Official blurb (from Goodreads):
Where Secrets Smolder…
Calm. Cool. Collected. Gisele Whitby has perfected the art of illusion—her survival, after all, has depended upon it. Years ago, to escape an abusive husband, Gisele “disappeared.” Now she must risk revealing her new identity to save another innocent girl from the same fate. But she needs a daring man for her scheme, and the rogue in question shows a remarkable talent . . . for shattering Gisele’s carefully constructed façade and igniting her deepest desires.
This isn’t the first time Jamie Montcrief has awakened naked and confused from a night of drinking. It is, however, the first time a stunningly beautiful woman offers him payment afterward. Gisele has a business proposition for him, a mission involving cunning thievery and a brazen rescue. How can he say no to a plot this dangerous . . . and a woman this delectable?
My impressions in a form of a new blurb:
In the land of tiresome contrivances…
…even a half-backed, completely illogical plot device has some chance to be used. And abused. It is especially true for pseudo-historical romantic novels, evidently aimed at those who know nothing about 19th century England and wouldn’t recognize a Jane Austen (or any other REAL 19th century romance book) even if it hit them squarely between the eyes and then danced cancan on their head, chanting ‘Vive la France!”
Plastic. Pretended. Personality-deficient. Giselle Whitby can drive any sensible reader, male or female, up the wall just after several pages. She is supposed to be dead and in hiding but she’s never thought about such basic measures as changing her very conspicuous appearance, namely the colour of her hair. Even just cutting them off would be, in her situation, both practical and sensible. Wearing a wig? A hat? A bonnet? No. She needs it on permanent display to charm her new love. That plastic face wouldn’t be enough and every Barbie needs her Ken…
Even when she has to return to London where plenty of people might remember and recognize her, she still never changes anything. What for? She has that genius plan: her ex-husband, soon to marry and debauch another hapless virgin of good family, will see Giselle’s hair and go MAD. In public. Completely mad. Great hair can do that to a man! What a great way to punish him and eliminate any creative plotting from the story!
James Montcrief, a.k.a Jamie the stud is perhaps one of the most obnoxious and plasticized aristo love interests plaguing such pseudo-his-fic romps. One moment he is just a shapeless heap of rags, bones and vermin, lying drunk by the inn wall, waiting for the life to start (or finish), and after a mere bath and shave he turns into a ‘Greek god’ full of muscles, good looks, flawless English and smoldering golden eyes. Hey, let’s not forget about his sculpted
ass face. There’s just one problem: how come? After returning for a very demanding war campaign against Napoleon and living several months on scraps at an inn nobody real should look like a ‘Greek god’, shaved or otherwise. The man was supposed to fight at Waterloo for heaven’ sake!
Jamie and Giselle meet, talk, drink and then everything goes to hell. That insta-love combined with insta-lust as soon as allegedly starved, ill and hung over Jamie gets a good look at Giselle’s breasts! That utter stupidity of his, while he decides to follow a complete stranger who is clearly leading him by his
cock frock coat, never revealing her plan! Pah! One movement of a magic wand and Jamie the bastard turns into Jamie the Prince! What a pity I stopped believing in magic wands when I was about five…
Finally let me add that the sex scenes made me cringe and they deserve a gif of their own. Something like this:
Help! Help! A lady in distress calling! Who can rescue me from this horrible book? Only DNF – my hero! Seriously because of such ‘novels’ his-fic as a genre has such a bad reputation. In order to make my assessment palatable I include the cancan mentioned above ;p.