Liviania’s review of His at Night by Sherry Thomas
Historical romance released by Bantam 25 May 2010

When reviewing Sherry Thomas, some things go without saying.  Her prose is lovely.  I’m sure even those who don’t normally pay attention to prose notice the artistry of her words.  The historical setting is absorbing and well-researched.  Thomas has a distinctive style and while her fourth release does not deviate from that style, she does show growth as a writer.  That extra layer of polish may make His at Night my favorite of her releases.  (I need to reread the previous three to compare.  Not an onerous task at all.)

Lord Vere is an idiot.  Elissande Edgerton is a conniving young woman bent on snaring a rich, powerful husband.  Lord Vere is one of the Crown’s best secret agents.  Elissande is a scared young woman, a prisoner of her uncle who must rescue both herself and her infirm aunt.  The two fall in love at first sight, but then repel each other with the masks they use to conduct their lives.  It’s only after marriage that they begin to know each other truly.

I freely admit to hating plots full of endless misunderstandings between the hero and heroine.  Thomas, however, makes it work.  She accomplishes this amazing feat by having Vere and Elissande act like reasonable human beings.  They’re both damaged but strong-willed.  Neither trusts easily nor has a reason to reveal their true self.  But at the same time, they can’t resist their attraction whenever they glimpse beneath the other’s persona.

Aside from the main romance, Thomas creates both a compelling plot and a satisfying secondary romance.  Vere first encounters Elissande because he’s investigating her tyrannical uncle.  Her uncle’s possible misdeeds are never forgotten, shoved to the background until the climax.  The investigation is woven throughout, the various revelations about the uncle also revealing secrets of Vere and Elissande’s behavior.  The secondary romance features Freddie, Vere’s younger brother, the good natured painter who lost out to the hero in Private Arrangements.  It’s rewarding to see the losing side of a triangle get his own romance instead of being hastily paired off to a random character at the end of the book.

Those who don’t like flashbacks will be pleased to note that His at Night does not employ them to the same extent as Private Arrangements, Delicious, or Not Quite a Husband.  There are integrated flashbacks to important parts of Vere and Elissande’s pasts, but they don’t occur every other chapter.  (Nor do they ever last an entire chapter.)  But like the spy plot, the flashbacks deepen the characterization.

I think Vere and Elissande are more likable than some of Thomas’s past heroes and heroines.  They complement each other wonderfully.  Elissande needed Vere to help her out of the prison created by her uncle; Vere needed Elissande to help him out of the prison of his own making.  They help each other grow as people and find happiness.  They’re sad, sweet, frustrating, silly, and utterly absorbing.  My only complaint is that the first two sex scenes start a little rape-y.  (Interestingly, the first time Elissande is the instigator.)

Grade: A-

Summary:
Elissande Edgerton is a desperate woman, a virtual prisoner in the home of her tyrannical uncle. Only through marriage can she claim the freedom she craves. But how to catch the perfect man?

Lord Vere is used to baiting irresistible traps. As a secret agent for the government, he’s tracked down some of the most devious criminals in London, all the while maintaining his cover as one of Society’s most harmless—and idiotic—bachelors. But nothing can prepare him for the scandal of being ensnared by Elissande.

Forced into a marriage of convenience, Elissande and Vere are each about to discover they’re not the only one with a hidden agenda. With seduction their only weapon against each other—and a dark secret from the past endangering both their lives—can they learn to trust each other even as they surrender to a passion that won’t be denied?
Read an excerpt here.

You’re in for a treat today! Welcome to Duck Chat!

Ohmyohmyohmy!  Squeeeeeeeeeeeee!  Kathryn Smith is here!!!!!

As most of you know, Kathryn’s vampire series, Brotherhood of the Blood, is a favorite of fans everywhere, but the really big news lately is that she’s writing straight historicals once again, and Kathryn will be talking about that and so much more today.

So no more lollygagging! Let’s chat!

DUCK CHAT: Kathryn, of course, the big news, the happy news for your fans is that you’ve returned to writing historical romance. Was it just time? Did something specific happen to prompt you to write that next one?

KATHRYN SMITH: The simplest answer is that yes, it was just time. I’d been writing a lot of paranormal, and even though most of it was historical, it wore on me. I loved my vamps, but they couldn’t go out in the sun! Actually, the sad truth is that historical paranormal just does not sell like contemporary paranormal and while I had some success, the move didn’t really help my career. It was upsetting to say the least, but historical was always my first love and it took me back with welcome arms.

