Book Review! The Formidable Earl by Sophie Barnes

The Formidable Earl (Diamonds in the Rough #6) by Sophie Barnes 

Genre: Adult Fiction (Historical Romance)
Date Published: November 17, 2020
Publisher: Self

He's breaking the rules for one woman, and coming dangerously close to falling in love…

Simon Nugent, Earl of Fielding, knows he's flawed. He's arrogant, possessive, and haunted by a terrible choice he made long ago. So when a former friend's daughter gives him the chance to do a good deed, he grabs it. Except he'd like to grab her as well and teach her a thing or two about kissing. If only she weren't so damn stubborn.

Ida Strong wants one thing – justice on behalf of her father. She has no room for anything else, in spite of her growing and (at times) inexplicable attraction toward a certain earl. But for a woman who knows what betrayal tastes like, placing her trust in others is hard. Risking her heart, would be downright foolish. Until it's the only thing that seems to make sense. 

The Formidable Earl is the sixth book in the Diamonds in the Rough by Sophie Barnes. I love when we have a stuffy guy who meets a feisty gal who brings him out of his comfort zone. That’s what we have with Ida and Simon. Simon has made mistakes, and they’ve only further made him set in his ways. He stays in the safe zone. The good little Earl. When it comes to society’s expectations, Ida is the opposite of what Simon would choose to marry. Mistress? Yes. Wife? No. Ida has her work cut out for her. And, I’ll admit, I wanted to slap Simon around a bit at times, and he had to grow on me, but I enjoyed the progress he made as a character. I loved Ida from the start. This was a fun story that kept my attention completely.

The ARC of The Formidable Earl was kindly provided to me by the Reading Addiction Book Tours for review. The opinions are my own.

London
May, 1821
WEARY OF TRYING TO FIND an acceptable
bride, Simon Garrison Nugent, Earl
of Fielding, had ceased all attempts at marriage
and was currently avoiding debutantes much as he
would a leper. By keeping his distance. Instead, he
chose to pass his evenings with friends.
At his age of three and thirty, marriage was
expected. He knew it had to happen soon if he
was to maintain his dignity. After all, the longer
he remained unattached, the more it looked like
he’d not yet recovered from losing his fiancée to
another man.
It had been three years since the incident yet it
still rankled.
Gabriella, now the Duchess of Huntley, would
have made the perfect countess. The very idea of
her choosing an ill-bred ruffian, even if he did
happen to have a prestigious title, was bad enough
without Simon having to worry about what people
would think of the next bride he picked. She
would have to be at least as pretty, graceful, and
accomplished as Gabriella. Preferably more so,
which brought him back to the inadequacy of the
women currently available for marriage.
Seated in a quiet corner of White’s together with
Baron Hawthorne and the Earl of Yates, Simon
sipped his brandy and tried to force his thoughts
away from the past by focusing on what Yates was
saying.
“It was never meant to get this out of hand,”
Yates explained while looking precisely like the
sort of man whose neck was being squeezed by a
noose. He was a good fellow – one of the few who
seemed to tolerate Simon’s company – though
sadly too kind for his own good, seeing as he’d
gotten tangled up with an untitled woman who
lacked a dowry and connections. “All I meant to
do was help the girl. She’s a friend of my sister’s
after all.”
“If every man with a sister offered to step out
with all her unremarkable friends, he’d have gotten
himself engaged a dozen times over,” Baron
Hawthorne muttered. He tossed back the remainder
of his drink and poured himself another. “It’s
your own damn fault for being too nice.”
“He’s right, you know,” Simon said.
Stretching out his legs, he crossed them at the
ankles and cradled his snifter between his hands
while pondering Yates’s dilemma. Apparently
there had been a compromising situation which
just happened to have been witnessed by a group
of matrons hoping to find a reprieve from the
stuffy ballroom.
Simon sighed. “The trouble is,” he said, deciding
to meet Yates’s gaze dead on, “hell, the
trouble has always been, that she’s not your equal.
Socially, I mean.”
“Well done, Fielding.” Hawthorne said with a
smirk. “It’s always good to know you’ll remind us
of what’s acceptable.”
Simon fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Tell me
I’m wrong.” His demand was, as expected, met by
silence. Not even Yates attempted to argue. “Miss
Harlowe is not countess material. This doesn’t
mean she cannot be perfectly lovely, but no matter
how you turn it, she’ll always be born into the
wrong family.”
There was a heavy moment of silence, and then
Hawthorne asked, “Has your outlook on life
always been this sunny?”
Simon snorted. “I’m just trying to be realistic. If
Yates marries Miss Harlowe, he will no longer be
welcome in certain circles, people will talk, and
his life as he knows it will be forever changed,
which I very much doubt is something he wants.”
“From determined wife hunter to cynical
loner,” Yates murmured, his narrowed eyes fixed
on Simon with interest. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten
your eager pursuit of Gabriella Matthews.
Hell, you were even engaged to her for what, ten
seconds or so, roughly four years ago?”
“The Duchess of Huntley?” Hawthorne
inquired with wide eyes. “I don’t recall that at
all.”
“Three,” Simon clipped. “It was three years
ago.”
“You must not have been at the Coventry Ball
that season,” Yates said to Hawthorne. “Fielding
announced the betrothal – even kissed Gabriella
before one and all – only to let the whole thing
fizzle away into nothing. A short while later,
Huntley and Gabriella were married and you,”
Yates tilted his almost empty glass in Simon’s
direction, “haven’t proposed to anyone since.”
“Perhaps because I haven’t met anyone else
worth asking,” Simon said.
Yates leaned back, his expression suddenly distant
and thoughtful.
“I think you need to fall in love,” Hawthorne
told Simon with a grin.
“God forbid,” Simon muttered. Worrying over
his future was difficult enough without throwing
love into the mix.
“I don’t think he believes in love,” Yates said.
Simon gave his friend a deadpan look. “Of course
I do. There have been so many blissful unions of
late, I’m inclined to believe we live in a world full
of rainbows where cupids lurk behind every bush.
Hell, even Carlton Guthrie, the Scoundrel of St.
Giles – a man I would have sworn had no heart –
is smitten with his young wife.”
“Sounds like an epidemic.”
Simon snorted in response to Hawthorne’s comment
and took another sip of his drink.
“By the by,” Yates murmured in a more discreet
tone than earlier, “I’ve promised Celeste I’d try
and find her a new protector, in case this thing
with Miss Harlowe doesn’t blow over and I end
up marrying her.”
“I don’t understand why you’d want to give up
your mistress if you’re not in love,” Hawthorne
said.
“Out of respect for my wife,” Yates said. He
emitted a heavy sigh and looked at Simon. “I
don’t suppose you would be interested?”
“I’m afraid not. In my experience mistresses are
demanding and hard to get rid of.” His last one
had even made a spectacle, chasing after him on
Oxford Street when he’d tried to end things with
her. It had been most embarrassing.
“Celeste isn’t like that. She’s quite agreeable and
sweet.”
“Nevertheless,” Simon said.
“No wife or mistress,” Hawthorne said with a
pitying look that put Simon on edge. “You must
be in need of a good tup.”
“It’s not so bad,” Simon said.
Hawthorne raised an eyebrow. “Really? How
long has it been since you last had a woman?”
Simon shrugged. He hated this – hated being
made to feel lacking in some way. Attempting to
show indifference, he busied himself with refilling
his glass. “Three months or so.”
“Damnation,” Yates murmured.
“Hell, it’s no wonder you look so tense.” Hawthorne
reached inside his jacket pocket, retrieved
a card, and handed it to Simon. “If I may, I suggest
you stop by Amourette’s on your way home
tonight.”
“It’s a brothel, is it not?” Simon asked. When
Hawthorne nodded Simon instinctively winced.
“I don’t think so.” 

