have sexual relations, then, with every dancing partner who invites you to accompany him to a secluded spot?"

Fury blossomed in her. And it focused upon one object.

"That," she said, striding toward him, "is the outside of enough!"

She snatched the quizzing glass out of his nerveless hand, yanked the black ribbon off over his head, and sent the glass flying with one furious flick of her wrist.

They both watched it twirl upward in an impressively high arc, reach its zenith between two trees, and then begin its downward arc - which was never completed. The ribbon caught on a high twig and held there. The glass swung back and forth like a pendulum a mile off the ground - or so it seemed to Christine. (279)

I'm not sure when I've laughed so hard and so long just from a few paragraphs in a book. Each and every time. Though it wasn't the first time Christine had fantasized about ridding Wulfric of his quizzing glass, it was the first time she actually followed through on her fantasy. (She imagines earlier that she is stuffing the quizzing glass down Wulfric's throat and watching with glee as it made its way down sideways, bulging out the sides of his neck.) The glass is retrieved from the tree, but this particular one becomes Christine's property. Not to worry, Wulfric has a stash of seven, (yes, seven!) more and all equally offensive quizzing glasses.

That same quizzing glass shows up again at the Easter Holiday ball at Lindsey Hall. Wulfric invited Christine and her in-laws to Lindsey Hall as his "secret" guest of honor. It was an opportunity for her to get to know him better after his first disastrous marriage proposal (one that both recreates the tone and tenor of Mr. Darcy's to Elizabeth but is totally unique to Wulfric and Christine). This was his opportunity to demonstrate to her that he was someone who possessed at least some of the attributes of the man she might consider marrying - a list he had committed to memory - "a warm personality, human kindness, and a sense of humor. He must love people, particularly children, and frolicking and absurdity. He must be a man who is not obsessed with himself and his own consequence. He must be someone who is not ice to the core. He must be someone who has a heart. He must be capable of being [her] companion and friend and lover." And his plan is to culminate with the ball and a particular question that he will ask her again afterward.

Wulfric has fussed and planned and agonized over this visit and this ball as if he were a young miss at a debut ball which is delightful to witness from one who is always cool, calm, and collected. Finally, the evening of the ball arrives, and the ballroom is lovely. He is anxiously awaiting the first waltz with Christine but he feels "absurdly shy." Christine looks lovely in a white gown "embroidered with buttercups and daisies and greenery" as she dances with several gentlemen. And then just before the orchestra strikes up the opening notes of a walz:

Her eyes met his across the empty floor.

He could not resist. His fingers grasped the jeweled handle of his quizzing glass and raised it all the way to his eye before lowering it slightly. Even across the distance he could the laughter well up in her eyes.

And then she reached down into the little cloth reticule that hung from her wrist and brought something out of it. For a moment all he could see was black ribbon. She brought the object slowly up to her eye and regarded him - through the lens of his own quizzing glass.

Wulfric Bedwyn, the oh-so-toplofty, oh-so-frosty Duke of Bewcastle, was shocked into uttering a short bark of laughter. Then he smiled at her slowly until his whole face beamed his amusement and affection.

She was no longer smiling, he saw as he set off across the empty floor toward her - it did not occur to him that it would have far more correct to walk unobtrusively about the perimeter of the room. But her eyes were huge and translucent, and her teeth were biting into her lip.

"I believe, Mrs. Derrick," he said, making her a bow when he came up to her, "this is my dance?"

"Yes, your grace," she said. "Thank you."

It was only then, when he extended a hand toward her, that he became aware of the near-hush that had descending on the ballroom. He turned his head and looked about in some surprise, his eyebrows raised, to see what had happened. But as he did so, everyone rushed back into conversation.

"Did I miss something?" he asked.

Christine Derrick set her hand in his - the quizzing glass had disappeared inside her little reticule again.

"Yes," she said. "A looking glass. You missed seeing yourself smile."

What the devil? He frowned at her.

"I understand," she said, and she was laughing at him again, the minx, "that it is as rare as a rose in winter." (347-348)

Reading Slightly Dangerous has become almost an annual reread for me over the years. As I was reading it again this week, I thought I really should at least try to write some sort of review for this wonderful book. If you haven't read Slightly Dangerous, I really hope you do. It's Mary Balogh doing what Mary Balogh does best.

Sometimes a book just grabs you by the heart and refuses to let you go until the last page, the last word. The Temporary Wife by Mary Balogh is such a book for me. It is just sheer perfection. Well, almost. If I could have whispered in a little voice in Mary Balogh's ear while she was writing, I would have said this: "Could I have a little more at the end, ma'am?" Just a little bit longer with Anthony and Charity at the end, that's all. But then, the fact that I wanted more just underscores how much I love this book. You see, I wasn't quite ready to leave these two to their happily ever after.

What makes The Temporary Wife so perfect, you might ask? Believe it or not, that's going to be a hard question to answer. It's not just one thing, after all. It's more how all the parts fit together, move together, that make it so. I could say it's the depth of characterization, that this is probably one of the truest character-driven romances I've read in a long time and packed into a mere 224 pages, and that would be true. But that's not all. I could say that I expected the marriage of convenience plot to head down one well-trodden path but was pleasantly surprised to find Mary Balogh had switched the sign posts and led me on a completely different journey. As she does. Or how these two are joined because of a mutual reason: family, but again set apart by their individual motivations. His is centered in making his father miserable, grounded in hatred for his father, and hers revolves around her love for her brothers and sisters and a desire to make life easier for them, to secure their happiness. But again, that's not all. I could say that Mary Balogh throws these two very different people together and in the space of one week changes their lives forever. Seven days to fall in love? To begin to heal? To reconcile with the irreconcilable? Believably? That's hard to do, but Ms. Balogh does it here. Oh, I could wax on about The Temporary Wife's message of the healing power of love, reconciliation, the importance of family, how those closest to us can affect the course of our lives in both positive and negative ways. Or that I was surprised (pleasantly, I might add) by the level of heat in this small traditional Regency, how the physical relationship between Charity and Anthony is intricately intertwined in both character arcs and their metamorphoses as the dialogue or the very effective use of POV or the beautiful prose Mary Balogh uses so eloquently at times. But again, those things are just a part of the whole. It's not any one thing at all, you see; it's every thing. All those things. Together.

