"Book three Hellions of Halstead Hall is a must read!!"
Reviewed by Annette Stone
Posted March 7, 2011
Romance Historical
Lady Minerva Sharpe hopes to thwart her grandmother's plans
to make sure her family is married off before they can
inherit. All Minerva wants to do is write her books, and no
man wants a wife who writes for a living. Besides, the only
man she ever considered marrying spurned her years ago
and took her heart with him. So she does what any woman
would do, she holds auditions for a husband. No one need
know she has no intentions of marrying. Giles Masters has known Minerva for years. When he
discovers her plan he comes up with a plan of his own.
After all, should anyone discover that her novels are about
him his life and career could be in jeopardy. He sets out to
trap her in a marriage with him which really is no hardship
for Giles since he kissed her years before. When Giles confronts Minerva with his marriage proposal she
turns him down but counters with her own proposal that they
pretend to be engaged until she can change her
grandmother's mind about this harebrained idea. With no
other option, Giles accepts Minerva's proposal but he is far
from giving up on marrying the woman who has captured his heart. Sabrina Jeffries does it again with HOW TO WOO A RELUCTANT
LADY, book three in her Hellions of Halstead Series. This
story contains humor, romance, and two people so strong that
you wonder who will win in the end. Ms. Jeffries always
makes you feel like you are there with the characters
through the details she gives and the personalities she
brings to life within the pages of her books. I will always
pick up one of her
books because I know I will never be disappointed. I look
forward to what will be coming our way next.
SUMMARY
When a charming rogue proposes she marry him to meet
her grandmother's ultimatum, the Sharpe clan's strong-
willed sister makes a tempting counter-offer that
preserves her inheritance and ignites his imagination.
Lady Minerva Sharpe has the perfect plan to thwart her
grandmother's demands: become engaged to a rogue! Surely
Gran would rather release her inheritance than see her wed
a scoundrel. And who better to play the part of Minerva's
would-be husband than wild barrister Giles Masters, the
very inspiration for the handsome spy in the popular
Gothic novels she writes? The memory of his passionate
kiss on her nineteenth birthday has lingered in Minerva's
imagination, though she has no intention of really falling
for such a rakehell, much less marrying him. Little does
she know, he really is a covert government operative. When
they team up to investigate the mystery behind her
parents' deaths, their fake betrothal leads to red-hot
desire. Then Minerva discovers Giles's secret double life,
and he must use all the cunning tricks of his trade to
find his way back into her heart.
ExcerptTo Giles Masters's great surprise, Lady Minerva Sharpe burst
into laughter. "You? As my husband? Are you out of your mind?"He hadn't expected wild enthusiasm, but incredulity wasn't
what he'd been aiming for either. "Quite possibly." It was the God's honest truth. He'd spent the entire journey
over here rehearsing what he would say, how he would
approach Minerva, how he could intimidate her into stopping
this nonsense of putting him in her books. Then he'd come
upon the gates of Halstead and seen the crowds of
prospective suitors there to answer her advertisement for a
husband. That's when it had dawned on him that the best
solution was the simplest. Make her his wife. That way he could control her and her
... "fiction." She would never damage her own husband's
future—she was too practical for that. And she had to
marry anyway if she—and her siblings—were to
gain their inheritance. A few years ago, the idea of marrying Minerva might have
thrown him into a bachelor panic, but with the upturn in his
career, he was beginning to realize that he would have to
settle down with a wife soon, especially if he became King's
Counsel. And if he must have a wife, it might as well be one he
desired. Minerva certainly qualified, no matter how she
tried to hide her allure with her attire. Today she wore a
fashionable morning gown of printed green muslin with a
number of fussy flounces about the hem, those hideous puffy
sleeves that had become so popular, and a bodice that ran
right up to her chin. Every feminine curve had been buried beneath furbelows and
padded sleeves and lace edgings, and it didn't matter one
whit. He already knew that her figure was lushly feminine.
