What do you think?
Rate this book


Hardcover
First published January 1, 2010
"Well, you see!" she said, faintly exasperated. "You sounded as if you didn't believe me when I said I forgot about your scars. But you wander around like Lord Byron, all broody and interesting and romantical and it's no wonder women fall at your feet like...like things that fall at your feet. And Byron's almost as lame as you are."
He stared at her in real horror. "Romantical?" he echoed in total disgust. "Broody? Like that ass Byron? My dear Miranda, you have a tongue like a barbed whip." He used the phrase deliberately, like prodding a sore tooth to see if it still hurt.
It did.
This time her smile was genuine, a pleased grin that she'd managed to wound his amour propre. "Well, if you don't want to be a mysterious, romantic hero you need to gain at least two or three stone, talk about finance and belch. Your clothes are too dramatic, as well. I think colors would suit you rather than the funereal black you mope around in. Perhaps a nice puce, or a pale chartreuse. And you could cut your hair. It's too long for fashion nowadays. Something a la Brutus would make you very much more ordinary."
"My hair covers my scarring."
"But we've agreed that no one notices your scarring once they're around you. You woo them like a big, fat hairy black spider, and no matter how much they struggle they're helpless."
"For some reason I can't quite imagine a spider wooing.
"You can get an erection less than an hour after I've tried to kill you?" she said in disbelief.
"Just how perverse are you?"
"Let me show you."

This man was truly like a scorpion, a poisonous sting when one least expected it.
"My hair covers my scarring."
"But we've agreed that no one notices your scarring once they're around you. You woo them like a big, fat hairy black spider, and no matter how much they struggle they're helpless."
"For some reason I can't quite imagine a spider wooing."




'O brave new world, that hath such people in it.'



Happiness is an illusion.4 stars
Though there were moments, when he'd been with Miranda Rohan, that he thought he might have caught a glimpse of it.
He'd greatly underestimated her. She drew him in ways he didn't want to think about. She infuriated him, made him laugh, filled him with lust.I adored Miranda! What a terrific heroine—she quickly made it onto my favorite heroines list. She's spunky, independent, vulnerable, loyal, brave, smart, and kind. She is put in shitty situation upon shitty situation, and always meets it head on and tries to make the best of it, rallying her spirits and not letting circumstances defeat her. I wanted to slap Lucien upside the head so, SO many times, because he was so lucky to get Miranda and he kept on being willfully blind to it. One of the most satisfying scenes was when .
And she weakened him.
This was the greatest danger.
She heard his bellow from a distance, and she smiled to herself. He must have discovered his rooms. She’d been waiting for this moment all day, been loath to leave the house for fear she’d miss it. Every spare inch of his bedroom, dressing room and adjoining sitting room had been painted the loveliest shade of powder pink. She hadn’t had enough time to find a matching shade of fabric for the curtains, but the white cotton lace had a nice, cheery touch, as did the coverlet and pillows. She’d even managed to paint several old chairs to go with the overall effect.
If he were a seventeen-year-old girl he would love it.