DC: If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

KS: Where do you get your ideas from? Only because I never know how to answer it. It’s not like I have a magic hat or anything! My ideas can come from anywhere.

DC: And fans will not get just one new historical from you, but an entire series. Lots of happy dancin’ is going on out there! Tell us about the new series, please.

KS: Thank you! I’ve dubbed the new series a ‘Victorian Soap Opera.’ I’m introducing lots of recurring characters that will appear in some or all of the books, and there will be secrets and intrigue afoot. There’s even a gathering place – a hub – where all the characters go to be social, much like Ruby’s on General Hospital. I even have a ‘love to hate’ character that I hope readers will embrace. It’s going to be difficult keeping track of everyone, but I think I’m up for the task.  The series begins with a trilogy, and after that I’m treating it as a world rather than a series. That way I don’t feel locked in to write books about specific characters. Anyone could have a book! And just like on soaps, a new character could arrive on the scene at any time.

DC: I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

KS: Yes! I’m mostly a plotter, but I like to leave room for my characters to express themselves. That sounds slightly psychotic I’m sure, but once you’re in their heads, writing from their POV, you start to understand what they’re all about. That’s when they surprise you.

DC: Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing? Who usually wins?

KS: No. I trust them to do the right thing. LOL. I let them do what they will and if it doesn’t work, I do it my way. There’s no arguing because either way I win.

DC: The first book of your new series is When Seducing a Duke and it will be released later this month. Would you tell our readers about Grey and Rose and how their story came about?

KS: Grey and Rose are a little bit Phantom of the Opera and a little bit Luke and Laura. He’s a little older, jaded and a little tortured. He’s had an awful past that haunts him still, and he doesn’t want the taint of that to touch her, but it’s going to just by association. He promised her father he’d look after her and to him that means NOT giving in to his feelings for her. Rose on the other hand is determined and slightly naïve. Part of her is convinced that if she can make Grey confront the attraction between them everything will magically be wonderful.

I have no idea now where the idea for them came from! I’ve always loved the kind of hero who has been ‘rode hard and put away wet.’ Grey is definitely one those. He feels awful for his past, but he also knows he’d still be the same if not for the event that changed his life. He didn’t change willingly, and he’s not sure what kind of man he is anymore. I think Rose is a little bit like me – she thinks if she wants something bad enough and works at it hard enough, she’ll get it. That doesn’t always work out for the best! It’s a ‘be careful what you wish for’ situation.

DC: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

KS: Email. Phone calls. iTunes. YouTube. Twitter. Cats. Shiny things.

DC: How’s work coming on the second book in your Victorian series? May we have a little sneak peek?

KS: Currently I’m working on revisions for When Marrying a Scoundrel, the second book in the series. It’s about Jack Friday and Sadie Moon. He’s a self-made man with a secret and she’s a tea leaf reader – with a secret. The secret is that they married when they were very young, but then Fate tore them apart. Now, the two of them are reunited and neither one of them is very happy about it.

DC: What has been your favorite book cover from all of your releases and why?

KS: Wow, what a difficult question. The lovely man who runs the Avon Art Dept is one of my favorite people in the entire world. He’s been so very generous with me over the last few years. I’ve always loved the cover for Into Temptation painted by Diane Sivavec. More recently I think the cover for Dark Side of Dawn, which comes out in December – but that might just be because of the gorgeous nekked man on the cover!  Of the Brotherhood covers I think Let the Night Begin is my favorite. I love the golden color of it and the fact that she’s going for his neck.

DC: How about your least favorite cover? Why?

KS: Wow. I’ve never had a cover I hated. I’ve been very lucky. Although if I had to choose it would be In Your Arms Again. I’m not a fan of the pose where the hero is behind the heroine and she has her skirt hauled up. Not sure why. And then, if you don’t look closely it looks like the hero isn’t wearing pants – just a belt and boots. His trousers are almost the same color he is. Still, I’ve seen much worse.

DC: How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved over your career? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

KS: Oh yeah! I think my heroines have gotten more realistic. They’re not entirely good little girls. Nothing interesting in that. My heroes have changed as well. I used to think I had to write Alpha guys, but I’m not good at that. I like guys who can be both tough and sweet. Real people have uncharitable thoughts, absurd thoughts, insecurities and vanities. That’s what I’m interested in writing now.

