I’m cutting plot discussion, just in case Dalziel’s identity isn’t known to those reading this review. Royce Varisey, commonly known as Dalziel, was merely his father’s heir when he disobeyed the pater’s wishes and went into the service, in some sort (as a spymaster). Now his father has died, and Royce is now the duke of a giant marcher duchy, up near the border of Scotland. Not only does he not have any closure, but before the funeral is even over, the grandes dames in the ton have decided that he must be married ASAP. Oh, and the last conspirator in the giant web of Napoleonic agents that he’s spent the last few years ferreting out is still on the loose. Can his life possibly get any more complicated? — Oh yes. Enter his obliviously perfect chatelaine . . .

Stephanie Laurens’s heroes are almost identical, and her heroines generally get the same cavalier treatment. Her heroes are always unreasonably large (men that tall aren’t terribly common today, let alone nearly two hundred years ago), super-alpha, and usually desperate for land and family. The ones who already had land are very, very possessive about it. As a matter of fact, they’re generally possessive about everything, especially their potential wives. As strong as those last few lines are, they’re really an understatement. What it comes down to is that these men are sort of vaguely-civilzed versions of Genghis Khan, although, of course, they’re so much better-looking and phenomenal in bed and they occasionally have a thought about the idea of consent. Royce Varisey is no exception to this rule, although he’s got a good set of Daddy Issues that they don’t all have.

The women are usually feisty, or at least stubborn, and very smart and generally above polite society in so many ways. Minerva Chesterton has been running a giant duchy for quite a few years, even if most of it is managing the duke, and she is, of course, in most ways a match for Royce. But not QUITE a match: she, of course, succumbs to her charms, even though she is completely untouched and has never found a man other than him she has ever even found remotely attractive. (Did I mention that she’s known him nearly her entire life?) I should mention here that Stephanie Laurens is also guilty of the ‘virgin widow’ trope, although not in this volume. (Given, she explained it almost adequately, but still.)

I think the worst part about this is that I KEEP READING HER NOVELS. I really LIKE the Stephanie Laurens novel, since it’s the same one written over and over. My favorites — please keep in mind that I read the first eleven or so in a very short period of time, so there wasn’t the time-lapse fatigue — are the first Bar Cynster novel, Devil’s Bride, and the twelfth volume, The Truth About Love (the hero is the brother of the heroine of the second novel). What I think is so addicting about them is the level of overwrought passion, and the well-described and copious sex. It’s really a heck of a lot of fun, especially in small doses — say, two books a year.

The Bastion Club books are, in general, not as good as the Cynster books, but this is a relatively common example of Stephanie Laurens’s style and subject matter. Royce is actually a little too close to ignoring the concept of consent for my tastes; other heroes are at least more subtle about their domineering, or in the case of Devil and Honoria, better matched. The idea that one good shagging will cause a heroine to be inextricably entwined with the hero bothers me, and in this volume, it’s a bit too blatant for my tastes. Readers who loooooove alpha heroes with every ounce of their souls will find Royce quite appealing, and those who want the cap to the Bastion Club novels will definitely find closure here (even if it is a bit trivial, after all that buildup). If Devil’s Bride is a five-star Stephanie Laurens book (not an absolute five-star book; it’s maybe 3.5/5 stars overall), then this is probably more like a 3.5/5 or 4/5 star Stephanie Laurens book which — and my math is really sketchy — means it’s about a 2.75 or 3/5 star book overall. Again, though, it’s essentially a ‘if you like these, you’ll like this one’ type of book, and I do recommend it for those who are addicted. Not a good place to start, though: try the aforementioned Captain Jack’s Woman (the prelude to the Bastion Club series) or Devil’s Bride (first book in the Cynster series).