I'm not going to rehash the plot here. Other reviewers have done that already and much better than I could ever do. Instead I'd like to share just a few scenes that (hopefully!) encapsulate all the elements I've tried to point out that makes The Temporary Wife so memorable and illustrative of its excellence. I hope that this "review" will urge you to read this book for the first time or to pick it up again and reread it to appreciate it for all its beauty and awesomeness.

I read The Ideal Wife shortly before I read The Temporary Wife, and immediately recognized similarities between these two books. Though the premise is similar in both, they quickly take off into two different paths. Both have gentlemen in search of a wife who will blend into the background, and both have ladies who apply for position to be their convenient wife but who hide their true characters. In the case of The Temporary Wife, Lord Anthony Earhart advertises for a governess (to children he doesn't have) in order to interview candidates for a wife who will check off his list of must haves, a lady who will infuriate and embarrass his father: one who is "impoverished, plain, demure, very ordinary, perhaps even prim." Plus, if she happens to have the personality of, oh say, "a quiet mouse", then even better. After all, this unnamed, unknown female is not an individual, a person, to him, she will merely be an instrument of revenge against his powerful father, the Duke of Withingsby, and handsomely rewarded for her time. Enter Charity Duncan.

Miss Charity Duncan had been shown into a downstairs salon and had chosen to stand in the part of the room that was not bathed in sunlight. For one moment after he had opened the door and stepped inside the room he thought she must have changed her mind and fled. But then he saw her, and it struck him that even her decision to stand just there was significant. In addition she was dressed from head to toe in drab brown and looked totally self-effacing and quietly disciplined.

She was on the low side of medium height, very slender, perhaps even thin, though her cloak made it impossible to know for sure. Her face looked pale and ordinary in the shadows. The brown of her hair blended so totally with the brown of her bonnet that it was difficult to know where the one ended and the other began. Her garments were decent and drab. He was given the impression that were not quite shabby but very soon would be. They were genteel-shabby.

She was perfect. His father would be incensed. (9-10)

Just like a quiet mouse. But we sometimes see only what we want to see. Charity, on the other hand, sees Anthony very clearly.

He was young-no more than thirty at the outside. He was also handsome in a harsh sort of way, she thought to herself. He was of somewhat above-medium height, with a slender, well-proportioned figure, very dark hair and eyes, and a thin, angular, aristocratic face. The sunlight shining through the windows was full on him as he came through the door. In its harsh glare the cold cynicism of his expression made him look somehow satanic. He was expensively and elegantly dressed. Indeed, he looked very much as if he might have been poured into his well-tailored coat and pantaloons - a sure sign that he was a gentleman of high fashion.

He did not look like a kind man. He looked like the sort of man who would devour chambermaids more than he would seduce them. (15)

It's not an accident that for their first meeting Charity is in shadow, an unknown element for him at first glance, a creature to him, hiding in a darkened corner, merely his potential tool to be wielded to humiliate his father once and for all time while Anthony is displayed in full sunlight. It sets the tone for the rest of book, and a large part of the beauty and power of this book is how Anthony gradually sees Charity much more clearly.

She looked up into his face for the first time then, very briefly. Long dark lashes swept upward to reveal large, clear eyes that were as blue as the proverbial summer sky. Not the sort of gray that sometimes passes for blue, but pure, unmistakable blue itself. And then the eyes disappeared beneath the lashes and lowered eyelids again. For one disturbing moment he felt that he was about to make a ghastly mistake. (18)

Ah, yes. A ghastly mistake. Sometimes, as that old song goes, we can't get what we want but sometimes, we get what we need. Charity is definitely what Anthony needs whether he knows it or not. At the conclusion of the interview, after they have both reached an agreement to terms, Anthony once more is thrown off kilter.

She set her hand in his and got to her feet. Her eyelashes swept up again, and he found himself being regarded keenly by those steady blue eyes. He resisted the urge to take a step back. She must be looking at the bridge of his nose, he thought. She appeared to be gazing right into the center of both his eyes at once. (21)

After she leaves, Anthony is very pleased with his choice even as he is surprised by how this "brown mouse" managed to bargain for more money than he originally offered, but he's also a trifle uneasy:

No, there had been something else too - her eyes. They were quite at variance with the rest of her. But then even the plainest, dullest woman was entitled to some claim to beauty, he supposed. (22)

Charity is becoming more than a way to thumb his nose at his father; she is becoming a person to him whether he wills it or not. He notices her eyes at the interview and here again on their wedding night, and though it's begrudging he takes note of other details too - her scent, the way her hair is spread on the pillow, the slight wave to it, her innocence. 

It looked long and slightly wavy. It looked rather attractive. Again he felt annoyed. He had conceded the fact that she had fine eyes. That was entirely enough beauty for his bride to possess. (43)

I guess I expected that these two would rub along for a while before they actually consummated their marriage, so I was a little surprised by how quickly their physical relationship is initiated. Stranded by rain in the only room left at an inn the night of their wedding en route to Enfield Park, Charity has counted sheep up to 1,364 but is unable to sleep as is Anthony. There is a wonderful thread of humor in this scene that Mary Balogh does so very well.

"I have counted all the sheep in England," she said.

He pursed his lips.

"I had just started on those of Wales when you spoke." she said. "Now I shall have to begin all over again."