DC: Your Nightmare Chronicles is also a fairly new urban fantasy series, one book out last year and the second due out in November. Would you tell us about the series over all and and then we’ll talk about each book.

KS: Dawn Riley is the half-mortal daughter of Morpheus, God of Dreams. That’s the crux of it. Dawn is able to walk between both worlds, something no one else can do. It makes people fear her. The veil between the dream realm and our world is thinning, strange things are happening. And no one is sure if Dawn is the solution to the problem, or the cause of it.

DC: First in the series was Before I Wake, which was out last year, and next month Dark Side of Dawn is being released. Would you give a look inside each book, please?

KS: In Before I Wake, Dawn has repressed who she is. She’s working in a sleep center and crushing on one of her ‘clients,’ Noah Drake. One night Noah is attacked in his dreams and somehow Dawn gets pulled into that very dream. She becomes the target of a Night Terror and the only way to stop it is to accept what she is and use her abilities. This means reconciling with Morpheus and her mother. It also means telling Noah the truth about who and what she is.

In Dark Side of Dawn, Dawn is working on honing her abilities and dating Noah. But then someone close to Noah is attacked and Dawn has to use both her professional skills as a psychologist, and her skills as a Nightmare to help. But this puts her in the path of another monster – an earthbound one this time. She’s also in trouble with the Nightmare Council for something she did in book 1. Dawn just can’t catch a break, and if she doesn’t do something fast, she might not live to stand trial in the Dreaming!

DC: Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

KS: Hmm. Young Adult. Historical. Paranormal. Urban Fantasy. I think I’ve written everything I’ve wanted! Actually, I would love to write mysteries, but I don’t think I’d be very good at it. I really want to do more Young Adult. I had two historical YAs out in 2001-2002, and I’ve wanted to do more ever since. So, while there’s not a genre I would like to try, there certainly is one I’d like to do more in.

DC: What advice would you give to your younger self?

KS: Don’t date him. LOL. Actually, I think everything we’ve done has led to where we are, so I don’t think I’d encourage myself to do anything differently. I might, however, tell myself to have more confidence and not take quite so much attitude from other people.

DC: If you were a book, what would your blurb be?

KS: She’s a big girl with a big mouth and an even bigger heart, but does she have what it takes to make the big time?

LOL. That’s so corny, but it’s the best I can do without sounding totally bollocks.

DC: What would be your “voice’s” tagline?

KS: Realistic characters. Fantastic passion. I’d actually have a ‘wink’ after that too. I have a hard time talking myself up.

DC: Your vampire series, The Brotherhood of the Blood, is a favorite with readers. There’s five books in the series so far, with Night After Night being released earlier this year. First would tell those one or two people who aren’t familiar with the series what it’s about?

KS: The Brotherhood was originally six mercenaries who found what they thought was the Holy Grail, but it was actually the Blood Grail, made from the silver paid to Judas, infused with the essence of Lilith. When they drank from it they were turned vampire. 6 centuries later the group who originally had the Blood Grail wants it back – and they want the Brotherhood as well.

DC: Is the series evolving as your originally envisioned it?

KS: Yes. It played out exactly as I’d planned book-wise. I had an arc and I followed it. Success wise, I have to be honest and say that I was much higher hopes for it. Maybe someday paranormal historical will become what I’d hoped it would be and I can give fans of the series some new books.

DC: Please tell everyone about Night After Night.

KS: Night After Night was Temple’s story. He was the leader of the Brotherhood of the Blood once upon a time. In Be Mine Tonight, you discover he’s gone missing, and throughout the series the mystery of what happened to Temple runs through every story. This is also the book that reunites the Brotherhood. It is a romance, however. Temple meets Vivian, who is far more than she seems – more than she even knows. And she’s part of the group that would see the Brotherhood destroyed. That’s conflict, huh?

DC: Are there more books planned in the series? What can we expect next?

KS: As of right now, there are no more books planned for that series. That story line ended with Night After Night. If I do anything in the future, it will be with a new group of vampires or other supernatural creatures.

DC: If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

KS: I’d be a rock star. Actually, I once wanted to be a makeup artist. I love makeup.

DC: Who’s your favorite author(s)?

KS: I have so many. I love Julia Quinn, Laura Lee Guhrke, Connie Brockway. Sherry Thomas and Meredith Duran are two new authors that I do not feel worthy of when I read them! Lorraine Heath is another favorite, along with Jenna Petersen, Sophie Jordan, Sabrina Jeffries, Loretta Chase, and Liz Carlyle.