Thanks to the many evening gowns he'd seen her in, he could
imagine it as clearly as if she were naked. And just the
thought of taking her to bed made his blood quicken and his
good sense vanish. Truth was, she did something
extraordinary to him every time he saw her. But God help him if she ever guessed it. Reading her books
had offered him a peek inside her fathomless brain, so he
knew she was clever enough to wrap him entirely about her
finger if he ever allowed it. "As if I would marry a scoundrel like you," she informed him
with a minxish look that grated on his nerves. "Are you daft?" "I believe we've already established that I'm halfway to
being a Bedlamite. But humor me, anyway." Apparently she
wasn't clever enough to see that marriage to him was her
only viable choice. He would have to correct that. "You
ought to leap at the chance to marry a scoundrel, given how
much you enjoy writing about them." She eyed him as if he really were a bedlamite. "It's not the
same. You make an excellent villain in my books, Mr.
Masters, precisely because you would make a wretched
husband. You don't fit any of my criteria for a suitable
spouse." "Criteria? Ah yes, the interviewing. You must have drummed
up some questions for your prospective spouses." He glanced
about the room and spotted a stack of paper atop a red
lacquered table. As he strode over, he asked, "Is this them?" When he picked up the sheaf of paper, she hurried over. "Give me that!" He held her off with one hand while he scanned the first
page with the other. "Let me see .... Ah, yes. Question One:
‘Have you ever been married before?' That one's easy. No." "Because no woman would have you," she said dryly. "That probably had something to do with it. Question Two:
‘Describe your ideal wife.'" He let his gaze trail leisurely
over Minerva. "About five foot seven, golden brown hair,
green eyes, with a bosom that would make a man weep and a
bottom that—" "Giles!" she protested, hot color filling her cheeks as she
crossed her arms over that bosom. At least she wasn't calling him Mr. Masters anymore. He
grinned. "Suffice it to say, she's quite beautiful." The brief satisfaction in her eyes told him that Minerva
wasn't as immune to feminine vanity as she liked to imply.
"I wasn't speaking of physical appearances, as I'm sure you
know. I wanted a description of their ideal wife's character." "I see. Well then, my ideal wife is an unpredictable
hellion, with a penchant for getting into trouble and
speaking her mind." "Sounds dangerous." Her lips twitched. "And utterly
unsuitable for a man who likes to keep secrets." "Good point." Except that her unsuitability was precisely
the thing that intrigued him. She was wrong for him in every
way. And that only made him want her more. Besides, he could handle Minerva. He was probably the only
man in England who could. He tore his gaze from hers to read on. "‘Question Three:
What domestic duties will you expect your wife to perform?'"
He laughed. "What sort of answer are you looking for? Some
indication of the frequency with which your applicant would
wish you to share his bed? Or a description of the acts he
would wish you to ‘perform'?" She blushed so prettily that he wished he could fix the
image forever in his mind. "That is not the sort of duties I
meant, and you know it." "It's the only sort of duty that matters to those louts out
there," he said coldly. "Since they intend to hire plenty of
servants with your fortune, they need only focus on the
essentials of having a wife. For them, those essentials are
obvious." "But not for you? You haven't answered the question, after all." "Whatever your ‘domestic duties,' I'm sure you can handle them." She glared at him. "It's whether I want to that's in question." Leaving that alone for the moment, he turned back to her
list. "Question Four: ‘How do you feel about having your
wife write novels?'" He snorted. "Did you honestly expect
anyone to answer this truthfully with you breathing down
their necks?" "Not everyone is as devious as you." "Forgive me, I didn't realize you were expecting a
progression of saints this morning." She rolled her eyes. "Just for amusement's sake, what would
be your honest answer?" He shrugged. "I have no objection to my wife writing novels
as long as they're not about me." "You say that now," she said with a quiet seriousness to her
voice. "But you might think otherwise when you come home to
find that your dinner isn't on the table because your wife
was so swept up in her story that she forgot what time it
was. Or when you find her sitting in her dressing gown
scribbling madly, while your house goes to rack and ruin
about your ears." "I can afford servants," he countered. "It's not just that." She gestured to the list. "Read the
next question." He glanced down at the paper. "‘What sort of wife do you
require?'" "Any respectable man requires a wife who lives an
irreproachable life. Why do you think I haven't married?
Because I can't live such a life without giving up writing
my novels." She flashed him a sad smile. "And you in
particular will require an irreproachable wife if you're to
succeed as a barrister." She had a point, but not one he dared argue at present.
"I've already succeeded as a barrister. In any case, I
haven't lived an irreproachable life, so why should I expect
my wife to do so?" Her gaze turned cynical. "Come now, we both know that men
can spend their evenings in the stews and their mornings
cropsick, and other men just clap them on the back and call
them fine fellows. But the wives of those men aren't allowed
to have even a hint of scandal tarnish their good names.