USA Today Bestselling Author, Sophie Barnes, has spent her youth traveling with her parents to wonderful places around the world. Born in Denmark, she has studied design in Paris and New York and has a bachelor’s degree from Parson’s School of design, but most impressive of all – she’s been married to the same man three times, in three different countries and in three different dresses. While living in Africa, Sophie turned to her lifelong passion – writing.

When she’s not busy, dreaming up her next romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family. She currently lives on the East Coast.

To learn more about Sophie Barnes and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, YouTube, and Twitter.

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Book Review: The Other Miss Bridgerton by Julia Quinn

The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3) by Julia Quinn
Genre: Adult Fiction (Historical Romance)
Date Published: November 20, 2018
Publisher: Avon

She was in the wrong place...

Fiercely independent and adventurous, Poppy Bridgerton will only wed a suitor whose keen intellect and interests match her own. Sadly, none of the fools from her London season qualify. While visiting a friend on the Dorset coast, Poppy is pleasantly surprised to discover a smugglers' hideaway tucked inside a cave. But her delight turns to dismay when two pirates kidnap her and take her aboard a ship, leaving her bound and gagged on the captain's bed…

He found her at the wrong time...

Known to society as a rascal and reckless privateer, Captain Andrew James Rokesby actually transports essential goods and documents for the British government. Setting sail on a time-sensitive voyage to Portugal, he's stunned to find a woman waiting for him in his cabin. Surely, his imagination is getting the better of him. But no, she is very real—and his duty to the Crown means he's stuck with her.

Can two wrongs make the most perfect right?

When Andrew learns that she is a Bridgerton, he knows he will likely have to wed her to avert a scandal—though Poppy has no idea that he is the son of an earl and neighbor to her aristocratic cousins in Kent. On the high seas, their war of words soon gives way to an intoxicating passion. But when Andrew's secret is revealed, will his declaration of love be enough to capture her heart…? 