DC: How about a favorite book or two?

KS: Stranger in My Arms by Lisa Kleypas. Love that book. Lord of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase. Secret Desires of a Gentleman by Laura Lee Guhrke is a current fave, as well as When He Was Wicked by Julia Quinn. Those are the first that come to mind.

DC: What else is on the horizon for Kathryn Smith?

KS: More Victorian soap opera books. I’m currently outlining the third, which I’ve tentatively titled When Tempting a Rogue, but that will probably change to better suit the story. I’m hoping to perhaps continue on with the Nightmare Chronicles, and I do have a little something else I’m working on, but I’m keeping mum until I see what happens. That makes me a tease, doesn’t it? Sorry!

Lightning Round:

- dark or milk chocolate?     – milk
- smooth or chunky peanut butter?     – chunky
- heels or flats?      – heels
- coffee or tea?      – both
- summer or winter?      – Actually, autumn
- mountains or beach?      – beach
- mustard or mayonnaise?     – mayo
- flowers or candy?      – flowers
- pockets or purse?      – Purse – anyone who knows me is laughing at this, because they know I collect purses.
- Pepsi or Coke?     – Coke
- ebook or print?     – Print – but I want to try an e-reader.

And because folks still like seeing the answers:

1. What is your favorite word?    – friend
2. What is your least favorite word?     – nourishing
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?     – nature
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?      – willful ignorance
5. What sound or noise do you love?      – the sound of Steve’s voice
6. What sound or noise do you hate?      – a cat coughing up hair balls.
7. What is your favorite curse word?     – I don’t curse! Right. I say fuck a lot, but I’d like to use the word twat more. I can’t believe I just admitted to that.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?     – makeup artistry. Maybe teaching.
9. What profession would you not like to do?      – anything where I’d have to put my hand in another person.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?     – “I’ve read all your books.”

DC: Kathryn, it was such a pleasure to have you here today! Thank you so much!

Welcome once again to Duck Chat!

Today is going to be a very fun day. We have Meredith Duran in the house!

Besides being a romance author, Meredith is a doctoral student in anthropology, loves doing field work in such places as India and browsing through library travelogues written by Nineteenth Century Englishwomen. British history is a favorite of hers and she talks about that with us today. When she needs a fix, some of her favorite historical authors are: Laura Kinsale, Judith Ivory, Loretta Chase, Sherry Thomas, Connie Brockway, Joanna Bourne, Marsha Canham, and Jo Goodman

Her books have become fan favorites, and if you haven’t read any of Meredith’s stories yet, do read on and learn all about them. She even gives us a sneak peek of her new book that’s being released next year. Be sure to leave a meaningful question or comment for Meredith because she’s going to be giving away a copy of Bound by Your Touch and Written on Your Skin. Now let’s chat!

DUCK CHAT: Meredith, I’m curious – it says on your website that you grew up enamored of British history and one of your life’s goals was to go to London to see Holbein’s portrait of Anne Boleyn. What was it that first captured your interest in British history? Have you attained that goal of seeing the Holbein?

MEREDITH DURAN: Good question! It was Shakespeare that got me hooked into my obsession with English history. I’d always been a very, er, dramatic child, so when I was about eight or nine, my parents decided to take me to a Shakespeare festival. I believe it was Richard III that we saw, since I can still recall the precise way the actor hissed the line, “You…try…my…patience!” The play was over my head, but the costumes fascinated me (I decided then and there that I was going to become a Shakespearean actor when I grew up – heh, what a great way to make a living!). The fate of the little princes also haunted me, so when we got home from the festival, I decided to ransack the local library for more information about them. This led to an interest in the Plantagenets (I had a VHS copy of Lion in Winter that wore out, I watched it so much), which yielded in high school to a fixation on the Tudors. (I made color Xeroxes of Henry VIII’s wives and plastered my dorm room wall with them. And, yes, my friends did think this was a little weird.)

DC: If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

MD: Ha! This question right here is a work of evil genius – asking me to admit my least favorite question, and then to answer it! I think this question is the one I’d like to see retired.

DC: One of my questions sometimes of authors is if they have an old WIP under the bed, back of the closet, shoved to the back of a drawer that they might pull out and rework. The answer is usually no. In your case, that’s exactly what happened with The Duke of Shadows, your debut book. When you were in the process of reworking it, was there ever a point when you nearly chucked the whole thing, thinking it would never work? What kept you going?