He had expected a meek little 'Yes, sir.' He was reminded somehow of her eyes, which he had found himself unaccountably avoiding during dinner, when she had sat directly opposite him at their table. He found her eyes threatening, though he would have been hard-pressed to explain exactly what he meant by that if he had been called upon to do so or to explain why his mind had chosen that particular word to describe their effect on him. Now her words suggested a certain sense of humor. He did not want her to have a sense of humor - or those eyes. He wanted her to be nondescript, devoid of character or personality. (42)

Ah, not only eyes but a sense of humor in this little "brown mouse", heh? Here again, Mary Balogh carefully uses their physical intimacy as yet another way to advance the story, to build on these complex characters. Anthony has slowly, inexorably become aware of Charity as a woman. That is at least a part of his inability to sleep. So despite the warning signals his brain is sending out, he makes a suggestion, a way of "inducing slumber" so to speak. Though Charity is a virgin, she's not terrified of the sex act. In fact, she's very curious and figures this will be her only chance to satisfy that curiosity. And, just as he has become aware of her, she, too, has been disturbed by his warmth in the bed and the smell of brandy he drank at dinner is "intoxicating" to her.

She opened her eyes suddenly. He was still propped on one elbow. He was still looking down at her. He took his hand away and lifted her nightgown - all the way to her waist. Well, this part she knew about, she thought. She knew what to expect. She drew a deep breath and held it. She was not sorry she had said yes. He was a stranger and she did not believe she could ever like him - partly because she did not believe she could ever know him - but he was her husband, and he was undeniably attractive. (46)

They surprise each other during this first encounter, and, afterward, Charity acknowledges that "love was not always sweet and gentle. And love was not always love." Anthony acknowledges that Charity might have partially deceived him. Prim, demure, little "brown mouse" was a "powder keg of passion just waiting to be ignited."

She had proved him wrong in his conviction that he had nothing new to learn sexually except what it felt like to mount a virgin. Very wrong. He had know women come to sexual climax. It happened routinely with all his mistresses. But he had understood last night with humiliating clarity that women faked climax just as they faked delight in the whole process, knowing that for a conceited man it was important not only to receive pleasure in bed but also to believe he gave it. Thus many women earned their daily bread - making their employers feel like devilishly virile and dashing and manly fellows.

Charity Earheart, Marchioness of Staunton, had taught him a lesson last night - quite unwittingly, of course. The shattering reality of her own untutored, totally spontaneous response to being bedded had exposed all the artificiality of all the other women he had ever known. (49)

Charity's genuine, uninhibited, honest pleasure in their encounter has knocked Anthony on his rear. He cannot go back to the unhappy, closed-off, very bitter and angry man he was just that morning though he's not where he will be by the end either. But, this encounter is the beginning of his turning point, the moment for which everything begins to change for him. 

The next morning Charity learns exactly where she stands in this marriage of convenience, and Anthony learns that a mouse can roar. A lesser person would have run screaming into the hills, as far away from Lord Anthony Earhart as possible. But not Charity. Anthony takes an almost perverse joy in spelling out exactly what she is about to walk into - his estrangement from his family for eight years, his reputation as a rake, his command that she think of herself as his "shadow", his desire that the ailing Duke of Withingsby see exactly what a "disaster" of a marriage he has contracted.

"I have married a governess, an impoverished gentlewoman. At least I have spared him someone from the demimonde."

"And you wish for a wife who is not only of inferior birth and fortune," she said, "but also lacking in charm and manners and conversation. A mere shadow."

"You need not worry," he said. "No one will openly insult you. Anyone who dares do so will have me to deal with."

"But who," she asked in her low, pleasant voice, "will protect me from your insults, sir?"

His eyes snapped open. "You, my lady," he said, "are being paid very well indeed to serve my purpose."

"Yes," she said, looking steadily back at him, "I am."

The words, even her expression, were quiet and meek. Why, then, did he have the distinct impression that war had been declared? (53)

The gloves are off, lines have been drawn, and he has just just been called out by the little brown mouse. Miss Bates of Miss Bates Reads Romance would say this is a "CHIN" moment. Through his evolving relationship with Charity over these several days, Anthony gradually begins to allow himself to face painful truths of his past, have honest conversations with his brothers and his sisters. However, the cold war between the ailing Duke and his eldest son never quite reaches detente.

One of the most emotional scenes is when Anthony's father is near death, and the two men are still almost as estranged as they ever have been. Words have been said between them that did little to open communication, and time is running out. The Duke has perhaps minutes left, Anthony and his brothers and sisters have been summoned to say good-bye to their father. And then the Duke asks for a moment alone with Anthony.

The Duke of Withingsby was not a person one touched uninvited, and the invitation was rarely given. But the Marquess of Staunton looked down at the pale, limp hand on the covers and took his hands from his back so that he could gather it up in both his own. It was cold despite all his efforts to warm it a few minutes before.

"Father," he said, remembering even as he spoke the idea of a sentimental deathbed scene with which he had mocked his wife, "I have always loved you. Far too deeply for words. If I had not loved you, I could not have hated you. And I have hated you. I love you." He raised the hand briefly to his lips.

His grace's penetrating, haughty eyes, startlingly alive, regarded him out of the gray face and from beneath heavy lids. "You are my son," he managed to say. "Always my favorite son, as you were hers. You will have children of your own, my son. Your duchess will be a good mother and a good wife. You have made a fortunate choice. There will be mutual love in your marriage. I envy you. You have not succeeded in annoying me."

He could say no more. He closed his eyes. His son watched him for a while and then went down on his knees and rested his face on the bed close to his father's hand and wept. He felt foolish weeping for a man he had hated - and loved, but he was powerless to stop the painful sobs that tore at him. And then the hand lifted and came to rest on his head. It moved once, twice, and then lay still while the rasping breathing continued.

It felt like forgiveness, absolution, a blessing, a benediction, a healing touch. A father's touch. It felt like love. The marquess despised the feelings at the same time he allowed them to wash over him. His father had touched him with love." (191)

This moment of forgiveness and reconciliation shatters the rest of the ice in Anthony's heart, but he could not have reached this point without Charity's influence on him. Anthony is a very changed man in his final speech to Charity, and it shows how far he has come since their first meeting.