The Other Miss Bridgerton is the third book in The Rokesbys series by Julia Quinn. I haven't read the previous books in this series yet, but I feel like this one stood on its own just fine. Poppy and Andrew were fun characters who didn't care too much for each other at first. I've seen some reviews say she developed Stockholm Syndrome, but Andrew is never the bad guy in this story. This is not a spoiler. because you learn this early on and so does Poppy. For me, Poppy is getting the adventure she always wanted, and is embracing it the best she can. Aside from a little danger towards the end, it's pretty smooth sailing. It was a fast read, and I enjoyed it quite a bit.

Early summer 1786

For a young woman who had grown up on an island, in Somerset to be precise, Poppy Bridgerton had spent remarkably little time at the coast.

She was not unfamiliar with water. There was a lake near her family’s home, and Poppy’s parents had insisted that all their children learn to swim. Or perhaps more accurately, they had insisted that all their sons learn to swim. Poppy, the sole daughter of the bunch, took umbrage at the notion that she would be the only Bridgerton to die in a shipwreck and said as much to her parents –in precisely those words– just before she marched alongside her four brothers to the water’s edge and hurled herself in.

She’d learned faster than three out of four of her brothers (it wasn’t fair to compare her to the eldest; of course he’d catch on more quickly), and to this day she was, in her opinion, the strongest swimmer in the family. That she might have achieved this goal as much out of spite as natural ability was irrelevant. It was important to learn how to swim. She would have done so even if her parents hadn’t originally told her to wait patiently on the grass.

Probably.

But there would be no swimming today. This was the ocean, or at least the channel, and the chilly, bitter water was nothing like the placid lake at home. Poppy might be contrary, but she wasn’t stupid. And alone as she was, she had nothing to prove.

Besides, she was having far too good a time exploring the beach. The soft give of the sand beneath her feet, the tang of the saltwater air–they were as exotic to her as if she’d been dropped into Africa.

Well, maybe not, Poppy thought as she nibbled on a piece of the very familiar-tasting English cheese she’d brought along on her hike. But still and all, it was new, and it was a change, and that had to count for something.

Especially now, with the rest of her life the same as it ever was.

It was nearly July, and Poppy’s second London season –compliments of her aristocratic aunt, Lady Bridgerton– had recently drawn to a close. Poppy had found herself ending the season much as she’d begun it– unmarried and unattached.

And a little bored.

She supposed she could have remained in London for the last dregs of the social whirl, hoping that she might actually meet someone she hadn’t met before (unlikely). She could have accepted her aunt’s invitation to rusticate in Kent, on the off chance that she might actually like one of the unmarried gentlemen who just happened to be invited for dinner (even less likely). But of course this would have required that she grit her teeth and attempt to hold her tongue when Aunt Alexandra wanted to know what was wrong with the latest offering (the least likely of all.)

Her choices had been dull and duller, but thankfully she’d been saved by her dear childhood friend Elizabeth, who had moved to Charmouth several years earlier with her husband, the affable and bookish George Armitage.

George, however, had been called to Northumberland for some urgent family matter, the details of which Poppy had never quite got straight, and Elizabeth had been left alone at her seaside house, six and a half months with child. Bored and confined, she’d invited Poppy to come for an extended visit, and Poppy had happily accepted. It would be like old times for the two friends.

Poppy popped another bite of cheese into her mouth. Well, except for the massive size of Elizabeth’s belly. That was new.

It meant Elizabeth couldn’t accompany her on her daily jaunts to the shore, but that was no matter. Poppy knew her reputation had never included the word shy, but conversational nature notwithstanding, she rather enjoyed her own company. And after months and months of making small talk in London, it felt rather nice to clear her head with the sharp sea air.

She’d been trying to take a different route each day, and she had been delighted to discover a small network of caves about halfway between Charmouth and Lyme Regis, tucked away where the foamy waves lapped the shore. Most filled with water when the tide was in, but after surveying the landscape, Poppy was convinced that there had to exist a few that remained dry, and she was determined to find one.

Just because of the challenge, of course. Not because she had any need of a perpetually dry cave in Charmouth, Dorset, England.

Great Britain, Europe, the World.

One really had to take one’s challenges where one could, given that she was in Charmouth, Dorset, England, and that seemed a decidedly small corner of the world, indeed.

Finishing the last bites of her lunch, she squinted up toward the rocks. The sun was to her back, but the day was bright enough to make her wish for a parasol, or, at the very least, a large shady tree. It was gorgeously warm, too, and she’d left her redingote back at the house. Even her fichu, which she’d worn to protect her skin, was starting to get itchy and hot across her chest.

But she wasn’t going to turn back now. She’d not come this far before, and in fact had only made it to this point after convincing Elizabeth’s plumpish maid, who’d been drafted as her chaperone/companion, to remain behind in town.

“Think of it as an additional afternoon off,” Poppy had said with a winning smile.

“I don’t know.” Mary’s expression was doubtful. “Mrs. Armitage was quite clear that–”

“Mrs. Armitage hasn’t had a clear thought since finding herself with child,” Poppy cut in, sending Elizabeth a silent apology. “It’s like that for all women, I’m told,” she added, trying to get the maid’s mind off the subject at hand, namely, Poppy’s chaperonage, or lack thereof.