At the ends of their wits, one day three young women become frustrated with the general quality of the young, eligible men in the ton, and determine to teach three of them — one each — lessons. In The Rake, the first volume, Lady Georgianna Halley decides to instruct Tristan Carroway, Viscount Dare, with whom she has had an adversarial relationship for the last eight years. Of course, their adversarial relationship is masking the fact that there’s a deep attraction there. A year or so later, Lucinda Barrett, the last of the three friends, realizing that the other two ended up marrying the objects of their lessons (oh, come on, not a spoiler), chooses Lord Geoffrey Newcombe. Lord Geoffrey, aside from being handsome, is safe and her father, General Barrett, likes him. Unfortunately, Robert Carroway, Tristan’s younger brother, has sort of gotten in the way . . .

I very much enjoy The Rake, because it is the best possible use of the Big Mis(understanding) plot. It’s not annoyingly offensive in the way that most Big Mis plots are. The entire issue of Georgianna trusting Tristan couldn’t actually be resolved by one conversation, although they do have that conversation well before the end of the story. A normal Big Mis plot, of course, uses some sort of stupid idea — like the heroine thinks the hero is poor (see On a Wicked Dawn, Stephanie Laurens) and agrees to marry him because of that. (Something that is generally rather easily resolved, unless there’s a series of misunderstandings based on that, or a time-lapse issue.) Not so with this one.

England’s Perfect Hero is rather well-known throughout the romance-novel world for being the best discussion of post-traumatic stress disorder in a romance novel, ever. Even in the first book, it’s pretty obvious to those who know something of the symptoms of PTSD that Robert suffers from it, due to his experiences in the Napoleonic Wars. Unlike other romance novels with PTSD characters, especially historical ones, this one doesn’t magically heal Robert twenty pages in so that he can get to Lucinda. He isn’t really even healed by the end of the book, although he is significantly better. He struggles, though, on nearly every page, and Lucinda’s love isn’t the Magical Healing Device(TM) that it can be in so many other novels.

This volume is pretty much my favorite romance novel of all time. As a matter of fact, I have three copies of it at present. I understand this book has issues; apparently there’s some stuff with the horses that isn’t terribly realistic. But, more than many other books, for Robert, there are actual consequences to his actions. He dances all evening, after having not danced for years (and having a knee blown out), he cannot walk for the next few days. He forces down panic attacks, and they build up to a later, larger one. (Most of that happens off the page, though.) He disappears and comes home late, on more than one occasion, and his littlest brother Edward is mad at him. (Or all of his brothers.) Robert is cool to Lucinda one day, and she merely leaves.

The characters, who are generally the same between the two books, are outstanding. Robert has one quite useful scene in The Rake that sets up his story in the third volume (and the idea that he can even be a romance novel hero, despite his tortured past). I can’t remember if I actually read vol. 3 before vol. 1, because I think I read them originally in 2005, but it seems likely, based on my vaguely-remembered reaction to Robert’s appearance in the first volume. (In other words, don’t overlook him.) I love all three of the heroines — Georgiana, the highest-born, most outspoken, and the one with the most to hide; Evie, the still waters that run deep; and Lucinda, the calmest and most organized one. Their personalities — which are even developed back as far as the mostly-shared prologue to each volume — definintely influence their stories (in other words, these are not interchangeable heroines) and their choices of mates.

There are some minor characters, like Tristan and Robert’s brother Bradshaw and Lucinda’s father General Barrett, who are outstanding as well. I rather enjoyed every moment that they appear on stage in both volumes. Bradshaw is rather not as exemplary as his brothers; I can’t see that she ever gave him a short story or anything, so he remains a rogue with some suspect taste. It’s nice to see men of good family who are actually sort of mixed, as opposed to both Tristan and Robert who had to be at least partially reformed (good intentions at the very least) at some point.

Overall, these two (and, of course, the intermediary volume, my copy of which is 750 miles away and not recently re-read) come highly recommended, and I would actually suggest that they form a good introduction to Regency-era historical romance. 4/5 stars for The Rake, and 5/5 for England’s Perfect Hero.

This is, as the introductory note says, Julia Quinn’s marriage-of-convenience story. Two weeks before his time runs out, Charles, Earl of Billingsley, falls out of a tree onto Miss Ellie Lyndon, the sister of Miss Victoria Lyndon and a vicar’s daughter. Due to some vague attraction and the determination that she might not be so bad to be married to, he explains the situation — if he doesn’t marry in the next two weeks, he loses all of the monetary portion of his inheritance. Ellie understands this, being that she’s in her own monetary difficulties — she’s been investing her pocket money and cannot get to it. (Also, there’s an Evil Stepmother involved.) So they have a go of it. Will it work?