"...I need you, my love," he said. "I need you so much that I panic when I think perhaps I will not be able to persuade you to come back with me to Enfield. I need you so much that I cannot quite contemplate the rest of my life if it must be lived without you. I need you so much that - Well, the words speak for themselves. I need you."

"To look after Augusta?" she said. She dared not hear what he was surely saying. She dared not hope. "To look after Enfield? To provide you with an heir?"

"Yes," he said, and her heart sank like a stone to be squashed somewhere between her slippers and the parlor carpet. "And to be my friend and my confidant and my comfort. And to be my lover." (231)

Charity challenges Anthony's words still though she has walked closer to him as he speaks, close enough to smooth her hands down the lapels of his coat. When she tries to snatch them away, she realizes his own hands cover hers, holding them in place.

"But you played unfair, Charity. You did not tell me you were not a quiet mouse. You did not tell me you were beautiful or charming or warm with concern for others or courageous or - wonderful in bed." She jerked at her hands, but he would not let her have them back. "You did not tell me you were a thief. I had to come after you to recover my stolen property."

"But the pearls -" She would have died of shame if she could. She had thought the pearls were a gift.

"Are yours, my love," he said. "They were a wedding gift. What you stole, Charity, was my heart. I have come to get it back if all else fails. But I would rather you kept it and brought it back to Enfield with you." (221)

But she's still not convinced. What about their contract? They will both tear it up together if she will agree to be his wife in truth. What about her younger brothers and sister? They will love Enfield Park and Augusta will love them. What about Penny and her Mr. Miller? It's Phil decision about whether to allow Mr. Miller to pay his addresses to Penny. What about Agnes and Phil? And on and on. For every obstacle, Anthony has a solution.

"It is not just, then," she said, "that you feel an obligation? That you have realized the distasteful nature of that agreement?"

He made a sound that was suspiciously like a moan.

"You really love me?" she asked wistfully.

"The devil!" he exclaimed, looking over his shoulder. "Did I forget to say it? The thing I came to say?" (223)

It's such a great scene, and one I have read and reread and reread again. The Temporary Wife is going right up to the top alongside Heartless, Slightly Dangerous, and The Secret Pearl, and so many others. The Temporary Wife is a book worth a reread many, many times.

I need your help. For Kindle Scout to consider my romantic suspense novel, “Sky Garden”, for publication, I need nominations for it. If you have an Amazon account, it’s simple. Click the “Sky Garden” link, and you’ll go to a page with a blue “Nominate Me” button, the cover of “Sky Garden”, an exciting blurb and a chance to read an excerpt. In addition, if Kindle Scout does select “Sky Garden” for publication, on release, you’ll receive a free digital copy! It’s lovely that your kindness will be repaid. So, please, click the “Sky Garden” link and consider helping a great story get published.

For those of you I've been boring all year with my writing struggles, this is the Secret Project. I've blogged about my decision to try Kindle Scout rather than hunting a literary agent for it.

I am sooooo nervous!

Um, well. I almost didn't make it through the first six chapters of Dream A Little Dream.  Why? Because of a little boy, Edward, whose first reaction to adversity is to ask his mom "Are we gonna die?" Because of his mother, Rachel, as pared down emotionally and spiritually as she is physically. A woman who has no room for anything but ensuring Edward's survival, who is without the luxury of worrying over dignity, self-esteem, or vanity. A woman more than willing to stand toe-to-toe with the devil himself (or at least a minor demon) for her son. And then the emotional death rattle of a once gentle man, haunted by personal loss, drowning in grief, who, finding no succor in pills, booze, or self-imposed isolation, has sunk so far as to attempt to break the one person who threatens to shake him out of his despondency in the most elemental destructive way.

"Do you give up?" He ground out the words, and only after they were spoken did he realize he'd made it sound as if this were some child's game they were playing.

He felt the faint tremor that passed through her body. "I'm not going to fight you. I don't care that much."

He still hadn't broken her. Instead, it was as if he'd done nothing more than give her another job. Pick up the trash. Clean out the johns. Spread your legs so I can fuck you. Her acceptance made him furious, and he shoved her dress up to her waist.

"Damn it! Are you so stupid you don't know what I'm going to do to you?"

Her eyes bore into his without flinching. "Are you so stupid you haven't figured out yet that it doesn't matter?" (54-55)

I made it through those chapters only because I knew Susan Elizabeth Phillips would not leave these three characters there in that dark place. And I might also have indulged in an adult beverage or two to help, some rocking in a corner, and breathing into a paper bag. Seriously, I did have to stop reading for an hour or so before I could pick Dream A Little Dream up and continue. But on the other side of the bad place is a book I absolutely love.

Rachel Stone is a truly unforgettable character. A woman of both complexity and simplicity. A woman of faith who married a charlatan tele-evangelist with a madonna/whore complex. A woman who was poor, then wealthy, then something much less than poor again but with a fragile child to rear. A woman who believes no sacrifice is too great if it means the health and well-being of her son, Edward. She is fierce and practical and refuses to give up no matter what obstacles are thrown her way. And that's the difference between Rachel and Gabe Bonner.

Because Gabe has all but given up; the biggest evidence of this is the gun he keeps in his bedside table, and it's not for self-defense against burglars or would-be murderers. The death of his wife and son sent him spiraling down into a depression so dark and entrenched he feels he has nothing to live for. The scene I quoted above comes early in Dream A Little Dream but it is the big turning point for Gabe. He is forced to confront the man he has become, to decide whether he has any shred of humanity left in him. To this point, Gabe Bonner wasn't much of a hero, but he redeems himself very nicely, and Rachel is the reason he comes out of that dark place.