“Well, that’s certainly true,” Mary said, tilting her head slightly to the side. “When my brother’s wife had her boys, I never could get a sensible word out of her.”

“That’s it exactly!” Poppy exclaimed. “Elizabeth knows that I will be perfectly fine on my own. I’m no spring miss, after all. Hopelessly on the shelf, they say.”

As Mary attempted to assure her that that was most certainly not the case, Poppy added, “I’m only going for an easy little stroll by the shore. You know that. You came with me yesterday.”

“And the day before that,” Mary said with a sigh, clearly not relishing the prospect of another afternoon of exertion.

“And the day before that as well,” Poppy pointed out. “And what, all week before that?”

Mary nodded glumly.

Poppy didn’t smile. She was far too good for that. But success was clearly right around the corner.

Literally.

“Here,” she said, steering the maid toward a cozy tea shop, “why don’t you sit down and have a rest? Heaven knows you deserve it. I’ve quite run you ragged, haven’t I?”

“You’ve been nothing but kind, Miss Bridgerton,” Mary said quickly.

“Kind and exhausting,” Poppy said, patting Mary’s hand as she opened the tea room door. “You work so hard. You deserve a few minutes for yourself.”

And so, once Poppy had paid for a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, she’d made her escape –two of the aforementioned biscuits in her pocket– and now she was wonderfully, blessedly on her own.

If only there were ladies’ shoes that were suitable for climbing across rocks. Her little boots were quite the most practical made for women, but they didn’t compare in durability with the sort that sat in her brothers’ wardrobes. She took great care to watch her steps, lest she turn an ankle. This area of the beach did not receive much foot traffic, so if she hurt herself, heaven only knew how long it would take for someone to come after her.

She whistled as she walked, enjoying the opportunity to engage in such uncouth behavior (wouldn’t her mama be horrified at the sound!), and then decided to compound the transgression by switching to a tune whose words were not suitable for female ears.

“Oh, the barmaid went down to the oh-oh-oh-ocean,” she sang happily, “with an eye toward getting her– What’s this?”

She stopped, peering at a strange formation in the rocks off to her right. A cave. It had to be. And far enough from the water’s edge that it wouldn’t flood in high tide.

“Me secret hideaway, mateys,” she said, winking to herself as she switched direction. It did seem the perfect spot for a pirate, well off the beaten track, its opening obscured by three large boulders. Truly, it was a wonder she’d even spotted it.

Poppy squeezed between the boulders, idly noting that one of them wasn’t as large as she’d originally supposed, then made her way into the mouth of the cave. Should’ve brought a lantern, she thought, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, although Elizabeth certainly would have wanted to know the reason for that. Hard to explain why one might need a lantern while walking on a beach at half noon.

Poppy took a few baby steps in, nudging her shoes carefully across the ground, searching out rough spots with her feet since she couldn’t possibly see them with her eyes. It was difficult to tell for sure, but the cave seemed deep, stretching out far beyond the light at the opening. She moved forward, emboldened by the thrill of discovery, edging slowly toward the back… slowly… slowly… until…

“Ow!” she yelped, wincing as her hand connected with something quite hard and wooden.

“Ow,” she said again, rubbing the sore spot with her other hand. “Ow ow ow. That was…”

Her words trailed off. Whatever she’d smacked her hand into, it wasn’t a natural outcropping of the cave. In fact, it felt rather like the splintery corner of a rough wooden crate.

With tentative movements, she reached her hand back out until it connected –more gently this time– with a flat wooden panel. No doubt about it, it was definitely a crate.

Poppy let out a little giggle of glee. What had she found? Pirates’ booty? Smugglers’ loot? The cave smelled musty, and it felt unused, so whatever this was, it had probably been there for ages.

“Prepare for treasure,” she laughed, saluting herself in the darkness. A quick check confirmed that the crate was far too heavy for her to lift, so she ran her fingers along the edge, trying to determine how she might get it open. Drat. It was nailed shut. She’d have to come back, although she had no idea how she’d explain away her need for a lantern and a crowbar.

Although…

She cocked her head to the side. If there was a crate –two, actually, one stacked atop the other– in this section of the cave, who knew what might be farther back?

She edged into the gloom, her arms stretched gingerly in front of her. Nothing yet. Nothing… nothing…

“Careful there!”

Poppy froze.

“The captain’ll kill you if you drop it.”

Poppy stopped breathing, relief washing over her when she realized that the rough male voice was not directed toward her.

Relief that was instantly replaced with terror. Slowly, she brought her arms back to her body until she’d enveloped herself in a tight hug.

She was not alone.

Using excruciatingly careful movements, she edged as far behind the crates as she could manage. It was dark, and she was quiet, and whoever was here ought not to see her unless–

“Will you light the damn lantern?”

Unless they had a lantern.

A flame blazed to life, illuminating the back portion of the cave. Poppy’s brow furrowed. Had the men come in from behind her? And if so, how had they entered? Where did the cave go?