Jane at Dear Author did a pretty good job of explaining why this plot is absolute bunk, which I can’t find, but I’ll send her an email and update this if I do. She’s a lawyer, and should know. However, the whole must-marry-to-save-inheritance, generally due to some weird clause in a father’s will, is a pretty common one — and for good reason. It’s one of the few ways to force a marriage of convenience in this particular society. (Although it can be said that most marriages during the time were marriages of convenience, I’m not going to make that argument today.) And, of course, marriage-of-convenience plots are really a lot of fun and quite compelling, despite the essential disconnect between what can happen and what did happen, and this one is no exception.

Charles isn’t quite as attractive a hero as his friend the Earl of Macclesfield (Robert); however, that may be my own personal biases showing. Charles is a bit of a playboy; as a matter of fact, that precise piece of information causes one of the misunderstandings in the course of their story. The Earl of Macclesfield is (while undoubtedly also a rake; this is Regency England, after all) a bit of a nerd, as well, and seems more genuine to me. Charles, though, has more of a sense of humor, and the fact that he loves Ellie does sneak up on him in quite a bewildering and appealing fashion.

Ellie is stubborn and really spends a lot of the book having people not believe in her. I found frustrating, a bit, but pretty realistic, given the circumstances. Ellie’s lack of power frustrates her to no end, and I liked seeing her struggle, even though I wanted the best for her and wanted her to find her happy ending. All in all, it’s really quite a delightful little tale. It’s not particularly possessed of any sort of deep insights, or particularly deep currents of emotion, but I wouldn’t say that detracts from its eminent readability or a reader’s enjoyment. The characters are sweet; the tale is pleasant, and I believe it’s exactly what it purports to be. 4/5 stars.

*I tried. I forgot Colin Bridgerton and Penelope’s volume’s title (which turns out to be Romancing Mr. Bridgerton). Also, I can’t remember Daphne Bridgeron’s husband’s name. Other than those, though, I was spot-on. *sigh* Other than that, I got ‘em all. Sad, huh?

Verity Durand is the most famous — and infamous — chef in England. Famous, because her food makes angels weep and grown men slaver; infamous because, well, she had an affair with her last employer, Bertie Somerset. Of course, Mr. Somerset has since died and his younger half-brother, Stuart, has inherited the entire place, including Verity’s services — as a chef, of course. Stuart Somerset is a politician; originally a barrister, he’s now an MP and holds the ear of the Prime Minister; he works twenty-four hour days trying to get bills past. He rarely has time to eat, let alone enjoy his food. Oh, and he’s engaged to a Miss Lizzy Bessler. However, ten years ago, he had one amazing night with a lady he’s never seen since, despite searching. Only a totally crazy situation would throw them back together . . . wouldn’t it?

I keep forgetting that Sherry Thomas is about the best historical-romance writer out there. I continually read good-enough historical romance (see: unfortunate taste for Stephanie Laurens novels) where the men are homogenized to the point where they’re all heavily dominantly Alpha under all circumstances. The women, to match, are exactly feisty enough to be attractive but, of course, completely submissive in bed for absolutely no reason. The plots generally have some sort of random mystery thrown in just to provoke a confession of love at the point where either the hero or the heroine is about to die. This novel reminded me that there’s more than just that.

To start, her prose is on a level all its own. I can’t pinpoint the differences, but when I read it, I immediately knew the difference between ‘adequate’ and ‘good,’ or even ‘good’ and ‘exemplary.’ The book starts with a comparison to a Cinderella tale (pointing out that the narrator/author is self-aware) and then goes on to a description of a kitchen, which nonetheless kept me rapt. (For those interested, the opening can be found here.) Her structuring, with time jumps between 1882 and 1892 (1892 being ‘the present’ for the story), was quite well-orchestrated, and I never felt as if she left part of the story hanging unintentionally or improperly. The way she chose to unfold all the details of the story made it feel as if there was a real mystery (without the amateur sleuthing of the more recent Stephanie Laurens tales). While the ‘mystery’ had a lot of importance to the lovers involved, it didn’t have much impact on society or the greater world (even bringing a murderer to justice is an impact on society), and I felt it was the sort of ‘mystery’ plot that amplified the emotion, rather than just providing a convenient excuse for actions.