Edward is a great kid, and I'm not usually a fan of children in romance. They either veer into plot moppet territory, completely without purpose except to provide a bit of precociousness, or are an afterthought, or a way for the hero or heroine to shine in each other's eyes or thousands of other essentially useless reasons. Not Edward. Edward begins as a timid little boy whose lack of roots and security have him expecting life as he knows it to end at any moment, no matter how inconsequential the circumstance. He's very introverted, socially awkward, and terrified of Gabe with reason. Because Gabe does not like Edward at all. If Rachel is the first reason Gabe steps out into life again, Edward is the second. Gabe and Edward take a while to warm up to each other, but Edward, or Chip (yes, Chip Stone!) as he wants to be called, is the brave and honest one who lays all the cards on the table, while Gabe is still hiding behind deception.

He began tugging up clumps of grass. "You could pretend."

"Pretend? I don't know what you mean."

More grass came up. "You could pretend you like me. Then my mommy would marry you, and we wouldn't have to go away."

"I - I don't think that would work."

His brown eyes filled with hurt. "Couldn't you even pretend to like me? It wouldn't have to be real."

Gabe forced himself to meet the boy's gaze and utter his lie with complete conviction. "I do like you."

"No." Edward shook his head. "But you could pretend. And I could pretend about you, too. If we pretended real good, my mommy would never know." (287)

To watch this shy fragile little fellow transform into a strong, funny, young boy able to finally give away his well-loved stuffed rabbit named "Horse" to Cal and Jane's baby, Rosie, to see him grow in confidence, to begin to enjoy making friends, to be a normal five-year old boy, to call Gabe Bonner on a lie, to take a proactive role to persuade his mom not to leave behind the place and the people he has come to care about made him as much a part of this story as the romance between Gabe and Rachel.

One of the first things I fell in love with in Nobody's Baby But Mine was the marriage-in-trouble subplot of Cal Bonner's parents. In Dream A Little Dream, there was the secondary romance of Reverend Ethan Stone and his church secretary, Kristy. If I had a complaint about this book, it would be that these two really needed their own book. I loved when Kristy had had enough of being doormat for Ethan, watching him lust after women wearing tight jeans and spandex but never seeing the woman right in front of him, who has been in love with him for years. When she comes in to work wearing jeans so tight she has difficulty breathing, a new flirty "feathery" hairstyle, magenta polish on her toes, rings on her fingers, and breasts minimally covered in a tank top, defying gravity with the help of her new Wonderbra, Ethan is shocked and disapproving. Her jeans are too tight, her lipstick is too bright, and her breasts are too prominent. In short, Kristy is not appropriately attired for a church office. He feels betrayed because Kristy was supposed to remain invisible and sexless so that he never saw his friend as a sexual being. Kristy is justifiably furious about Ethan's double standard. After all, Ethan drools "over Laura Delapino with her crimson lipstick" and her spandex but for Kristy he has only criticism.

"You don't like my lipstick," she said flatly.

"I didn't say that. It's not my place to like it or not. I just think for a church office . . ."

Rachel would never put up with this. Not in a million years. And neither would she.

"If you don't like it, you can fire me."

He seemed genuinely shocked. "Kristy!"

She had to get out of here before she started to cry.

"Now there's no need to get upset." He cleared his throat. "I'm sure once you have a chance to think this over. . ."

"I have, and I quit!" (171)

Kristy runs out of the church office, upset that she'd wasted so many years waiting for Ethan, waiting for him to see her, to really see her, and realizing that he probably never will. Ethan pursues her to her car.

"Kristy!"

The engine roared to life. He ran toward her. She shot out of the parking space.

He rushed to the side of her car. "Stop it, Kristy! You're overreacting! Let's talk about this."

That was when she did the unthinkable. She rolled down the window, thrust out her hand, and gave Reverend Ethan Bonner the bird. (171-172)

I was applauding frankly. Ethan needed almost as much shaking up as Gabe.

I read a post earlier this week at Book Riot, "Some Like It Hot: The Literary Function of Sex Scenes in Romance" by Jessica Tripler. In it, she said something that stuck with me while I was reading Dream A Little Dream.

We often think about emotions as psychological, but romance fiction recalls us to our lived bodily experience, and nowhere more so than in sex scenes. Emotions in romance aren’t private mental entities that one can choose to share or hide. The body doesn’t “reveal” emotions locked up in the head. Instead, emotions reside within and between bodies, forming the stickiness of our connections with each other. A character becomes aware of herself as a subject and an object. She sees herself both from her own point of view and through her lover’s eyes, and she knows her partner is doing the same. Sex is an integral part of the attunement and mutual recognition that constitute a successful and convincing romantic relationship.

Of course, some writers do this well and some don’t. Sex scenes in romance can be boring, cliched, repetitive, ridiculous, pointless, offensive, or ineffective.

Sex between a hero and heroine in a Susan Elizabeth Phillips' book is not gratuitous. Though I've only read six of her books, I haven't run across anything close to "boring, cliched, repetitive, ridiculous, pointless, offensive, or ineffective" sex between her heroes and heroines. Instead, sex reveals something about character, says something important about where the couple are in their relationship. That scene at the beginning of this review? That one fueled by Gabe's anger with a tinge of lust and Rachel's stubborn refusal to be used or cowed by any man? It's the line in the sand: How far will he go to stop her from dragging him into the land of the living again, to leave him alone with his comfortable numbness? Will she stand her ground or will she run? How much does she have to lose? Has she reached the bottom of her reserves of strength yet? What does it say about Gabe and his dark space that he wants to break Rachel? In the end, he is forced to acknowledge that between the two of them, Rachel is much tougher than he is.

The first time they actually make love is a stripping away of their pasts. For Gabe, it's a reawakening, an acknowledgement that as much as he may want to be, he is not dead. He is very much alive. It's the first time he makes love with any woman who was not his wife, Cherry. For Rachel, it's long-awaited satisfaction of her curiosity, an affirmation that she is more than a mere "vessel." For the first time she is free to participate, to reach out and grab some little bit of pleasure just for herself, instead of feeling the "horrible, stifling, solicitude as if she were not capable of making up her mind, as if she were breakable, untouchable, undefilable", not a "woman at all." This is where Rachel and Gabe both become aware of each other as partners, the beginning of their "mutual recognition." Then, there's a funny yet tenderly passionate scene between Rachel and Gabe. If you don't believe me, just wait till you read the "squishing/assault with a deadly book" scene. They are a comfortable with each other, there's an easiness and a knowledge of each other mixed with genuine longing for that emotional connection that creates a deep intimacy in the scene only to have the intensity lightened with laughter and a sense of the absurd.