“We don’t have much time,” one of the men said. “Hurry up and help me find what we need.”

“What about the rest?”

“It’ll be safe until we get back. It’s the last time, anyway.”

The other man laughed. “So the captain says.”

“He means it this time.”

“He’ll never quit.”

“Well if he doesn’t, I will.” –Poppy heard a pained grunt of exertion, followed by– “I’m getting too old for this.”

“Did you move the boulder in front of the opening?” the first man asked, exhaling as he set something down on the ground.

So that was why she’d had to squeeze in, Poppy realized. She should have wondered how such a large crate had fit through the small space.

“Yesterday,” came the reply. “With Billy.”

“That scrawny mite?”

“Mmph. I think he’s thirteen now.”

“Never say it!”

Good God, Poppy thought, she was trapped in a cave with smugglers –maybe even pirates!– and they were chattering away like two old ladies.

“What else do we need?” came the lower of the two voices.

“Captain says he won’t leave without a crate of the brandy.”

Poppy felt the blood leave her body. A crate?

The other man laughed. “To sell or to drink?”

“Both, I expect.”

Another chuckle. “He’d best be sharing, then.”

Poppy looked around frantically. Enough of the lantern’s light had filtered in her direction that she could see her immediate surroundings. Where the hell was she going to hide? There was a little indentation in the cave wall that she could press herself into, but the men would have to be blind to miss her.

Still, it was better than her current spot. Poppy scrambled back, curling herself into the tiniest ball she could manage, thanking her maker that she’d not worn her bright yellow frock that morning, simultaneously sending up her first true prayer in months.

Please please please.

I’ll be a better person.

I’ll listen to my mother.

I’ll even listen in church.

Please please…

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

Poppy slowly tipped her face toward the man looming above her. “Forsaken,” she muttered.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, shoving the lantern closer to her face.

“Who are you?” Poppy shot back, before the relative lack of wisdom of such a retort sank in.

“Green!” the man hollered.

Poppy blinked.

“Green!”

“What?” grumbled the other man–apparently named Green.

“There’s a girl!”

“What?”

“Here. There’s a girl.”

Green came running over. “Who the hell is this?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” the other man said impatiently. “She didn’t say.”

Green bent down, jamming his weathered face close to Poppy’s. “Who’re you?”

Poppy said nothing. She didn’t often hold her tongue, but now seemed an intelligent time to start.

“Who are you?” he repeated, this time groaning with the words.

“No one,” Poppy answered, finding a little courage in the fact that he seemed more tired than angry. “I was just out for a walk. I won’t bother you. I’ll just go. No one will ever know–”

“I’ll know,” Green said.

“And so will I, for that matter,” the other one said, scratching his head.

“I won’t say a word,” Poppy assured them. “I don’t even know what–”

“Damn!” Green cursed. “Damn damn damn damn damn.”

Poppy glanced frantically between the two men, trying to decide whether it was in her best interests to add to the conversation. It was difficult to guess their ages; both had that weather-beaten look one got after spending too much time in the sun and wind. They were dressed simply, in rough work shirts and trousers, tucked into those tall boots men liked to wear when they knew they’d be getting their feet wet.

“Damn!” Green bit off again. “The day only needed this.”

“What should we do with her?” the other man said.

“I don’t know. We can’t leave her here.”

The two men fell silent, staring at her as if she were the world’s largest burden, just waiting to launch itself onto their shoulders.

“The captain’ll kill us,” Green finally sighed.

“It’s not our fault.”

“I suppose we should ask him what to do with her,” Green said.

“I don’t know where he is,” the other one replied. “Do you?”

Green shook his head. “He’s not on the ship?”

“No. He said he’d meet us on deck an hour before we sail. Had some sort of business-like thing to take care of.”

“Damn.”

It was more damns than Poppy had ever heard in one sitting, but there seemed little to be gained in pointing that out.

Green sighed, closing his eyes in what could only be described as an expression of abject misery. “We have no choice,” he said, “We’ll have to take her.”

“What?” the other man asked.

“What?” Poppy screeched.

“Good God,” Green grumbled, rubbing his ears. “Did that squall come from your mouth?” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m too old for this.”

“We can’t take her!” the other man protested.

“Listen to him,” Poppy said. “He’s obviously very intelligent.”

Green’s friend stood up a little straighter and beamed. “The name’s Brown,” he said, nodding politely at her.

“Er, pleased to meet you,” Poppy said, wondering if she ought to extend her hand.

“Do you think I want to take her?” Green said. “Bad luck having a woman on a ship, and especially this one.”

Poppy’s lips parted at the insult. “Well,” she said, only to be cut off by Brown, who asked, “What’s wrong with this one? She said I was intelligent.”

“Which only goes to show that she ain’t. And besides, she talks.”

“So do you,” Poppy shot back.

“See?” Green said.

“She’s not so bad,” Brown said.

“You just said you didn’t want her on the boat!”

“Well, I don’t, but–”

“There is nothing worse than a talky female,” Green grumbled.

