4.5 stars, rounded up for the best declaration of love I’ve ever read
The storm of the decade floods London streets, cutting off the dock area from the rest of London and stranding the residents of The Grand Palace on the Thames, including the newest arrivals Daphne and Lorcan St. Leger, strangers who pretend to be married to acquire the last room available. The pretense comes back to bite them as soon as they meet the proprietresses and Daphne and Delilah know each other from childhood, as do Lorcan and Tristan, who grew up in St. Giles together. Now the pretense is going to have to be convincing.
No insta-love here. Easy to understand why: Daphne has made herself into a small, practically invisible doormat, a servant to the family she loves, and Lorcan St. Leger is a large, charismatic jungle animal who lives by one law: eat or be eaten. They might as well be from different planets.
“Good morning, Lady Worth.”
Her head shot up. She offered a tentative smile. “Good morning, Mr. St. Leger. I trust you slept . . .”
Her eyes flickered. Dropped to his torso.
Then she jerked her head toward the window, and before his eyes, hot color flooded her cheeks.
Bewildered, he dropped his eyes swiftly to ascertain his cock wasn’t peeking out of his trouser fall, because surely nothing short of that warranted such a reaction.
She cleared her throat. “. . . well.”
She was still showing him her profile.
And then it struck him: his rolled-up shirtsleeves exposed a brazen amount of skin from fingertip to elbow. His throat was partially on view, too.
For God’s sake.
He suddenly felt like an ape in all his bronzed and hairy bareness. He thoroughly resented it.
“They’re arms, Lady Worth,” he said on a hush. “I suggest you move closer to the settee if you feel a swoon coming on. I cannot guarantee I will get to you before you topple out of your chair.”
She courageously turned her head toward him again.
“As valuable as that advice undoubtedly is, Mr. St. Leger, I’m not a swooner by nature. Please forgive me. I was just a bit startled, as I’d forgotten I was sharing quarters with a man who isn’t a gent—”
She bit her lip. Torment and regret and apology flashed in her widened eyes.
His rank and ramping incredulity fair pulsed during the ensuing silence.
“If you think implying I’m not a gentleman will hurt my feelings, I’ve good news for you,” he said, his voice low and silky. “My heart is as hard as my thighs.”
Gradually, however, Lorcan starts to glimpse the woman behind the manners, and proximity does attraction grow. Because a passive woman hiding behind a wall of proprieties isn’t my favorite kind of FMC, I had a hard time connecting with Daphne and my interest wasn’t fully engaged until Delacorte finally makes an appearance.
They all turned when a man built a bit like a Welsh pony strode into the room. “I feel much better now!” he announced cheerily. “Those parsnips worked a treat to rush everything on out!”
Suddenly the energy of the whole book rose like a helium balloon. And, speaking of gasses, the scene where Lorcan takes refuge with his old buddy Delacorte after a fight with Daphne was one of the funniest things I’ve ever read in a novel. Ever. I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe.
This book might have stayed at four stars but for that scene, Lorcan’s everything-hot-and-sexiness, and the absolute best, hands-down heart-melting proposal ever delivered by a rough man wearing one earring to a genteel lady—or any man to any lady—in any book ever. It was everything.
And then there was that wonderful epilogue which delivered a nice little spoonful of “take that, you asshole” revenge, which didn’t even matter because happiness is the best revenge anyway.