Her characters are — different. Yes, of course, there’s the requisite members of the nobility (duchesses and whatnot), but Bertie Somerset is merely a fairly well-off country gentleman (no title), and his brother is a barrister, having been born out of wedlock but later legitimized. (That’s not much of a spoiler.) Verity Durant has been a cook for years — an upper servant, sure, but that’s all. While we are talking about the late Victorian era — 1892, after all — I don’t particularly remember too many historical romances about almost ordinary people. (Although that’s a very big ‘almost.’) Also, Stuart is not terribly alpha male. Certainly he stands up for that in which he believes, but he’s, well, a nerd. I thought he was fantastic.

The story is very intensely emotional, but a smidge lighter than Private Arrangements. It isn’t all sweetness and light by any means; there are a lot of thorny patches on the way to the happily-ever-after. (Readers will, I trust, forgive my mixing of fairy tales.) The emotion, though, was another factor that kept my attention steadily in the story. Most romance novels manage to keep my interest, usually by the will-they-obviously-yes-but-when line of the emotion, but in this one, it wasn’t so much that as the sheer quantity and depth of the many different kinds of love shown in the story. Overall, I’d definitely recommend this to fans of historical romance, and those who haven’t read much but are willing to be convinced. Be warned, though: most of what you find won’t be nearly this good. 5/5 stars.

One of my study group members (I’m in law school) was, er, less than enthralled with whatever it was we were supposed to be doing so took a moment out to look up the upcoming movies for this week. One of them was described as ‘hot Regency chastity,’ I think by the New York Times, and was clearly a costume drama, so we made plans to see it as soon as possible. Directed by Jane Campion, it starts Abbie Cornish as Fanny Brawne and Ben Whishaw as the poet John Keats.

Fanny is young — late teens or early twenties — and rather more interested in fashion than poetry when she makes the acquaintance of John Keats and his friend and collaborator, Mr. (Charles Armitage) Brown. The two come into closer acquaintance and then fall in love, despite the fact that Keats has less than no money and Fanny, whose father is dead, cannot marry him. Nonetheless, they enter into an affair of the heart, and although the world — and Keats’s health — conspire to keep them apart, they find ways to remain together.

The phrase ‘hot Regency chastity’ is pretty accurate; there’s no on-screen sex, but Fanny and John’s closed-mouth kisses are hotter than they should be — on a par with Newland Archer (Daniel Day-Lewis’s character) removing Ellen Olenska’s (Michelle Pfeiffer’s character) glove in The Age of Innocence. To give a better comparison, they’re as hot as the pottery scene in Ghost. No, really. Campion, the actors, and the scriptwriters all do a very good job of putting those scenes, especially the first, together.

Fanny’s interest in fashion isn’t superficial; she spends many a scene in the movie designing and sewing her own clothing, and it’s obvious seeing her in scenes with the other women in the film that she is wearing clothing that is significantly different from theirs. She wears more colors; she shows up in a dress with sheer sleeves at one point; she makes a statement about how she is wearing the first triple-pleated mushroom collar in the area. While some of these outfits look a little silly to modern audiences (especially modern audiences raised on the bland, albeit accurate, clothing from other BBC adaptations set in this era), by the end of the movie, Fanny’s obsession with fashion is not only accepted but interesting. Because of her rapidly-changing wardrobe, we notice a bit more that Keats pretty much wears the same blue coat for the entire film. We also notice that his friend, Mr. Brown (they take great pains to pronounce his name differently from Fanny’s) looks moderately silly in a plaid suit for nearly the entire film.