“There are many things that are worse,” Poppy said, “and you’re quite fortunate if you’ve never experienced them.”

Green looked at her for a long moment. Just looked at her. Then he groaned, “The captain’s gonna kill us.”

“Not if you don’t take me with you,” Poppy hastened to say. “He’ll never know.”

“He’ll know,” Green said ominously. “He always knows.”

Poppy chewed on her lower lip, assessing her options. She doubted she could outrun them, and Green was blocking her path to the entrance, in any event. She supposed she could cry and hope that her tears might appeal to the softer sides of their natures, but that presumed that they had softer sides.

She looked at Green and smiled hesitantly, testing the waters.

Green ignored her and turned to his friend. “What time–” He stopped. Brown was gone. “Brown!” he yelled. “Where the hell’d you go?”

Brown’s head popped up from behind a stack of trunks. “Just getting some rope.”

Rope? Poppy’s throat went dry.

“Good,” Green grunted.

“You do not want to tie me up,” Poppy said, her throat apparently still wet enough for words.

“No, that I don’t,” he said, “but I have to do it, anyway, so let’s make it easy for the both of us, eh?”

“Surely you don’t think I will allow you to take me without a struggle?”

“I’d been hoping.”

“Well, you can keep hoping, sir, because I–”

“Brown!” Green hollered.

With enough force that Poppy actually shut her mouth.

“Got the rope!” came the answer.

“Good. Get the other stuff as well.”

“What other stuff?” Brown asked.

“Yes,” Poppy said nervously. “What other stuff?”

“The other stuff,” Green said impatiently. “You know what I mean. And a cloth.”

“Oh, the other stuff,” Brown said. “Righto.”

“What other stuff?” Poppy demanded.

“You don’t want to know,” Green told her.

“I assure you I do,” Poppy said, just as she was beginning to think that maybe she didn’t.

“You said you were going to struggle,” he explained.

“Yes, but what does that have to do–”

“Remember when I said I was too old for this?”

She nodded.

“Well, ‘this’ includes a struggle.”

Brown reemerged, clutching a green bottle that looked vaguely medicinal. “Here y’go,” he said, handing it to Green.

“Not that I couldn’t manage you,” Green explained, popping open the cork. “But why? Why make it harder than I have to?”

Poppy had no answer. She stared at the bottle. “Are you going to make me drink that?” she whispered. It smelled foul.

Green shook his head. “You got a cloth?” he asked Brown.

“Sorry.”

Green let out another tired groan and eyed the linen fichu she’d used to fill in the bodice of her dress. “We’ll have to use your handkerchief,” he said to Poppy. “Hold still.”

“What are you doing?” she cried out, jerking backward as he yanked the fichu free.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and strangely enough, it sounded as if he meant it.

“Don’t do this,” Poppy gasped, scrambling as far away from him as she could.

But it wasn’t very far, given that her back was to the cave wall, and as she looked on in horror, he poured a liberal amount of the noxious liquid onto the whisper-thin linen of her fichu It became quickly saturated, and several drops fell through, disappearing into the damp ground.

“You’re going to have to hold her,” Green said to Brown.

“No,” Poppy said, as Brown’s arms came around her. “No.”

“Sorry,” Brown said, and it sounded as if he meant it, too.

Green scrunched the fichu into a ball and placed it over her mouth. Poppy gagged, gasping against the onslaught of foul fumes.

And then the world slipped away.

Check out my review of other books by this author.

#1 New York Times bestselling author Julia Quinn loves to dispel the myth that smart women don't read (or write) romance, and and if you watch reruns of the game show The Weakest Link you might just catch her winning the $79,000 jackpot. She displayed a decided lack of knowledge about baseball, country music, and plush toys, but she is proud to say that she aced all things British and literary, answered all of her history and geography questions correctly, and knew that there was a Da Vinci long before there was a code.

A graduate of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges, Ms. Quinn is one of only sixteen members of Romance Writers of America’s Hall of Fame. Her books have been translated into 32 languages, and she lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest.

The Bridgertons, her popular series of historical romance, is currently in production by Shondaland as a Netflix original series starring Julie Andrews, Phoebe Dynevor, and Rége-Jean Page.

To learn more about Julia Quinn and her books, visit her website. You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Instagram, BookBub, and Pinterest.

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Book Review: Say It Again by Catherine Bybee

Say It Again (First Wives #5) by Catherine Bybee
Genre: Adult Fiction (Contemporary Romance)
Date Published: September 24, 2019
Publisher: Montlake Romance

In the final First Wives novel by New York Times bestselling author Catherine Bybee, falling in love could become the most dangerous dare of one woman’s life.

Protector-for-hire Sasha Budanov is accustomed to life as a loner. Always on the move, she’s now reached a crossroad. Looking for answers about her shadowy youth, she’s returned to the strict boarding school in Germany where she was raised. It’s also where she was trained in the stealthy, militarized art of survival. But behind its gleaming gates, Richter is a fortress of secrets, including those buried in Sasha’s mysterious past. To uncover them, she’s clinging to her first rule of defense: stay guarded.