MD: Actually, I didn’t rework the manuscript until it had won the Gather/Simon & Schuster contest. Since I only had five weeks to revise it, I had no time to entertain doubts. What kept me going? The willingness of my friends to let me disappear for five weeks. Also, the utter heady thrill of knowing that the words I was placing on the page would be read by my fellow romance readers. Actually, those five weeks were the happiest of my life to date – one long, exhilarated marathon of creativity.

DC: Any other works hidden away like The Duke of Shadows that we might see some day?

MD: Most of my shelved manuscripts are the work of adolescent enthusiasm – a few fantasy manuscripts, a paranormal romance (I was ahead of the curve! Blame it on a childhood filled with LJ Smith, Christopher Pike, and Lois Lowry), nothing I would inflict on the world. However, I actually had another book pulled from beneath the bed recently –a women’s fiction novel that was agented in NY, but never sold. It’s a coming-of-age story about an Anglo-American girl whose obsession with Hindi cinema begins to warp her view of reality; in short, she starts to lead her life as though she were a heroine in a Bollywood film. (If you’ve ever watched one of these films, you can see how this might cause farcical results.)

After realizing it was never going to sell, I sort of forgot about it, until one day I mentioned it to a friend who lives in Delhi. He wanted to read it. I gave him a PDF copy. Three years on, he happened to befriend someone in publishing there; he mentioned it to her, she asked for a look, and lo and behold: it’s being published in India this fall! What a surreal and happy ending. I loved writing that book – it’s a work of pure affection, by a huge fan of Hindi films – so I’m so glad it will get an audience.

DC: While we’re talking about TDoS, tell our readers a little about the story and its characters, please.

MD: The Duke of Shadows tells the story of two star-crossed lovers who meet in India in 1857. Each of them is an outcast, Emma because her reputation is in tatters, Julian because his birth – as a ducal heir whose grandmother was Indian – offends the sensibilities of a society in which racial divisions are becoming increasingly stark. When war breaks out, they have no choice but to trust each other in their fight to survive, and in the process, they fall in love.

But war has a way of destroying happy-ever-afters. They are separated, and by the time they find each other again in London, the darkness of their pasts, and the cost of their own survival, may prove too great for their love to overcome.

DC: I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

MD: Yes, I know I’m in the zone when my writing and characters surprise me.

DC: Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing? Who usually wins?

MD: Nope, I never argue with them. When the writing isn’t coming easily, I like to argue with myself, though. (“Your plot is weak! What the hell were you thinking, Duran?” LOL.)

DC: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

MD: The internet is a terrible temptation. Good books also furnish endless distraction, but I don’t feel so guilty about that; reading seems to replenish my “well,” as it were.

DC: Your second book is Bound by Your Touch. First, are your books related in any way? Would you tell us about Viscount Sanburne and Lydia Boyce?

MD: The Duke of Shadows has no relation to any of my other books. Bound by Your Touch is related to Written on Your Skin insofar as certain characters (and part of the timeline) overlap, but each of the books stands alone, as a separate and contained story that does not require knowledge of the other.

As far as Sanburne and Lydia go – well, BBYT is an opposites-attract story, the key twist being that they’re not nearly so opposite as they might believe (and wish) themselves to be. At the beginning of the book, Lydia would tell you that Sanburne is a useless, handsome scoundrel whose only employment in life lies in breaking the rules, preferably in as spectacular a fashion as possible. Sanburne would tell you that Lydia is a self-important, overly serious bluestocking, who no doubt would be horrified to learn that her prickly façade practically begs a man to breach and dismantle it.

To Lydia’s horror and Sanburne’s amusement, these two actually end up having far more in common than they suspect.

To Sanburne’s horror and Lydia’s amusement, she has a peculiar talent for breaching and dismantling *his* façade.

Fireworks result!

DC: What has been your favorite book cover from your releases so far and why?

MD: The Duke of Shadows still reigns supreme in my heart: that minaret, the late light of sunset slanting in through the window, and the black spine made it really distinctive. Although WOYS is such a gorgeous red… Grr, it’s hard to decide.

DC: I’m going to guess that you really don’t have a least favorite cover. True? LOL, the cover gods have been mighty nice to you!

MD: True! I’ve lucked out.