They certainly aren't allowed to write novels for public
consumption." She gave a dramatic shudder. "Why, that smacks
of being in trade. Horrors!" "I already told you—" "Did you know that my mother was a writer, too?" Now she'd surprised him. "What did she write?" "Poetry for children. She used to read her verses to me,
asking my opinion." A heavy sigh escaped her. "But she
stopped after she and Papa argued over her wish to have them
published. He said that marchionesses did not publish books.
It wasn't done." Her voice hardened. "It was fine for him to
toss up the skirts of any female who took his fancy, but God
forbid Mama should publish a book." He tensed. "I am not your father, Minerva." "You differ from him only in the fact that you're unmarried.
Safer to keep it that way, don't you think?" Damn it, sometimes his life as a scoundrel, meant to
disguise his real activities, slapped him right in the face.
"Or a man could change." "For a woman? Really? In fiction, perhaps, but rarely in life." "Says the woman who buries herself in her books," he
snapped. "Your idea of venturing out into life is to
surround yourself with your siblings and hold off every
eligible gentleman who might come near you." Her eyes flashed fire. "Oh, that is so like a man to say
such a thing. I'm not jumping to marry you, so I must be a
spinster pining away alone in her room writing. I tried
venturing out into it today, didn't I? But my brothers
wouldn't let me." "That was merely a ploy and you know it. You were never
serious about interviewing gentlemen as husbands. You just
wanted to provoke your grandmother into giving up her demands." He knew he'd hit on the truth when she paled. "What makes
you say that?" "You advertised it in The Ladies Magazine, a public forum,
when you could as easily have managed it privately with more
discretion. And you just explained to me how no respectable
man wants a woman who writes novels, yet you say you don't
want me because I'm a scoundrel. If you don't want a
scoundrel and you don't think you can have a respectable
gentleman—" "All right, drat you." She tipped up her chin. "I have no
intention of marrying you or anyone else. Can you blame me?" "No," he said sincerely. When she blinked, he added, "But
your grandmother has made it perfectly clear that you must
take a husband, so you have no choice. You can't touch your
inheritance otherwise, and neither can your siblings. And as
long as you have to marry, why not marry me?" "Is that why you want me as your wife?" she shot back.
"Because of the money?" "If you mean to insult me, you'll have to try another tack.
Money isn't an issue for me, Minerva." "I doubt that. You're a second son." "And a barrister who is widely sought after for his legal
advice, and who charges exorbitant fees. Trust me, I can
afford to keep you in gowns and jewels perfectly well
without your grandmother's money." "That very statement shows how little you know me. I don't
care about gowns and jewels—" "But you care about Gabe and Celia," he said softly. "And
they'll be left destitute if you don't marry." A troubled expression knit her brow. "I'm working on a plan
to change that." "This interview idea?" he said with a mocking smile. "First
of all, your brothers are nipping that in the bud as we
speak. They're not about to let their sister marry some
stranger off the street. They're not even going to let you
be exposed to such men. Secondly, you know perfectly well
that Mrs. Plumtree won't let your antics sway her from her
purpose. You'll only delay the inevitable." "Jarret was able to sway her from her purpose," Minerva
retorted. "Because he had something to bargain with. You don't." She flinched, then turned on her heel. "Feel free to leave
at any time, Mr. Masters." "You know what I don't see in this list of bloody
questions?" Giles bit out, determined to provoke her into
dealing with him. "I don't see any mention of the intimate
side of marriage. No questions about what your future
husband would expect from you in the bedchamber. Or what you
could expect from him." She whirled on him. "That would be vulgar." "And interviewing gentlemen for the position of husband
isn't? The trouble with you, my dear, is you've looked at
marriage from every angle except the one that matters."