I don’t know that we’re supposed to like Fanny at first; she comes across as somewhat snobby and abrasive. Eventually we come to realize that it’s just Mr. Brown to whom she is actually mean; she’s much milder to Keats, and is downright sweet to everyone else in the movie. Keats is quiet; I think we’re supposed to see Mr. Brown as causing at least as many problems as he solves. Fanny and John’s relationship builds amazingly organically. For a story with very little plot, it (as my fellow student said) kept our interest surprisingly well for the two hours plus of the film. I wouldn’t call it my favorite example of romantic costume dramas — it would take more than an ill-fated pair of lovers to knock Andrew Davies’s Pride and Prejudice off its throne — but it is absolutely worth watching and has fantastic acting, cinematography, and costuming. 4.5/5 stars.

This is a book 2, so I’ll cut here. Lia Langford is the youngest daughter of Kit and Rue from the previous book, and she’s . . . different. She doesn’t have the magical abilities of her siblings, and she chafes at the restrictions placed upon her. However, she also has these dreams, wherein a man — one she knows, as a matter of fact: Zane, Rue’s companion in the previous volume — is asking her questions to which she knows the answer, although she doesn’t in real life. He and she are also lovers in these dreams, despite the fact that in real life, she is significantly younger than he is. On top of that, she hears something calling to her, even outside of the dreams. So when her parents hire Zane to go find a fabled diamond that is the drakon’s greatest fear and greatest treasure, Lia must find a way to go along, despite the danger.

This book had everything of the last book, only moreso. The opening epic-ness trails through the book; the love story is more intense for various reasons; the historical setting is actually justified. It’s also got a few things that the previous volume didn’t have, and I’d be remiss in mentioning that there are overtones of underage sexuality all over the place. For one thing, the dreams start when Lia is something like thirteen or fourteen and she barely understands what’s going on. For another, there is a man with a ten- or eleven-year-old wife floating around, and another reviewer (Jayne (?) at Dear Author) definitely got the idea that the man was raping the child. I didn’t actually get that feeling; there was a line wherein the girl mentioned that the man would have to wait for children. It’s definitely ambiguous, though and readers sensitive to such issues may choose to avoid this story.

In between the chapters is a first-person recounting of a legend (the aforementioned opening epic-ness) that I didn’t feel particularly added to the tale. It does, however, give a different perspective on everything, and there is a twist at the end. I became frustrated with it while reading and skimmed over various portions, and I do feel like many readers will do the same thing. On the other hand, the legend does add to the fated-lovers idea (although they are fated for a different reason than the last book) and interacts with the setting — Eastern Europe — in an organic fashion. Others may enjoy the legend; I thought it interrupted the flow of the story.

I felt like the plot was much stronger in this volume, but it isn’t nearly so gentle a love story. In fact, it’s downright dangerous at times, and those expecting something with exactly the same tone as the first volume aren’t going to find it. The main character, Lia, is a lot more passive than her mother, and although I’m willing to give the author that she’s demonstrated her ability to write different kinds of characters, I didn’t like her quite as much or quite as quickly as I did Rue. Zane is, instead of the Overbearing Landowner of Kit, a different kind of romance-novel hero: the Bad Boy. He’s a thief on the best of days, and while he has a significant amount of honor, he’s also got the air of danger and everything but the leather jacket and motorcycle (both of which would obviously be anachronistic).

This was another interesting story and highly lauded by the press, but not necessarily without flaws; I’d recommend it to those who enjoyed the previous volume (although it could probably stand on its own), barring those who might react problematically to the issues mentioned above. 3.5/5 stars.

Kit (Christoff Langford) is the Marquess of Langford and the head of the clan of drakon in England; the drakon are eldritch beings of long life and magical abilities including transformation to smoke or the form of a dragon. They hide in plain sight among the eighteenth-cenuty English ton, and there aren’t very many of them left — especially powerful ones. Clarissa Rue Hawthorne is half-drakon, half-human, and as such doesn’t fit in with the rest of the young women particularly well. When she disappears around her eighteenth birthday, no one searches very hard for her. However, when a thief in London is reported to be able to turn into a mist, Kit listens — and goes to investigate.

