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417 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 28, 2009
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“You forgot something when you left Halstead Hall,” he said hoarsely.
“What?” Her heart leapt into her throat as he strode purposefully toward her.
“Me.”
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➥ Oliver Sharpe (H) was a true disappointment for me. I'm sure many others would not mind his character faults, but characters like his are those that bother me the most. Oliver is presented as a rake, always talking about how he breaks women's hearts and how they're all over him (very annoying), yet I did not find him charming or charismatic once. His arrogance was not one that I could find endearing or playful, but rather one that felt built on misogyny, self-pity and entitlement. I understand that heroes with daddy/mommy issues or ones with difficult pasts are greatly loved in historical romance, but unfortunately, I've only seen their trauma be used as an excuse for their coldness and disrespect towards others. I really much prefer heroes like Raphael, who are charming and playful. I did not enjoy the way that Oliver manipulated Maria and coerced her into doing so many things.
➥ Maria Butterfield was a decent heroine. She wasn't the funniest (Emma, I love you), but she said many things that needed to be said. When Oliver said something rude or misogynistic, she would respond very logically and well, but it always went unacknowledged and that really bothered me. She just ended up giving in at some point, and stopped trying.
"Freddy, come fasten me up, will you?"
Her cousin's back stiffened. "I can't do that!"
"Oh, for God's sake." Lord Stoneville strode over. "I knew you Americans were prudish but this is absurd."
Before she could even protest, he began fastening her gown. To her horror, the faint scent of his spicy cologne and his fingers working efficiently over the buttons made an odd sort of heat rise up from her belly. That couldn't be good.
"You seem to know how to do up a woman's gown very well." She struggled to sound nonchalant. "I take it you've had plenty of practice.
"You know us debauchers," he said dryly. "Practice, practice, practice."
Any other woman might have thrown herself at his feet for them. Any English woman. Americans were a different breed entirely.
He propped one hip on his desk. "Whenever you make your own bed, they assume that it's because you disapprove of how they do it. The same is true for building the fire or fetching tea. They want to serve you, and when you don't allow them to, they think they've failed you."
"That's absurd. I'm always telling them I don't need any help."
"Precisely. And with those words, you take away their purpose in life, which hurts their pride."
She winced as she thought of the anxious look Betty always wore. "Surely, no one's ultimate purpose in life is to be a servant."
"In England, it is." His voice gentled. I know it's hard for you as an American to understand this, but English servants are very proud of what they do, of the family they serve, of how important their positions are within the family. When you deny them the chance to do their duty, you make them feel as if you don't respect them."
"I rather like her (says his sister). So it does not seem fair for her to be put in a position where she could be-"
"Ruined by a scoundrel like me," he finished for her. (Again with the self-pity, lmao shut up.)
"Compromised," she corrected. "I know that you wouldn't deliberately ruin a respecable woman. But you must admit you have a talent for making fall in love with you, and then breaking their hearts." 🙄🙄
"Oh for God's sake, I don't make women do anything. They just don't listen when I say I'm not interested in marriage. Surely, you didn't think I would actually marry the chit."
"Ignore these clod-plates. What can you expect from a group of men? (A lot better tbh.) They would prefer we let them roughshod over us."
"I assure you, I rarely (ONLY RARELY?) feel the need to roughshod over a woman," Oliver drawled. "I've kissed one or two when they weren't prepared for it, but every man does that." 😀
He yearned for no woman. They were only playmates to while away the time. 😍
"He's actually offered to make her his mistress! He who never kept a mistress in his life (so special!), who'd joked to his friends that mistresses were more trouble than they were worth since one woman was as good as another."
"You do that a great deal, don't you?"
He swallowed the rest of his wine. "What?"
"Close up into yourself when someone tries to peer into your soul. Make a joke of it."
"He spent his entire night on the town without once plunging his cock into a willing whore, without even wanting to. It was insanity!"
"You said you would leave me to sleep alone," she says.
"Not so you can think about him and what you owe him. I'll make love to you before I let that happen. Because one way or another, I mean to have you as my wife." Raw determination shone in his harsh features. "Even if I have to ruin you to manage it."
"Yes, angel. You're mine now. Mine, do you understand? Mine...mine...mine..." *insert orgasm*
"Last night, you said that going to the brothel was 'appallingly bad form,' and it would never happen again. Did you mean that?"
He tensed. It was a monumental question. "I meant that I would never embarrass you in such fashion again."
Her eyes darkened. "In other words, your visits to the brothel would be more discreet in the future, is that it?"
"No! Yes...God preserve me, I don't know." Panic swelled in him anew. She wanted him to promise to be faithful to her. "When I said that, I wasn't considering we might marry."
"So," she said, her voice cold, "you mean for us to have a fashionable English marriage like that of your parents."
"Certainly not," he said sharply. "Damn it, Maria, you're asking me something I can't answer." Rising from the bed, he dragged on his drawers. For the first time in his life, being naked made him feel vulnerable, "Why do you think I've never married? It's because I don't want to have the same sort of marriage as my parents. And I don't know if I...I'm not sure if I'm capable of..."
"Fidelity?"
His gaze locked with hers. "Precisely."
Mrs. Plumtree searched her face. "Beneath all his reckless remarks, he is a good man (no). And he genuinely wants to marry you (who cares) - after last night at the ball I am certain of that much. So accept his offer, for God's sake. And give me great-grandchildren. That is all I want."
"And what about what I want?" (exactly!!!)
"You want him. I can see it whenever you look at him." (yawn)
Just what he needed-another female (🚩) plaguing him. Ignoring her, he poured himself more brandy.
"Young men don't think before they act. They're impulsive and selfish and randy as goats. I have four male cousins and when they were at that age, all the moral training in the world would have flown right out of their heads."
"As your husband, I should have a say in it."
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