DC: How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved over your career? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

MD: The Duke of Shadows was mostly Emma’s story – Julian was a swoon-worthy hero, no doubt, but he has made his peace with his own childhood traumas; the only thing that haunts him is his past with Emma. Hence the second half of that book is really about his effort to rescue her from the darkness into which she has locked herself.

On the other hand, the heroes in Bound by Your Touch and Written on Your Skin are classically “tortured” insofar as their inner conflicts are no less sizeable than that of their heroines. They’ve got to do a lot of growing before they can win their happy-ever-safter. So, if anything, I’d say that I’m growing crueler and crueler toward my heroes. Ha!

DC: Your latest release is Written on Your Skin. I love that title, by the way. We meet Phin and Mina in this book. Can you tell us about them and their story?

MD: Phin is a world-weary former spy. He was pushed into the game against his will. It stripped away all his idealism, and he is determined, for the sake of his soul, never to return to it. So when Mina Masters comes to him for help – help that would require he reenter the game – he resists with all his might. Problem is: she saved his life once. He’s indebted to her, and ultimately has no choice but to help her.

Mina is something of a femme fatale, who has learned the hard way how to use her looks and her wits to protect herself. But her fierce independence masks a serious fear of making herself vulnerable to anyone. It chafes her that she requires Phin’s help. It burns her to have to trust him. But she hasn’t any choice in it.

What ensues is a battle of wills between two very smart people who are very good at lying to themselves and others. But in each other, they have met their match.

Excerpt from Written on Your Skin:

Delhi, 1857

Julian first noticed her because she looked so bored. Waiting for the Commissioner’s arrival had put him on edge. He stood at the top of the room, half-attending to the feverish chatter around him, his eyes fixed on the door. Rumors in the bazaar daily grew darker, and it was clear to him now that if Calcutta would not act, the local government must. Tonight he meant to exact a promise on that account.
He became aware of the woman gradually. It was her stillness that drew his attention. She was leaning against a wall, not ten feet away. Though several people surrounded her, sipping negligently at their wine and laughing, she seemed somehow apart. Tired of it all. Her eyes, which had been resting vacantly on the space over his shoulder, focused on him. They were a penetrating blue, and gave Julian a start. He saw that she was not bored at all, but unhappy.
She looked away.“Sir,” she said evenly, bobbing a shallow curtsy. Something in her tone indicated she’d overheard the tail end of his argument with Frazer. He opened his mouth to respond—after all, the lady had seemed to be waiting for him—but she had already retreated in a swish of cornflower silk, and he was not in the mood for a chase.
He began to wonder about the coincidence when she drifted after him into the garden. Was she following him? In London he might have felt some faint, predatory stirring of interest—he enjoyed women, particularly those who spared him the trouble of pursuit—but he had a policy of avoiding memsahibs. Their husbands were rarely understanding, and they themselves tended to be so bored by life on a British station that passing love affairs quickly inflated to their entire reason for being. There was also an absurd set of ideas circulating about him in Anglo-Indian circles, variations on the theme of exotic Eastern eroticism, and he’d long since grown weary of it.
But she did not, in fact, seem to know he was there. She paused at the edge of the lawn, one hand coming to her throat, and seemed content to stand there, an abstracted look on her face. A breeze came over the grass, and her fingers loosened, letting the shawl flutter around her shoulders. Fleetingly, her pale lips curved in a smile.
Again, he was struck by the impression that she stood at a great remove from the scene around her. Curious. He studied her more closely, finding nothing of special note. Her hair was an unremarkable color, a curling, sun-faded dun that, in conjunction with her pale skin, made it seem as though all the energy of her being were focused in the brilliance of her deep blue eyes. A very odd sort of beauty, if a beauty at all. He wondered if she had recently been ill.
The thought made him impatient with himself. She was young, no more than twenty-two or –three years, with smooth white skin that bespoke a typical memsahib’s routine. What was there to wonder about her? She would spend her days closeted in a bungalow, reading or at needlepoint. When the monotony began to wear, she would take heart in her zealous belief that the English way of life was the only one of merit in the world.
She muttered something beneath her breath. Despite himself, he leaned forward. He could not quite make it out. Surely she had not said—
With a violent gesture, she splashed her wine into the bushes. “Pig swill,” she said clearly.