This is a romance novel, being that although there is a mystery/suspense plot and an interesting alternate-history-type setting, the entire basis of the book is the love story between the two main characters. It’s pretty intense; there’s a lot of love-at-first-sight and fated-for-each-other business going on. Neither of those is one of my favorite storylines, in particular, but once in a while it’s certainly worth being swept up in and taken along for a heck of a ride. I suspect I’m willing to suspend my disbelief a little more when there are non-human beings and historical settings involved, and both of those appear here. There’s also a good deal of chafing against predetermined roles and interpersonal drama that is the hallmark of certain types of historical romance, so readers familiar with that genre will feel at home.

The opening of the book is the legend of how the drakon came to be in England. For those of you who are not interested in Wheel of Time-esque epic-style openings, let me reassure you that although it starts like that, the rest of the book has the intimate space and close narrative expected in a romance novel, rather than a fantasy novel. For all that, though, the non-human-ness of the characters is a major factor in the romance plot as well as the mystery plot. It still retains its true fantasy nature in that sense; there is much exploration of the idea of what it means to be drakon, and how that can work with still remaining independent.

Regarding the setting, I didn’t feel as if it were particularly explored enough. An exact date was given — 1751 to start; 1763 later — but nothing, other than some brief mentions of fashion, was given to distinguish this time from a hundred years earlier or a hundred later. I fell into thinking it was the Regency most of the time, given that my standard historical-romance time period is the early 1800s, but it could almost as easily be the early- to mid-Victorian era. Given, this is a problem with a lot of romance novels and other lightly-historical-type books, but I would have liked to see a little more reason for giving an exact date and time.

Overall, it was quite an enjoyable book and an interesting start to a series. Romance-novel readers looking to dip into fantasy will find this an easy transition, and fantasy readers interested in romantic stories or perhaps looking for a crossover will find it a good read, as well. It’s a relatively short book — under 300 pages — and it reads at a fairly good clip. Those who are looking for a deep, epic fantasy of ideas with complicated plot twists aren’t going to find that here, despite the aforementioned opening, but those who are looking for a compelling love story with two strong-willed characters with rather cool abilities and a nondescript historically-English background will be pleased. 3.5/5 stars.

Rachel Chapman is a photographer; as a single mom, she traveled around the world with her daughter Sophie for thirteen years, until, during a brief time settled in San Francisco, Sophie’s best friend Tessa was murdered. That event spooked Rachel so much that she decided to get married and settle down so that Sophie would have a safe rest of her childhood. Enter David Middleton, an English professor on sabbatical — charming, mild-mannered, smart, and a little bland, but attentive and, above all, safe — or so Rachel thinks. Some months after they return to his hometown of Silver Falls, Washington, another young woman — or three — are murdered, coincidentally right after David’s black-sheep brother Caleb returns to town. Is it a coincidence? If not, then why is Caleb so devilishly attractive?

Spoilers behind the cut. They’re always possible, but in this case, I’m telling you that there are definitely some there.

The jig is up fairly early in the book; probably fifty pages in, the reader should know enough to solve the mystery. However, as has been pointed out (especially in the comments on this review at Dear Author), Ms. Stuart had the choice of leaving it as a mystery and making the romantic aspects of the book really, really creepy (instead of just mildly creepy) or to give us enough clues early on and make the dramatic irony the strong point to let the romance develop a little more. Before I go on, though, let me make this clear: this is a serial-killer book. Fortunately, it has very little on the “early life and education of the killer” aspect, and there is very little on-screen killing — just once, as a matter of fact, although a lot of threats and menacing.

My favorite character was Sophie, the thirteen-year-old math genius daughter. Her relationship with her mother is vaguely reminiscent, to me, of the father-daughter relationship shown in the TV series “Castle” — although in some ways the daughter grew up early, not a bit of it seems to be detrimental to either girl’s psyche. The fact that Sophie (and her friend Kristen) are shown as being incredibly resilient — not to mention a bit gory-minded, wanting to know details of the case and not being traumatized by hearing them — was also refreshing. Not all girls stand on chairs and shriek when they see rats, and I found Sophie and Kristen to be awfully authentic depictions of a certain kind of thirteen-year-old girl.