Tossing her list onto the table, he approached her with
determined steps. "How you feel about a man. What he does to
you whenever he comes near. Whether he makes your heart race
and your body heat. And in that one area, I am the perfect
husband for you." "Really?" she said, her voice deceptively sweet. "Is this
the part where you sweep me into your arms and prove how you
alone make my heart race and my body heat?" "If you insist." And with that, he caught her to him. She didn't resist when he covered her mouth with his. She
even let him deepen the kiss. Though she didn't throw her
arms about him or melt into him as she had that night long
ago, she participated actively in the kiss, letting him
drive his tongue into her mouth with slowly deepening
strokes. She even twined hers with his, raising his pulse to
a feverish pitch. Then she jerked back with a siren's smile that made his
confidence falter. "Well." She tapped her chin. "That was a
decent kiss, all things being equal." She pressed her hand
to her chest. "My heart is, if not quite racing, then
heading into a quick walk. But I need a thermometer to
determine if and how high my body heated. I shall just
go—" "Don't you dare, you damnable minx." He caught her by the
arm as she was on the verge of fleeing. "You know bloody
well that you responded to that kiss." With a suspicious glee in her eyes, she tugged her arm from
his grip. "I'm not saying I didn't respond—just that I
didn't respond to any overwhelming degree. But it was a good
kiss, I suppose. Better than some, not as good as others." "What the hell do you mean? How many chaps have you kissed
in the last nine years, anyway?" "No more than you've kissed women, I should imagine." "My God." "But don't worry—I don't think the average woman would
complain about your kissing. You're perfectly competent." Competent? Bloody insolent chit. Even knowing that she was
trying to provoke him didn't ease his wounded pride.
"Perhaps we should try it again." She darted back from him with alarming speed. "I think not.
You really ought to go, Giles—my brothers will be none
too pleased to find you here alone with me. They don't
approve of you for me at all." That much was true. Jarret had warned him away from Minerva
only a few weeks ago. "And Gran," she went on, "positively despises you. She
thinks you're a bad influence on Gabe. Why, only last week,
she said that the next time she saw you—" She halted as if struck dumb, her gaze wandering to the
sheaf of papers. "Yes? The next time she sees me..." "Oh my word, that's brilliant." Her gaze swung back to him.
"You're brilliant, Giles!" "That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past half
hour," he grumbled. "I mean it. This is the perfect solution to all my problems
with Gran." His eyes narrowed. "What is?" "You! And me! We'll tell Gran that I've accepted your
marriage proposal." Minerva began to pace, her face flushed
with excitement. "She'll never approve. Seriously, she
thinks you're a ‘conscienceless scapegrace who would as soon
sell his mother as behave honorably.'" He scowled. "I knew she wasn't fond of me, but that's a bit
harsh. I'll have you know I treat my mother damned well,
considering that she spends all her time trying to marry me
off to women half my age. And your entire family seems to
overlook the fact that I am a well–respected barrister
with a practice that is—" "Yes, yes, you're a pillar of virtue," she said
sarcastically. "You're missing the point. Gran will never
let me marry you. She's always regretted letting Mama marry
Papa, and you're practically him." "For God's sake," he said irritably, "are we back to that
again?" "It's the perfect plan. You pretend to be betrothed to me,
and once she realizes I'm serious, she'll stop this nonsense." He liked this plan of hers less and less the more he heard
of it. "It didn't work for Oliver. He took Miss Butterfield
as his pretend fiancé and look what happened. Not only did
your grandmother hold fast to her plans, but he's now
married to the chit." Minerva shot him an exasperated glance. "You don't
understand. Gran liked Maria from the very beginning. She
just pretended not to, which is why his plan didn't work.
Besides, it's not the same for my brothers as it is for me
and Celia. They can take care of themselves and Gran knows
it. Men have all the power in marriage—they can
legally beat their wives, take their money, and force them
into anything they please." "I hope you're not saying that I would—" "I'm just saying that's why Gran wasn't worried about whom
Oliver or Jarret married. But she worries a great deal about
Celia and I, because our future husbands will take us out of
her control. Anything could happen." A devilish gleam lit
her eyes. "Which is why she'll be far more particular about
whom we marry. And you will send her into fits." This was becoming annoying. "You underestimate your
grandmother, my dear." "Trust me, I know her too well to do that. But this will
push her over the edge—I'm sure of it. The longer
we're betrothed, the more alarmed she'll get." She rounded
on him with a little cry of delight. "And if she doesn't,
Jarret and Oliver will make sure she does! They definitely
won't approve of you as my husband. They'll work on her to
get her to relent, especially if they think I really mean to
marry you." She clapped her hands together. "Eventually, I'll have her
exactly where I want her, and she'll be forced to rescind
her ultimatum. What a brilliant plan!"
What do you think about this review?
Comments
No comments posted.
Registered users may leave comments.
Log in or register now!
|
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy