Finally, I thought, finally a guy was masturbating! Usually they all simply have to fuck another woman every day because of their poor beleagured physique. I was going to praise Carlyle - and then she makes it all so much worse by saying that of course he cannot possible come from frigging, because he loves her!
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAM
Let me try to put this into a broader context (A. probably hates me by now, and Ch. seems to have misunderstood me for a while):
This sort of mind-boggling and frankly sickening entitlement continues; at the first proper sex scene, when once again I thought that yes, ah, at least some nice intercourse now - a) she had planned to take him as a lover, with support from her aunt, and intruded into his rooms (as modern women do); b) he'd been used many times by higher class women (the one thing I liked, and I was hoping for a redemption re. his justified hurt there); c) when he puts her hand on his bulge, she stiffens, even while having him finger her. And now it gets worse: d) she's so innocent despite no virgin, he has to do better, which means lots of breast sucking (because women are entitled to lots and lots of servicing), so then e) she gets horny again and begs but he fingers her to orgasm with proper gentlemanly restraint (because she's a modern passionate women). But wait, there's more illogical shifts to appease the woman of today! F) now unable to heed whatever she might say, he finally plunges in (back to the essential man-must-be-overwhelmed-by-lust, because true love is being unable to restrain yourself sexually) except g) she wants it fast and hard now but he begs her to slow down (see servicing), but h) then he can't resist and finishes in her (see true love is blind lust) but h) pulls out (see true love is servicing).
I had to outline this to show the pathological insanity that currently published romance shows lurking in "modern" woman! I was going to say Catherine is the first one I don't like of Carlyle's, but actually I didn't like Frederica either. They are both too entitled and keep doing their men injustices but the men have to keep abjectly apologising - and I'm usually seeing only the reverse, in RL or in Hunter, and battling it, but here it's really revolting, so much so that by the end I not only didn't feel for her danger, but couldn't care less if the kidnapper hurt her. The antagonism between h/h, dissolved by sex and twisted female entitlement is what differentiates Carlyle from Chase most importantly.
Otherwise it's the usual disappointments: after the young damaged rogues Delacourt and Bentley had proven to be nondescript bores in their own novels, Max de Rohan with his big black dog and his police work still held so much hope and promise. Of course he can't fullfill that - and even worse, it took me 60 pages or more to figure out that Catherine is the sister of Cam and Bentley, the one I'd been also looking forward to - it's hard to see her as special or even one of them, the flattering descriptions and fawning make her less rather than more dear.
Another gripe is the liberally used Italian (always promptly translated as well *puke* nobody, nobody ever talked like that; it's different if Regency peeps used French phrases to be fashionable, but emigrants do not keep using native language in their second tongue, like that). Carlyle used that before as well as Raybourn, whom I think she wants to emolate here.
So Max is in fact the only good thing about it; Kemble is losing his appeal - perhaps due to ongoing gay stereotyping - Max was better in Woman of Virtue (as were Bentley and three others), but he's still got a little bit of personality left she didn't manage to erase. He might not get to wank and have to turn into a Viscount as well, but towards the middle his hangover is so bad that he contemplated suicide only to fall asleep while wondering where his pistol was - and that was the last appealing glimpse, because then his "loneliness" and "sorrow" suddenly come from hearing the Lord had slept with the maid while the Lady had been killed. Not his years in the slums, not raping of children and incredible poverty, no-ho, that then made him break - and his grandmother, because like Raybourn et al it's not enough to imitate Anne Perry, Carlyle also adds supersition, and who better for that "touch" than foreigners.
Catherine gets worse and worse - never having been shown doing anything - anything! - except move about and fuck, she's "utterly good and pure" and "honourable". WHAT THE HELL? Why? Oh, and an Earth goddess - that is exemplified by her rubbing her own breasts and hair while riding him. The stallion bit is spelled out more than once in the text, btw. And her eyes are melting repeatedly and her heart is throbbing between her legs. In earlier books Carlyle had the women at least play with the man's genitals a bit, but now it's all straight from mainstream porn: woman on top and performing for third party?
Obviously, this heroine cannot possibly not be breeding (their words) either. Yet again the previously barren woman has to be superfertile, as if it were worse than rape and murder that a woman would not bear children. *starts feeling hoarse from emotions by now* If only she'd stuck to one thing, but this schizophrenic veering between all extremes to make the woman and her happy end be superlative in all respects - it's just inducing motion sickness.
The first book of her read - A Woman Scorned - may or may not have been her best, as usual it's hard to say if the order or the quantity makes a difference, though others also rec it. Jonet certainly was unfairly maligned, while now the women just keep saying they are and I can't figure out when. Jonet's guy at least thought along lines that made him unpleasant, at least I thought so at the time, but then I also thought the strong attraction mixed with their antipathy was something particular to them, not universal to the author. His potential certainly hadn't been plumbed either, what with him being a priest, but Woman Scorned had been a better book - No True Gentleman completely misses the title mark, never lets her deal with his deep need to make himself a gentleman (the one scene where she seems to get it is a line only and then neglected). The quotes in front of each chapter never quite fit the content and from her afterword I realise she meant them as funny!
The one thing that touched me was least intentianal: Bentley had gone to great pains to get his sister a big painting of her dead husband. It hurts Max, but also she never properly discusses it with the disappointed brother, supposedly Hell Bent. still maligned by all and sundry, incl. his wife in the next book, while deeply scared from abuse they don't know - when really his behaviour should tell them he's sensitive. After his three weeks labour with that painting, we leave him confused and disappointed in her bedroom. But then nothing but her godness matters.
I'm glad I cancelled the Duke book, despite it having interesting things like male rape, anti-semitism and Kemble in it, because I know all that will also be neglected for the standard fare of a potentially interesting male being turned into the same nothingness, his great "love" being all about her having pretty parents, not eating much and not exposing her skin to the sun. Sadly I have yet one more book in my pile to go, which will just disappoint me again.
I'm tempted to say nasty things about the author picture now, remark about her fancied up, stupid and cross-eyed look = unfair and superficial, but then so is me not giving this better-than-other-genre-stuff more points.