I was also quite fond of the aforementioned Kristen’s mother, Maggie Bannister, the sheriff. She wasn’t over-the-top hard-as-nails, the way that some fictional female police officers can be, and she seemed to be able to find a good balance between being a mother and an officer of the law. Of the other characters, David to me sort of automatically looked like Michael C. Hall, who plays a ‘good’ serial killer named Dexter in the eponymous series, but more importantly played a mild-mannered, control-freak character named David in Six Feet Under,” another HBO series. (David’s motivations were entirely different, though.) I found him awfully creepy, frankly, even when he first showed up. His brother Caleb always reminded me of a wolf, although I don’t remember Ms. Stuart using that description, and their father was so perfectly himself that I found it impossible to dislike him.

Rachel walked the narrow line between willful blindness and being TSTL (too stupid to live). I really wanted to believe the best of her — that she was ignoring all the little things that seemed to be wrong or inconsistent out of a combination of deep-seated emotional wounds and fear, but once in a while I wondered about her. A good deal of the plot hinges on Rachel not knowing certain things, and although it may be frustrating for the reader, that’s where the drama and the tension build. I’m not exactly sure if I can detail any of the other things I liked about the book without giving away too much (yes, more than I’ve already given away), but I’ll conclude by saying that I would only recommend reading this during daylight hours, and that overall I found the romance believable but I’m certain that the hero and the heroine will not have the prettiest happily-ever-after; they’re both too strong-willed for that. 4/5 stars, and recommended for fans of romantic suspense and serial-killer stories.

These two volumes are mirrors, each telling one half of the same story, although presumably to be read in publication order (how I listed them above). Jack Audley is a highwayman who generally donates his proceeds to wounded veterans of the Napoleonic Wars; he makes the mistake, one night, of attempting to rob a dowager duchess who seems to recognize him. She knows his father’s name, even, and as it turns out, Jack is the son of the duchess’s favorite, and second-oldest, son. More interesting to Jack than his possible elevation to the peerage is the duchess’s companion, Grace Eversleigh, an impoverished young woman of good but not excellent birth. On the other side of the story (in the other volume), we have the current duke, Thomas, who has been putting off marrying his fiancee, Amelia, to whom he has been affianced for all but six months of her life. Then, all of a sudden, she becomes surprisingly attractive — at about the same time that Jack Audley shows up. Will he still be able to marry Amelia?

One would think that because these two novels are essentially the same story that there would be very little difference between the two. And while in general they cover the same events, albeit from two different points of view, I enjoyed one novel quite a bit but found the other rather flat. Jack and Grace’s story, told in The Lost Duke of Wyndham, felt significantly more powerful to me, emotionally speaking. Thomas and Amelia, even though I’d met them in the other volume, didn’t hold for me nearly as much appeal. I don’t know, however, if that’s because I read them one after another rather than a month apart as they were published, but I somehow suspect not.

It could possibly be because Jack and Grace were more personable characters than Thomas and Amelia. Thomas was a little bit uptight, and at the end of the story, I still felt as if I didn’t know much about him, other than his awful relationship with nearly all of his family members. (And, apparently, a fascination with maps, that didn’t seem to help.) He didn’t seem to have any hobbies or interests, other than annoying his grandmother (the dowager duchess). Amelia is little better than a cipher, herself. Given, I believe this was explained by the fact that her entire life had been spent preparing to be Thomas’s duchess, but if she would have had a bit more personality, I would have liked her better.

Jack, on the other hand, is a charming scapegrace, and while that usually isn’t my cup of tea, we’re clearly given enough of his backstory and his interests — and his Big Secret — to make everything come out properly. Grace, as well, has more motivation than Amelia, and while she is certainly lacking in backbone at various parts of the story, her fascination with maps and the modicum of self-confidence that she has (which, I suspect, is related to the fact that her parents really, truly loved her and each other) made her a much more appealing character to me. Generally speaking, I’m not a big fan of the charming scapegrace hero and the long-suffering companion as characters. I usually prefer the internally-focused, smart, just-a-bit-dorky heroes and the spunky, intelligent females, so I’m certain it isn’t a preference for one kind of character over another.