I honestly did not intend this review to be quite this long, and yet here I am. There's so much more than what I've rambled on about here. Susan Elizabeth Phillips has a talent for making me care, care very deeply, what happens to these characters. I haven't started one of her books yet without a little bit of a wince and a stray thought that maybe this book, these characters, are not for me. But her greatest talent, her gift, is that each and every time, she's turns that around for me, making me the loudest cheerleader for those questionable characters, and she does it with humor and with complex, very flawed characters facing real problems and barriers to a happy ever after. If you haven't had a chance to read a Susan Elizabeth Phillips' book, Dream A Little Dream is a good place to start. I highly recommend it.

Robert Sinclair Dovenby is my kind of hero. In a word: deliciously sublime. Yes, I know that's two words. But still, he deserves each one. The Wicked Lover by Julia Ross just about checked all my boxes. Well, except for the last 70 pages or so. I did lift an eyebrow or two at the way things shook out, and I wished Dove had been a little more colorful in his wardrobe colors, but, alas, he is nicknamed "Dove" after all. In the end, those were small things and not enough to ruin all the wonderful bits in The Wicked Lover. Georgian England? Check. Delicious hero? Check. Lush sensual romance? Check and check. Plus, there's a wonderfully sensual, erotic first kiss that just about curled my hair even more than it normally is. There are secondary characters almost as finely drawn as the two main characters with kaboodles of lovely Georgian atmosphere, a genuine sense of the time and setting. Oh and there might be a heroine posing as a young man. I loved it.

The opening chapter of The Wicked Lover is one of the best I've read in a long time. The banter and badinage between Meg, Lady Grenham, and Robert Sinclair Dovenby, or Dove, sparkled with wit and acerbic hilarity, a "kind of merry war" along the lines of verbal jousting like that of Petruchio and Kate or, a better example, the parry and thrust, verbally of course, between Benedick and Beatrice. Dove returns home, riding a half-trained stallion, to find his mistress, Meg, burning his clothes in the street in front of his townhouse with a captivated audience awaiting just how it will all play out. Meg fires the first shot after feeding a coat of dark-gray cut velvet into her bonfire:

Meg glanced up, her face, lovely, intelligent, bright with anger. "So what do you make of my bonfire, sir? A pretty enough blaze, don't you think?"

Dove bowed from the saddle and spoke, as he must if he was going to survive this, not only for her. "Indeed, Lady Grenham. A perfect funeral pyre to our friendship, so well represented by these few gaudy trappings. Let them burn!" (2)

His boots and shoes are added to her fire as Dove and the crowd watch silver buckles melting even as Meg accuses him of infidelity, not valuing her. They are both playing to the crowd but there is an undercurrent of of love and loss on both sides here as well. Dove assures her she's is a diamond among pearls, "more brilliant, more valuable, more magnificent - and with a sharper cutting edge, of course." And the crowd loves it.

"Yet you would allow your cheap strumpet -"

"I' faith, ma'am, to which strumpet do you refer? London breeds strumpets faster than your bonfire consumes shirts."

Billowing silk hit the fire. "But do they all burn as furiously-"

"As you did for me? Hard to say, ma'am." (3)

Dove is the master of the grand gesture, laughing in the face of disaster. Nothing better exemplifies this as when the crowd's raucous laughter causes Dove's horse to come dangerously close to pitching him to the ground. He gains control of Abdiel and then begins to empty his pockets, shrugging out of his coat.

"Pray, burn this jacket, ma'am. I never cared for the cut." He flung her his full-skirted coat, then winked as he swept off his tricorn. "And this hat has gone quite out of style." (3)

Meg catches his hat, acknowledging the humor in what they are both doing, calls out to Dove:

"You will spend a cold winter, sir!"

"Without you, or without my coat, ma'am? It's a damned paltry comparison." On the knife edge of chaos he stripped off his waistcoat and held up the ivory satin, examining the silver-thread roses with deliberate gravity. 'Though this? Alas, I always rather liked it. But let it burn, by all means!" (3)

The crowd is roaring with laughter, the fire is burning brighter and brighter, and Meg is concerned that Abdiel will unseat Dove at last, as the horse rears up once again, controlled by one hand only, with Dove moments away from relinquishing even that small amount in order to toss his shirt into the flame.

"You're mad, sir! Insane! That stallion will kill you!"

"What will you wager on it, ma'am? One last exquisite night?"

"My nights aren't up for wager, sir, though your death will be, if you don't dismount this instant."

"But I never abandon any creature, once mounted, ma'am, unless by my own choice." (4)

He-he. Yes, indeed. His horse. He means his horse, I'm sure. Meg concedes Dove wins the round with his outrageous behavior but not without her own final parting shot. Though their exchanges are insultingly personal, and meant to nick, neither one has the heart to truly wound. Mostly it was repartee at its finest, a blend of familiarity and wicked humor with just a pinch of acid.

"The scandal sheets cannot give you the triumph, sir, for the trump is still mine. Far more heat is being generated by my bonfire than could ever be found in your glacial bed."

Faces swiveled, waiting for Dove to deliver the deathblow.

Yet he bowed. "I' faith, in affairs of the heart, ma'am, the lady is always right. If I could not love you as you deserved, it is my loss. As it is my failing that I was not rid of such an unsightly wardrobe a long time ago. My homage is yours, Lady Grenham, along with my undying gratitude." He took her fingers and kissed them. "Even for Abdiel, though he came deuced close to making a bloody fool out of me." (4-5)

I thoroughly enjoyed these first few pages. As openings go, it set up the rest of the book perfectly, cluing me in to the fun and frolic to follow (Well, mostly fun though there are some dark parts), all while subtly underscoring the genuine feeling between Dove and Meg as well as imbuing a sense of the notoriously flamboyant and naughty nature of Georgian society.

