"High entertainment! Fun, witty, charming, and enchantingly silly in its entirety!"
Reviewed by Heather Lobdell
Posted January 7, 2013
Romance Historical
THE WICKED WEDDING OF MISS ELLIE VYNE by Jayne Fresina is
simply a delight! I flew through this book in a matter of
hours. It quite simply was not a book that I could put down
-- I had to know what Ellie was going to pull next and I had
to know how everyone else was going to react! This book is
a true page turner in every sense of the word.
Ok enough about how amazingly fast I found this book to read
-- here's the scoop!
Ellie Vyne is a heroine written as too few are written. She
is witty, she is naughty, and she was always up to trouble.
If she is not masquerading as the notorious Count de
Bonneville, yes that was Count as in a man, then she is
tarnishing her reputation some other way. Everyone that is
anyone knows that where Ellie is trouble, mischief, and
trickery are soon to follow, most especially James Hartley.
If you ask Ellie she would tell you that good ole James is
just an old stick in the mud who doesn't know how to have
fun. Arrogant and far too handsome James remains Ellie's
childhood nemesis and she hasn't ever gotten over the game
of pranking him. Her latest scheme is to "win" his family
diamonds from his mistress while posing as the Count.
James Hartley sees himself as a man of means and a man of
measure. He has saved the reputation and often the very body
of Mariella Vyne more times than he can count. If there is
one thing that James knows it is that Ellie is up to no
good. When he finds her nearly naked while looking for a
thieving Count he naturally assumes that Ellie has become
nothing other than the mistress of the man who stole his
diamonds. There is very little a woman won't do for
diamonds, but when a man wants them back well let's just say
that James is ready to play a few games of his own.
This book was up and down, back and forth, sideways, and
sometimes I just didn't know where it was going to hit me
next! I was laughing from the first few pages and I was
laughing at the end! While there were times when it seemed
that things were just completely silly there were other
times when the story was steamier than a hot summer night.
You may be thinking that this one seems a little confusing,
but despite all the goings on I never once felt lost or out
of touch with the characters. Each character added to the
story and each one had a role to play. I absolutely loved
Fresina's writing style and how very refreshing it was to
feel that I completely "got" a book.
For those looking for a dark tale of suspense and mystery --
this book is not that book! However, if like me, you are
looking for a change of pace and something light and
refreshing then THE WICKED WEDDING OF MISS ELLIE VYNE is one
book you do not want to miss out on!
SUMMARY
By night Ellie Vyne fleeces unsuspecting aristocrats as the
dashing Count de Bonneville. By day she avoids her sisters'
matchmaking attempts and dreams up inventive insults to hurl
at her childhood nemesis, the arrogant,
far-too-handsome-for-his-own-good, James Hartley.
James finally has a lead on the villainous, thieving Count,
tracking him to a shady inn. He bursts in on none other than
"that Vyne woman"...in a shocking state of dishabille.
Convinced she is the Count's mistress, James decides it's
best to keep your enemies close. Very close. In fact,
seducing Ellie will be the perfect bait...
Excerpt(In this scene, James Hartley has run into Ellie one
evening at a roadside inn. He is chasing after the
notorious 'count de Bonneville' —a confidence
trickster, believed to have stolen the priceless Hartley
diamonds. When he finds Ellie in the 'count's bed, he
assumes she's the villain's mistress. Immediately he
decides to rescue her. From herself.)
It was a very good thing she clutched that coverlet
around her waist, for she was evidently not wearing
anything but the shirt. Not another stitch. Naked as the
day she was born under that bit of lace and silk.
James cleared his throat. Back to business. "Get
your clothes on, Vyne. I'm taking you with me. Someone
should save you from your own stupidity."
"Don't fool yourself, Hartley. I do not need
rescuing."
"Have it your way then, shameless hussy."
"Thank you. I shall. Pompous, hypocritical twit."