The garden was not cool, but it was quiet. Emma turned her face into the sultry breeze and let her eyes drift shut. Had Mrs. Greeley been speaking the truth? Either way, the woman must have been surprised at Emma’s impassive reception of the news. It was unpleasant, of course; one didn’t often learn that one’s betrothed was conducting a torrid affair with a married woman. But the act seemed entirely in keeping with the person Marcus had become since their engagement.
Perhaps it was this land that had changed him so. Emma had only been here a few weeks, but she already sensed that India had taken hold of her: loosening her tongue, widening her eyes. Even now, when her mind should have been racing with the implications of Mrs. Greeley’s words, the gentle swaying of the trees and the parrots twittering in the branches above distracted her from thought. The night air mantled her bare shoulders, thick and warm, so richly perfumed with night-blooming jasmine that she wondered if she would carry the scent back inside with her.
A cow lowed in the distance. She felt a brief stirring of pity, imagining he was confused at the excess of liberty granted him by the native culture. As to why the cows were encouraged to wander through the streets, Marcus had told her that the Hindus believed them to be some sort of deity, but he hadn’t been able to elaborate. Marcus was often impatient with details.
This party, for instance. He should have told her, given her some warning regarding the people she would meet. Within five minutes it had become clear that Delhi society was no friend to her, that news of the shipwreck and her “dishonorable” rescue had tainted local opinion. But instead he’d let her march inside like a lamb to the slaughter, encouraging her to mingle with the sharp-tongued harpies whilst he conferred with the Commissioner.
All this, and then to discover he was having an affair with the hostess!
Well, it was clear that whatever they did when alone together, Marcus had not reviewed Mrs. Eversham’s wine list for her. He was possessed of impeccable taste. With a scoff she tossed the remnants of her bordeaux into the shrubbery. “Pig swill!”
The quiet laugh startled her, and she gasped, squinting into the shadows. “Who’s there?”
A form emerged from the trees, offering her a toast from a silver flask. “Pig swill indeed,” he said, and lifted the pocket pistol to his lips for a long swallow.
She relaxed slightly at the Oxford drawl, which complemented a deliciously low, rough voice. “Pray do not relay my sentiments to our hostess, sir.” Or perhaps do, she added silently.
Another step brought him full out of darkness, and she caught her breath. It was the man from indoors—the one whom she had nearly collided with earlier. Once again, his height took her off guard. He was taller even than Marcus, and a full head over her own considerable length. His eyes were a luminescent green-gold, cat-like as they reflected the faint light spilling from the bungalow. They watched her as though he waited for something.
“Are we acquainted?” she blurted out—knowing very well they were not.
He gave her a faint smile. “No.”
When he said nothing more, she arched a brow, returning rude stare for rude stare. At least, she hoped it was rude, for she suspected she might be ogling him. The man was unnervingly handsome—like something from a fever dream, brilliant and fierce, skin touched by gold and hair so black it absorbed the light. Earlier, indoors, she had found herself looking at him, thinking his face begged to be sketched. It would take only a few economical strokes—sharp, angular slashes for the cheekbones, a bold straight line for his nose, a fierce square for his jaw. Perhaps his lips would take more time. They were full and mobile, and saved his countenance from sternness.
He was very tanned. Doubt flickered through her mind, quashed as she considered his starched cravat and elegantly cut tail coat. Of course he was English. The lazy grace with which he held himself made her aware of her own unmannerly slouch. She straightened, lifting her face towards the stars.
“A lovely night,” she said.
“Pleasant weather,” he agreed, eliciting a startled laugh from her.
“You must be joking!” she said, when he tilted his head in question. “It’s dreadfully hot.”
“Do you think so?” He shrugged. “Then I suggest you withdraw to Almora. The hill stations are quite popular this time of year.”
His reference to the tradition of retreating to the Himalayan foothills during the hot weather sounded almost contemptuous. “You don’t plan to go?”
“Business holds me here.”
“Business. You’re with the Company, then?” Most everyone she had met so far was in the employ of the East India Company, either as a civil servant or, like Marcus, as an officer in the army.
But he appeared mightily amused by the idea. “Dear God, no. I see my reputation does not precede me.”
“Oh, is it very bad?” The question was out of her mouth before she could reconsider, and she blushed as he laughed again.
“It’s even worse.”