In the hands of Julia Ross, figurative language takes on an entirely new depth, adding color in infinitesimal ways to the backdrop for Dove and Sylvie. In attempting to calm his stallion, Abdiel, Dove didn't merely exert control but "wove a cocoon of persuasion with legs, back, and rein" while sporting a "corrosive" smile. The lords and ladies outside his townhouse were not simply the the cream of the crop of Georgian society, but were "like a field of daisies honoring the sun, every powdered head turned in anticipation as the stallion cleaved through the crowd." The hallway in Dove's house "yawned empty and silent, an absurd vacuum of servants." Mist around chimneys does not do something so prosaic as cover like a blanket. Oh no, this mist "lays on stone and wrought iron like fresh paint." All the various forms of London weather are as much a part of the story as Dove, Lady Meg, the Duke of Yveshire, and George White/Sylvie. Here, ice is a "lacy fringe", fog settles on cobbles "like a broody hen sheltering chicks", "snow serpents swirled", mist opens "like a sheet to reveal" the legs of a horse, windows are decorated with "frost flowers", and cold drizzle "soaked the pavements and hissed around the street lamps." I quite enjoyed this flamboyant description for the most part, but found it a little distracting toward the end as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Not to denigrate Ms. Ross's talent in anyway, but rather my own inability to stay focused on the action when I became distracted by a pretty phrase or three. Mea culpa.

If you prefer your couple to hop into bed right away, this is not the book for you. As a matter of fact, The Wicked Lover should go into the Guinness Book of World Records for having one of the most extended examples of foreplay, if not the longest, in ANY romance novel ever, coming in (pardon me, I couldn't resist!)) at a little over 200 pages of it. It begins with George White (aka Sylvie, Countess of Montevrain) tied to Dove's bed and escalates with each and every encounter thereafter - from Sylvie's discovery that Dove is fully aware (and has been almost from the start) she is a "she", not a he, to the stolen kiss at the masquerade ball to the ice skating adventure on the Thames. And then there are those scenes in which Dove tutors Sylvie on how to act more like a man: how to throw (from the shoulder and back), the library a battlefield littered with lumps of sealing wax, a brass paperweight, a spill holder, books, an inkwell and a variety of broken china. How to bow ("A good bow commands a room. It makes ladies swoon and other men furious.")

Lithe as a cat he walked toward her. A snuffbox appeared in one hand. He stopped to take one elegant pinch. As if the candles had suddenly dimmed, a chill permeated the room.

His hazel eyes narrowed.

"Good evening, sir," he said. "Terrible weather!"

The box disappeared, as if by magic. He bent at the hips, one foot in front of the other, and bowed. A wave of lethal force swept from the gesture, as if he might straighten with a dagger aimed for her heart. Her pulse hammered. Ladies swoon! (160)

For Dove, a bow is not merely a "gesture," it is "effrontery mixed with contempt." The threat, the desire and intent to seduce conveyed in a simple bow is totally dependent upon state of mind. Taking snuff is "all a bluff, a chimera (...). Gesture is everything. Substance nothing."

His steady gaze wasn't intrusive. His eyes didn't speak openly of kisses or seduction. Yet small flames of delight danced in their hazel depths, as if she and Dove shared some intimate, lovely, hilarious joke - as if she were already seduced, long ago, and was replete and satisfied in a way she'd never known. (181)

I've never associated taking snuff as being seductive, but both Sylvie and I were breathless with anticipation of ...something as he flicks open the gold snuffbox, his eyes never leaving hers, setting just a few grains "on the curve below" his thumb, and inhaling.

She took back the box and tried to copy his gesture exactly. "Since you won't risk more naked contact, I'm trying to imagine what it would really be like to become a man like you, to be inside your skin."

"What an exhilarating, if unsettling, thought - it certainly is whenever I imagine being inside yours!"

The snuffbox tipped and spilled half its contents onto the carpet as she laughed. "Faith! I suppose I asked for that!"

"You begged for it, ma'am. But if you would really like more naked contact, I put myself at your disposal." (182)

Pretty good, no? These scenes really compliment the verbal sparring showing perfectly how both are engaged emotionally and physically with the other.

Someone smarter than me said that a kiss can be a comma, a period, or an exclamation point. Kisses convey so much of the emotional and physical tension and are a pretty good barometer of whether I'll be savoring a romance or skipping and skimming. Though a good kiss doesn't necessarily have to involve tongues or sucking or even lips in some instances for me to fall in love with a couple who are falling in love. Bear with me while I give you a few examples of my favorite "kissing" scenes.

Take Eleanor & Park, for example. Their first kiss is preceded by a gradual exploration that begins first with a mere touching of hands as they sit side-by-side on the bus to school:

He didn't look up. He wound the scarf around his fingers until her hand was hanging in the space between them. Then he slid the silk and his fingers into her open palm.

And Eleanor disintegrated." (70-71, Eleanor & Park, Rainbow Rowell)

Me, too, Eleanor. It reminded me of Romeo and Juliet the first time I read it. Neither one is looking at the other; their only contact is their hands. I just knew this was to be a grand passion for both, and it was the lead up to THE KISS that made me long for that moment and savor it when it happened.

Or, a kiss can be tenderly romantic and poignant as this one for David and Balfour in Joanna Chambers' Provoked:

“I’ll be going back to London tomorrow,” Balfour added in a flat voice. “So this is good-bye.”

“Good-bye?” David wished he could bite back the word as soon as it was out. It seemed to him his voice rang with disappointment.

“I don’t expect I’ll be in Scotland again for a while.”

“I see. Well, I’ll wish you all the best, then.” David thrust out his hand.

For a moment, Balfour simply stared at his outstretched hand, till David felt so uncomfortable he wanted to draw it back. But then Balfour took it, and in one swift movement, turned David’s hand over, palm down, and lowered his head to press a kiss to the back of it.

Balfour’s lips were soft and warm, but the fingers holding David’s hand were strong and determined. The gesture made David feel supremely off-balance. It was typically Balfour: challenging and humorous at once. Making a woman of David with his queer courtliness. It was…romantic. (2493-2500, Provoked, Joanna Chambers)

Sometimes less really is more. Romantic? Oh yes. Definitely. And also poignant because this is a parting for these two lovers. But also challenging because kisses for David are associated with shame and humiliation, forbidden for David. The power of this kiss is in how it turns something "forbidden" into "romantic", something shameful into a celebration, a treasure. Pretty powerful. It kind of breaks my heart when kisses in romance novels are given short shrift because they communicate so much of the emotional connection between the two main characters.

The kiss between Sylvie and Dove occurs at Lady Grenham's masquerade ball. Sylvie is in her "George" persona, smugly believing her disguise has continued to fool Dove and yet frustrated by that fact because she is fighting her growing attraction to him as well as struggling to reconcile/justify Dove's part in the death of the Duke of Yveshire's brother. The country estate looks like a naughty fairyland, lights and music "streamed out across the shrouded gardens and outlying fields, frost diamonds sparkling on the snow, arpeggios tinkling in the icy air", charcoal braziers hidden within statues of nymphs and satyrs. In the distance an ice palace constructed from blocks of ice, its frozen turrets lit up, alcoves within lined with fur, is "just private enough to be sinful, just public enough to be naughty." Food and drink flow like a veritable Bacchanalian feast, couples mingle, and a pathway lit with paper lanterns points to "the dark yew hedges of a maze." Sylvie escapes to the maze while Dove looks for drink and "female" company, specifically Meg, his former mistress. Sylvie makes her way through the maze to the center and takes a seat in the shadows on an iron bench next to a statue of Aphrodite. After some time she hears footsteps; Dove has followed her into the maze. He appears startled to find someone else deep at the center of the maze and more than just a little drunk.

"Ah, ma'am," he said. "What is a man to do when his mistress abandons him?"

Lud, he thought she was a woman? Sylvie kept her silence, thinking fast.

She pulled farther back into the shadows and spoke softly, seductively, while her heart hammered at the risk.

"I don't know, sir," she said. "Find himself another mistress?"

"Heartless advice, ma'am," he replied. "You would have me kiss a stranger?"

The quiet was absolute, as if they both held their breath, a cocoon of silence among the dark hedges. She had only to open the domino and step into the moonlight to let him know. Yet a moment like this might never come again.

Sylvie stood, keeping the fabric wrapped tightly over her betraying clothes and man's wig. She was a wraith, lost in cold darkness. With her back to the moon, the hood must completely shadow her face.

"Isn't kissing strangers the purpose," she asked, keeping her voice breathy, insubstantial, "of a masquerade?" (69-70)

Dove is leaning and listing as if very drunk indeed. With one hand he lifts her chin while the other hand grips Aphrodite's robes. The hand under her chin slowly moves down her neck to her shoulder to her arm, and finally to her hand. They are standing close, but their bodies are not touching. Only the palms of their hands and their lips.

She felt the shock of it - at the brilliance, at the exquisite sensitivity - before sensation invaded, blazing through her blood. Forgetting restraint, letting desire meet desire, she kissed back.

He tasted of wine and wickedness, forged by skill into genius. Sensation shivered, pooling heat in the groin. Palm pressed against naked palm. Mouth pressed to open mouth. Tongue touched tongue.

Hunger roared. She was enveloped in the glorious heat of his body. Her fingers clung to the hard length of his. Their palms pressed together, rubbing, twisting. His tongue played with hers, sucking, plunging. His lips teased, demanded, insisted, sparking a tumult of longing." (71)

I don't know about you, but my tumult is certainly longing right about now. Ahem. Yes. Well. The connection of "doves" with the goddess Aphrodite and the way Dove clutches the robes of Aphrodite adds yet another layer to this scene. Sylvie and Dove are fully clothed, their physical contact is minimal, and yet this kiss conveys so much more about the state of their hearts, their feelings for each other, than just naked, writhing bodies or any dull insert Tab A into Slot B sex scene could ever do. Here, there is romance, lust, seduction tempered with restraint, a strong emotional connection, an electricity, genuine longing, and a question. What I loved most is the mutually overwhelming, overpowering desire for intimacy, to know the other completely, that magical moment when "lips do what hands do."

The Wicked Lover is a book I savored. There is so much to love and appreciate about this book. I loved that Dove is such an fascinating blend of confident male and kindness, that Sylvie makes no apologies for her past. I loved that Dove's tutelage of Sylvie had nothing to do with a visit to a brothel (wink wink), that he had no desire to interfere with her experiencing freedom in a way she had never known, that there was none of that tired, recycled horrified alpha hero babble when he believes he's inexplicably attracted to another man, that Dove is not elevated in social position by Fate or Luck at the end in order to even the class differences between him and Sylvie. He's a foundling and a scoundrel at the beginning and he's still very much so at the end. I loved that Meg, Lady Grenham and the Duke of Yveshire are as fully realized as Dove and Sylvie. I love the pictures painted of Georgian England, and the atmosphere created by a race across London's roofs or an ice skating adventure on the Thames. Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing tells Beatrice "I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes." That's the kind of romance here, one I love reading - an alchemical formula of love, passion, and a bit of the soul that turns mercury into gold. Magic.

Rose Lerner is a favorite writer of mine. She's written wonderful books like In For A Penny, A Lily Among Thorns, Sweet Disorder, True Pretenses. And now she's offering a chance to enjoy a Christmas/Hanukkah story with your favorite couple from one or more of her books. Choosing one will be the hard part. 

http://roselerner.com/blog/2015/10/05/2015-holiday-mailing-now-with-hanukkah/