Half–turned away, he regained a breath and
then looked back at her. "You are, quite possibly, the most
irritating, truculent creature I've ever known. In the
fifteen years of our acquaintance, you haven't changed."
"Seventeen," she corrected. "And your existence is
equally trying on my nerves."
"You're an ill–mannered, brazen—"
"And you're a vain, mean–tempered—"
"Lying, scheming—"
"Arrogant wretch."
The lacy shirt slipped down over one shoulder,
leaving her flesh bared.
"Put your clothes on," he muttered, gloved fingers
tightening around his quirt. "You're coming with me."
"I most certainly am not."
"Indeed you are. Before I take my whip to your
behind." He moved around the bed and eyed her warily,
amused to see the supposedly fearless Ellie Vyne back up
against the wall and hold that coverlet like a shield
around her body.
"Touch me," she warned, "and I'll scream."
He tried to relax his jaw and save the wear on his
teeth. She stood very straight on the bed, like a woman
defending herself in the dock—as he was certain she
would one day. He was only surprised it hadn't happened
yet.
"Aren't you supposed to be chasing after the count
to get your diamonds back? He must be miles away by now,
and here you are quarrelling with me, Hartley."
James tapped his quirt lightly against the palm of
his left hand. Why was he still there? Had that lacy sleeve
just fallen another half inch from her shoulder? Good Lord,
he could see the swell of her breast now above the ruffles.
And her darker nipple through that fine silk. His throat
went dry; a harsh breath stalled there as he felt the
instantaneous quickening of his manhood.
Don't look. Not at that.
She was an annoying little chit who did nothing but
make mischief at every turn and constantly mocked him as a
fool. Mariella Vyne was out of control. Tempting as it
might be to consider reining her in, he'd long since
decided some other man could have that strife. They were
welcome to it.
Look at anything else. Anything—
Suddenly, he caught her sliding an anxious glance
at the copper bed warmer. He hadn't noticed it until now.
Curious, he moved toward it.
* * * *
With nothing else at hand to use as a distraction,
Ellie opened her grip on the coverlet and let it fall away
from her body.
He stilled. Thick silence descended over the strange,
lantern–lit scene. His sternly questing gaze
abandoned all other subjects of interest and swept her
slowly from head to toe, taking particular note of her
naked legs.
She knew the "count's" shirt barely skimmed the top of
her thighs. The slight movement he'd taken away from her
was now reversed. Unconsciously done, no doubt. Even men
who had access to any number of willing women every night
of the week could become dullards in the presence of a
half–naked female. It was a primeval neediness, she
supposed, some void in the male animal that kept them
constantly on the hunt. Each slow, deliberate beat of his
eyelashes fanned the tiny bumps now sprouting liberally
across her skin. The silence became oppressive as he stared
at her legs.
"I hope you mean to pay the good innkeeper for his door,
Hartley." Despite the tone of bravado, every pore on her
body tingled with anticipation.
His regard hardened and cooled from August sky blue
to a wintry steel gray. He shot her knees one last,
lingering scowl—probably meant to shrivel her bones
to dust, spun around, and stalked out, trampling the
broken, jagged planks where once there stood a door.
"Give my regards to Lady Southwold!" she shouted.
But he was not leaving yet. She heard him arguing
now with the innkeeper in the passage.
Thank goodness she'd distracted him from prying
inside the bed warmer. Had he looked there, he would have
found tonight's winnings, his precious diamond necklace,
and the count's wig. But for now, the count de Bonneville
had won a narrow escape. And so had the notorious Ellie
Vyne.
Almost.
He reappeared in the broken doorway. "Get dressed,
Vyne. I'm not leaving without you."
"I told you, I don't need rescuing. Go away."
He looked at her steadily, his height and the
breadth of his shoulders filling the doorway. "Who else
will save you, if I do not?" She thought she caught a
subtle lightening of his stormy eyes, but from that
distance it was hard to tell. "No one but me is fool
enough."
