What is a man to do when he discovers he is a member of
the Ton, being pressured by his formerly estranged family
to find a most suitable marchioness rather than the
simple girl he prefers? Mia Marlowe takes this basic
question and creates the very enjoyable NEVER RESIST A
RAKE.
Although many historical romance series have solid but
fairly simplistic ties between books, NEVER RESIST A RAKE
and the previous book in the Somerfield Park
series (A Rake by Any Other Name) feel more like parts of
a serial, in that many of the characters from the first
book have integral roles in the second. Mia Marlowe adds
another twist in that involvement by belowstairs folk is
a much greater part of the story than in many books of
the genre. Because of the interweaving of storylines, I
very much recommend you read A Rake by Any Other Name
before NEVER RESIST A RAKE.
Although I completely enjoyed book one in the
Somerfield Park series, I have to confess I had
some difficulty liking one of the main characters in
NEVER RESIST A RAKE. Although he was very well-written
and his reactions true to the historical times and his
situation for some unknown reason (maybe I was just in an
off mood) it took me well into the book before I cared
much about his happiness. Your experience may very well
be different from mine when you read it. The female lead
(Rebecca) on the other hand had my sympathy and
admiration from page one. When I did finally develop an
affection for the new Lord Hartley, it was whole-hearted
and sincere.
The conclusion of NEVER RESIST A RAKE had
one of the most villainous characters I've encountered
receiving a most delicious comeuppance where all came
right and Lord Hartley redeemed himself in my affections.
Although I don't know when book three in the series will
come out, I will definitely be buying it. In the meantime
I can look forward to a brand new series by Mia Marlowe,
The Order of the M.U.S.E., slated for publication this
summer.
Can he fool his new family? John Fitzhugh Barrett, surprised to learn he is heir to a marquessate, is determined his new status won't mean giving up his freedom. But as families from all over England descend upon Somerfield Park for the shooting season, their unmarried daughters are lining up to bag the newest trophy buck-him.
Or is he only fooling himself? John's instinct for self- preservation inspires him to divide his attentions between a scandalous young widow, and the safely ineligible Rebecca Kearsey, daughter of a destitute baron.
The charade gives John the illusion of controlling the game but when he loses his heart to the beautiful Rebecca, all bets are off.
Excerpt
“Thank you for coming, Rebecca,” he said, his voice a dark summons that set her stomach aflutter. “I wasn’t sure you would.” “Your invitation had me at a disadvantage,” she whispered. “It’s hard for me to resist the stars.” There was no need to let the man know she felt an even stronger tug toward him. “No need to keep quiet now,” he said. “No one will hear us up here.” “But we might hear something if we listen hard enough.” He cocked his head. “What?” “The music of the spheres.” Rebecca lifted her arms to the Milky Way spilling across the heavens, a frothy band of white against the eternal dark. When she was a child, she imagined the cloud of stars flowed in an unending stream from a giant’s upturned milk pail. The image still made her smile. “Music of the spheres? That’s hokum, surely.” “Pythagoras didn’t think so. Neither did Sir Isaac Newton,” she told him. “There is a demonstrable relationship between sound and mass and movement.” John stood silent for a moment. Wind sighed through the garden below. An owl hooted in the distant woods. No grand symphony dropped to them from the sky. “I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary,” he said. “I’m not surprised. I’m convinced it’s not something we can hear with our ears,” Rebecca said. “But I believe if I listen hard enough, someday I’ll hear the music of the spheres with my heart.” “Then I’ll have to trust you to describe it to me, since my heart is probably not able to perceive anything so sublime. But there’s nothing wrong with my eyes, and I expect to see some fireworks in the sky. Come.” He led her to a place roughly in the center of the roof, near the octagonal skylights that looked down into Somerfield Park’s foyer four floors below. If the foyer’s crystal chandelier had been lit, this would have been a wonderful vantage point to spy on the nocturnal comings and goings in the great house. Next to the skylights, John had made what looked like a camp bed. There were a couple of straw ticks topped with a feather one, so that it reached Rebecca’s mid-calf. He’d layered several blankets on the ticks. He blew out the candle and set the holder down on the roof beside the mattresses. “What’s this?” “It’s chilly here on the roof, so I figured we’d need blankets,” he said. “And is there a better position for stargazing than flat on your back?” She’d often taken a quilt from her bed and lain out on her terrace to watch the stars wheel overhead. “No, I suppose not.” He lifted one corner of the blankets. “John, did you even think for a moment about how improper this is?” “You mean did it occur to me that this is a thinly veiled attempt to get you into my bed? Of course. But you can’t deny it’s also a sensible way to stay warm and look at the night sky. Two birds. One stone.” He caught up her hand and brought it to his mouth for a soft kiss.
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