If anyone can challenge Sasha’s rules, it’s devilishly sexy stranger AJ Hofmann. He wants answers, too. And he needs Sasha’s help. The recent deaths of several of Richter’s former students—including AJ’s own sister—have aroused his suspicions. He’s arousing something more in Sasha. Never one to surrender to her emotions, she senses something tempting in AJ. She trusts him. He’s fearless. And he kisses like a demon. Sasha’s found her match.

But treading Richter’s dark halls—and following their hearts—has its risks. As the decades-old secrets of the past are mined, Sasha and AJ are falling deeper in love…and into danger.

Say It Again is the fifth book in the First Wives series by Catherine Bybee. I loved Sasha as a character. She was tough, independent, and scary smart. The ultimate in girl power. She had her weaknesses too, making her a truly believable character. I loved watching her realize her place among those in her life. Her awakening, I guess it was.. That she does matter to people. I enjoyed AJ as well. He was good for her.  The romance itself was cute too. It built up gradually, and that was a necessary thing. It wouldn't have made any sense for Sasha to immediately fall in love. I read the first book in this series, and I really need to catch up with the others, but this one stood alone just fine. 

AJ was being stood up.

It was half past noon and Sasha wasn’t there.

The Brandenburg Gate was one of the busiest tourist attractions in Berlin. The square was filled with families and walking tours led by someone holding a colored flag on a stick and talking into a microphone while a line of dazed, zombie-like visitors followed behind. Aside from those in the square learning about the history of the place, there were a dozen police officers and security guards moving around. Considering the American, British, and French embassies were all within a stone’s throw of each other, AJ was surprised there wasn’t a stronger military presence.

AJ kept scanning the crowd in search of Sex on a Stick in black leather pants and a bad attitude.

Nothing.

Left without options, AJ dialed his phone number on her phone and waited. It rang twice.

Behind him, the riff of “Bad to the Bone,” his ringtone, shot through him. He dropped his hand from his ear and saw a blonde standing three feet away, her back to him.

Slowly she turned.

“Whoa.”

Sasha stared back at him, wearing white capri pants and a bright floral top. The blonde wig overdid it but completely camouflaged her in broad daylight. She took a step closer, reached out her hand holding his cell. “Hello, AJ.”

They switched phones. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Half an hour, give or take.”

He looked her up and down. She looked like a typical American housewife, minus the kid in the stroller. “Impressive.”

“I wanted to make sure you were alone.”

AJ glanced around at the passing tourists. “Is there a reason behind the cloak-and-dagger?”

She moved closer, lowered her voice. “You’ve come here to look for your sister’s killer. You think there is some connection to Richter. Went so far as to go there asking questions. You’re stalking the local pub and hitting on, not to mention stealing from, the patrons . . .” Sasha waved her phone in the air before tucking it into her back pocket.

“I’m calling pot to kettle on that last accusation.” Although all the rest she pointed out was spot-on.

“I like to go unnoticed. If someone followed me here, they lost me the second I made the city limits and went clothes shopping.”

“What if someone followed me?”

“Then I would have seen them watching in the thirty minutes you’ve been standing around looking like a lost child without a parent.” She turned and started walking toward the gate.

AJ had no choice but to follow.

“What makes you think anyone is following either of us?”

She smiled, didn’t answer his question. “I used to help your sister on her agility training,” she told him.

The mention of his sister brought his attention back to what he should be focused on. “She wasn’t the most athletic woman.” Amelia took after their mother, who didn’t grow more than five feet five inches tall and had a sweet tooth that always kept her rounder than she’d liked. At least that’s what she’d blame when she went on one of her many diets.

“No. But she held her own most of the time. Everyone at Richter was pushed to do at least that.”

“Her coworkers said she had recently started taking morning walks before work,” AJ said.

“Which explains the police report about her being murdered in the park and tossed in the river.”

AJ stopped walking. “You looked her up.”

“Only because I knew her.”

He jumped in front of her, stopped her from moving. “Then you’ll help me.”

“There is nothing to suggest that Amelia’s death is at all linked to Richter.”

AJ looked over Sasha’s shoulder and noticed a man eating an ice cream cone and staring at Sasha. The middle-aged guy turned his attention away and took a few steps in the opposite direction.

“Maybe she . . .”

AJ felt eyes, turned to his left.

No one.

“What is it?” Sasha asked.

“The guy with the ice cream, over your left shoulder.”

She grinned, cocked her head to the side. “We did this last night.”

“Yeah, only I’m not asking you to lay a lip lock on me. Tempting as that might be.” Truth was, he’d thought about that kiss more times than he wanted to admit. “If how you’re dressed is any indication, you’re the expert on all things undercover. You tell me if you feel the weight of someone’s stare.”

Sasha paused, then looked over her shoulder. “That him?” she asked, thumbing toward the guy with the ice cream.

“Yeah.”