Damn and blast. Stubborn, pig–headed brute.
She supposed she might as well let the villain
escort her to her sister's house as long as he told no one
where he found her.
* * * *
"Not tell where I found you?" he exclaimed,
prodding her up into the hackney carriage with his
quirt. "Why the devil should I keep your assignation with
that crook a secret? Your family ought to know what you get
up to. Again."
"Do shut up, Hartley. Shall I write to your
grand¬mama and tell her you gave the Hartley Diamonds to
your latest harlot?"
He slammed the carriage door shut, his face white
and pinched in the moonlight.
"Your family ought to know what you get up to," she
chirped, throwing his words back at him. "Again."
He had no answer to that, just a frustrated curse.
Naturally, it was all well and good for him to enjoy love
affairs before marriage. She, being a woman, was supposed
to have no wicked urges and keep herself encased in iron
drawers until she found a husband.
"Ever hear of uneven standards?" she shouted
through the carriage window.
"No," he quipped. "Is it a race horse?"
Quietly seething, she watched him mount his hunter to
ride alongside, and then the carriage wheels rumbled
forward.
In common with most of the world, which was always
so eager to think ill of her, James must have assumed she
was recently the Duke of Ardleigh's mistress. She knew that
rumor had flourished for a year or so, but her duties had
actually been little more than those of a nurse. She'd
traveled with the duke, made certain he took his tonic as
prescribed by the physician, and amused him in the evenings
with card tricks and ribald tales. Naturally, the duke
enjoyed everyone thinking he still had the energy to
misbe¬have, so he never bothered to correct the mistaken
ideas about their relationship. For Ellie, it had been a
very convenient way to keep any marriage–minded
suitors at bay and travel with a degree of freedom most
women never enjoyed.
It was the duke who first came up with the idea of
disguising Ellie at a party and introducing her as
the "count de Bonneville" for a jest at the expense of his
peers. He was a fun–loving,
larger–than–life fellow, and it was a great
shock to many when the duke died suddenly in his bed. Most
people assumed it was her fault, naturally.
That's what happens, she'd heard people say, when
an elderly fool takes up with a wayward slip of a girl half
his age.
Ellie settled back into the seat, her shabby,
much–traveled trunk at her feet and the hatbox of
concealed valuables beside her on the leather cushion. For
a moment, she weighed the idea of giving his diamonds back
with no further ado. Stealing another glance through the
window, she observed him trotting beside the carriage, his
noble profile cast in pewter moonlight. It was tempting to
imagine he'd come to rescue her from the count's lecherous
clutches, and if she squinted hard, she could picture him
in armor, a handsome, gallant knight ready to defend her
from brigands on the road. She'd never been rescued from
anything before; she was usually rescuing other folk.
Suddenly something plucked at her nerves with
ice–cold fingers—the sense of being followed
again. She twisted around, squinting into the dark through
the tiny back window of the carriage. The lights of the inn
had already faded, and the carriage was surrounded on all
sides by the rattling shadow of naked trees. There was no
sign of any other traveler, but the feeling of being
stalked remained. It was a sensation she'd felt several
times over the past six months, but for want of any proof,
she always put it down to her unfettered imagination.
She turned again on her seat and lowered the sash
window.
"By the by, Hartley, what have you been up to this
evening? Your eye is swollen with a nasty bruise. You ought
to—"
Before she could finish, he began another lecture
he somehow felt entitled to give her. Ellie swiftly closed
the window again and slid back in her seat.
Well, he could whistle in the wind for his damned
diamonds then. He should never have loaned his treasures to
a faithless woman like Ophelia Southwold to wear, so she'd
let him sweat a while. He needed a lesson.
So much for a quiet retirement and the end of
mischief. But it was hardly her fault that this man came
and poked his nose into her business. James Hartley really
ought to be more careful with his family jewels, or any
notorious woman might get her hands on them.
As indeed, she just had.
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