The love story for Jack and Grace felt more immediate, and more focused. Even though so many other things were going on in Jack’s and Grace’s lives at the moment, each had more than enough time to concentrate solely on his or her feelings for the other. Thomas and Amelia’s story was a little more diffuse; it seemed to me that Thomas’s main conflict was over his place in life and Jack’s place in the family, rather than whether or not he loved Amelia and how, exactly, to keep her. Another aspect which is a bit more minor is that Jack and Grace’s story was paced in the tradition Avon Historical Romance fashion, and Thomas and Amelia’s wasn’t. It didn’t bother me, per se, but it also reflected the different focus of the love story.

I would definitely, without hesitation, recommend Jack and Grace’s story (The Lost Duke of Wyndham) to fans of Regency-set historical romance novels. I am not sure if it would make sense to read them in the opposite order; some things are explained in The Lost Duke of Wyndham that are possibly necessary to know but not reiterated in Mr. Cavendish, I Presume. If it were possible, though, I would recommend reading them in the opposite order (Cavendish, then Wyndham) in order to get the best emotional affect. 4/5 for Wyndham, and 3/5 for Cavendish.

Elena Rostova — now Helen Roston — was a Russian orphan, but she joined the military and eventually was selected as the best candidate for a top-secret experiment, in making a supersoldier-spy. One of her primary qualifications was that she has psychic abilities. The supersoldier part included intense physical and mental training, and the spy part included virtual reality and clairvoyant training — which they call bilocation. Her mentor in this is a man she doesn’t meet; in the virtual-reality world where they see each other, she has designed his avatar. They are very attracted to each other, but will she ever find out his real-world identity? And will the experiment that is her life succeed?

This book is the first half of a duology, the second volume being Virtually Hers, and while it ends in a place that does bring a decent amount of closure, it’s obvious that it’s only half the story — even without the cliffhanger ending. This duology is also not the first in the overarching series, as there’s an impression of a lot of backstory — a romance between two secondary characters, for example, and little explanation as to what the different super-secret agencies do. However, I didn’t find it overwhelming — I found myself able to get into the story without needing to know exactly what the acronyms stood for, and the various personal relationships between Elena and other characters weren’t confusing at all. It did make me want to read the other books, though.

I have to admit, I had a bit of a problem with the alpha-ness of the hero. Obviously the heroine could match him, having been the perfect choice for the supersoldier-spy over a bunch of men, but he wanted to control too many aspects of her life. Helen already had everything in her physical reality controlled by the constraints of the experiment, but the hero (he is nameless for a large portion of the book) wanted to control her mind as well. It didn’t seem necessary, most of the time; it actually seemed like he wanted to control her for his own, personal, mostly sexual reasons. He admitted that he was very turned on by strong women, but he didn’t seem to want her to be a strong woman while they were together. There were a few scenes when he administered a drug to her that left her aware and able to speak but not in control of her body from the neck down, and that drug creeped the living hell out of me. However, those who are interested in the clash of two very strong wills and those with a taste for very, very alpha males will probably find that this book fits the bill.

Those reading for the science-fictional aspect will discover that a lot of her science is firmly based in reality; in addition, she has a number of skeptics among the minor characters. They point out that what the characters are discussing is, well, fantastic, and on the verge of unbelievable. On the other side, we have the nameless, faceless bad guys who are also using the same technology, but in ways that are significantly less ethical than the carefully-monitored experiments of the good guys. I thought that Ms. Low did a remarkable job of embedding so many points of view regarding the technology in her story; she also had different narrators who each had strong, unmistakeable voices. I liked Helen quite a bit, as well as those characters who were thrown in for humor breaks, and overall she did an admirable job of keeping the book read-in-one-sitting exciting. Romantic suspense fans who enjoy super-alpha males will be demanding more, and fortunately, Ms. Low has already provided. 4/5 stars.