She grabbed AJ’s hand and walked directly toward the guy he thought for sure was watching them.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer. “Excuse me?” Her voice rose a full octave, her smile was sickeningly sweet. Any accent he’d detected from her voice was gone . . . or changed.

The man with the cone turned toward them. “Yes?”

“Are you American? You look American.”

“I’m, ah . . . yeah.” The guy looked directly at AJ.

Sasha kept going. “Good. Would you mind taking our picture? I can’t get the gate behind us with a selfie.”

Again the guy offered AJ unblinking eyes. “Ah, sure.” He reached for the phone Sasha was handing him.

Next thing AJ realized, he was standing beside Sasha, her arm slipped around his waist, and he was smiling like all of the other tourists surrounding them while the man he thought was spying on them took their picture.

The stranger holding Sasha’s phone, while trying to balance his ice cream cone, looked completely out of place.

“Take a second one, just in case.” Sasha giggled.

The sound of her voice didn’t suit her. The hand on his waist, however, suited him just fine. The feel of her there, the warmth, the softness he knew she would hate if he pointed it out, felt a little too right.

“Thank you so much.”

The stranger handed her phone back with a nod. “Have fun.”

She waved. “We will . . . thanks.”

And he was gone.

AJ watched the man slip away as Sasha removed herself from AJ’s side.

He missed her warmth, instantly.

“Any self-preserving spy wouldn’t have made contact,” Sasha told him.

The two of them walked toward the center of the square. “Okay,” AJ started. “Maybe I’m a little paranoid.”

“You’re a lot paranoid.”

AJ paused in the middle of the plaza and stared at the massive horses that sat atop the gate. The image of his sister at Christmas the previous year surfaced. It was the last time he’d seen her alive. “I know Amelia’s death wasn’t random, Sasha. I feel it with every breath I take.”

She sighed. “I know you do.”

He looked at her. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you believe.”

He lowered his head, studied the salt-and-pepper colored stones beneath his feet. “You’re not going to help.” Damn it . . . he was back to ground zero.

Another heavy sigh from the woman at his side. “I will help you.”

AJ snapped his head up. “What?”

She placed a hand in the air as in warning. “Not because I think you have anything other than grief inside you. The not knowing, or never accepting the facts, can eat you alive.”

Not ground zero. He wanted to kiss her. Not that she would be receptive to that kind of thing. “Why are you doing this?” There wasn’t anything in it for her. Sasha turned away from him and focused her attention on the Brandenburg Gate.

“Because I’m not bored.”

New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Catherine Bybee was raised in Washington State, but after graduating high school, she moved to Southern California in hopes of becoming a movie star. After growing bored with waiting tables, she returned to school and became a registered nurse, spending most of her career in urban emergency rooms. She now writes full-time and has penned the Weekday Brides Series and the Not Quite Series. Bybee lives with her two teenage sons in Southern California.

To learn more about Catherine Bybee and her books, visit her website & blog.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram, and Twitter.

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Book Review: One Foot in the Grave by Jeaniene Frost

One Foot in the Grave (Night Huntress #2) by Jeaniene Frost
Genre: Adult Fiction (Paranormal Romance)
Date Published: April 29, 2008
Publisher: Avon

You can run from the grave, but you can’t hide…

Half-vampire Cat Crawfield is now Special Agent Cat Crawfield, working for the government to rid the world of the rogue undead. She’s still using everything Bones, her sexy and dangerous ex, taught her, but when Cat is targeted for assassination, the only man who can help her is the vampire she left behind.

Being around Bones awakens all her emotions, from the adrenaline rush of slaying vamps side by side to the reckless passion that consumed them. But a price on her head – wanted: dead or half-alive – means her survival depends on teaming up with Bones. And no matter how hard Cat tries to keep things professional between them, she’ll find that desire lasts forever … and Bones won’t let her get away again. 

One Foot in the Grave is the second book in the Night Huntress series by Jeaniene Frost. As good as the first book was, I wasn't sure how I felt about the direction this was going after the ending of the last book. I was afraid that with Cat separate from Bones, this would fall into that second book syndrome. That fear was short lived. I like how it's four years later. I really enjoyed the new characters and the situations they found themselves in. It kept the story engaging. And Bones and Cat!? Ohhh.. I can't get enough of them. Cat it more mature, but I feel she's still finding her way in some areas. Bones knows what he wants. I mean... Whew! I am completely hooked.

Check out my review of the other books in this series.

Jeaniene Frost is the New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling author of the Night Huntress series, the Night Prince series, the Broken Destiny series, and the new Night Rebel series. To date, foreign rights for her novels have sold to twenty different countries. Jeaniene lives in Florida with her husband Matthew, who long ago accepted that she rarely cooks and always sleeps in on the weekends. Aside from writing, Jeaniene enjoys reading, poetry, watching movies with her husband, exploring old cemeteries, spelunking and traveling – by car. Airplanes, children, and cook books frighten her.

To learn more about Jeaniene Frost and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, BookBub, YouTube, and Twitter.

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