When she realized he wasn’t going to elaborate, she ventured to continue. “You’ll have to tell me about it yourself; I’ve only just arrived in Delhi, you see.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “I didn’t know they raised chits like you in England.”
“Chits like me?” She frowned. He had settled back against a tree trunk and was smiling at her indulgently, as if—suddenly it came to her—she were some three-year-old who had just shown him a neat trick with her doll. “Are you being insulting?”
“I meant you seem to have some spirit.”
“You are being insulting,” she decided. “To me and England both.”
“Well then.” He sighed and rolled his shoulders; his coat fit closely enough to reveal the ripple of arm muscles beneath the fabric. She wondered what he had done to acquire them; it was not at all the fashion. “Now you’ve discovered the first part of my reputation. I am considered terribly ill-mannered.”
“But I knew that the moment I saw you! A gentleman would refrain from drinking spirits in the presence of a lady.”
His brows rose. “And a lady would not call her hostess’s wine—what was it? Pig swill, I believe?”
Her laughter was reluctant, but genuine. “All right, you’ve found me out. I’m a black sheep as well. Really, it’s a wonder my intended will have me.”
“Paragon of virtue, is he?”
“Not quite,” she said dryly. “But they’ll forgive him just about anything.” The conversation was utterly inappropriate, of course; but she had forgotten how good it felt to joke and be silly with someone, and to be spoken to without those ever-present undertones of pity and speculation. “In fact, someone inside just called him the ‘Darling of Delhi.’”
“He sounds dreadfully dull. Do I know him?”
“Oh, you must. This party is in honor of us, you know—of our engagement.” His sudden stillness made her frown, and she searched his face, concerned she might have embarrassed him. “If you don’t know who the party’s for, I promise not to tell.”
“Oh, I know.” His voice was very soft now. “That would make you Miss Martin.”
“Indeed! And now you must tell me your name, so I won’t be at a disadvantage.”
His cat’s eyes moved over her shoulder, and he smiled again, this time rather unpleasantly. “Here comes your betrothed,” he said, and took a deep swig from the flask.
“Emmaline! There you are!”
She turned back towards the doors, shielding her eyes from the light. “Marcus!” He was yanking his cravat in place, and she wondered acidly if he hadn’t been waylaid by their hostess somewhere between the Commissioner and the garden. “I was taking some air,” she said. “Flannel is horribly ill-suited to this climate.”
Marcus stepped into the yard. “I hardly think that’s appropriate for public discussion,” he said severely. “And I did warn you about the weather, but you insisted—” His voice died away as he stared at her companion. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“Lindley,” the man said curtly. “A pleasure.”
Marcus made a rude noise. “I’m sure I can’t say the same. I had no idea Mrs. Eversham was so indiscriminate with her guest list.”
Emma glanced rapidly between them. The stranger’s expression was perfectly neutral; Marcus, on the other hand, was glaring and breathing like a bull. “Marcus, really! This gentleman—”
“Knows he is not welcome,” Marcus said. “Not anywhere I am, and certainly nowhere near my future wife. I would suggest you leave now, sir.”
The man shrugged. “Of course.” Slipping the flask inside his jacket, he sketched a shallow bow. “Accept my congratulations on your betrothal, Lindley. Miss Martin is utterly charming.”
“You soil her by speaking of her,” Marcus snapped. “Beware lest I call you out for it!”
Now she was truly alarmed. Something about this man—perhaps his slight smile at Marcus’s threat—made her think he would be more than a match for her intended. “Gentlemen, this is absurd!”
“Come with me.” His hand tightening cruelly into her forearm, Marcus all but dragged her back into the bungalow.
Inside, the sudden brightness of numerous lamps and candelabras made her wince. She pulled Marcus to a stop at the edge of the crowd, beneath one of the giant fans hanging from the ceiling. Its starched chintz streamers were wilting in the humidity. “I cannot credit your behavior,” she said. “How could you behave so loutishly!”
“How could I?” Marcus pulled her around to face him. “Do you know who that man is? Do you know?”
“Stop shaking me!” She yanked her arm from his grip. The strong, sour odors of wine and sweat were rising from his skin. Maybe he had overindulged tonight, but that was no excuse. “What has come over you?”
“That is my cousin,” he managed, his face purple. “That is the half-breed who would have the dukedom instead of me.”
“That—” She stopped, understanding. “That man is Julian Sinclair?”
“One and the same.”
She turned away from him, staring blindly toward the dancers. Marcus had written to her of his second cousin, Julian Sinclair. Sinclair’s father Jeremy had married a Eurasian, a woman of mixed English and native descent, when he had thought his brother the Marquess would have the dukedom. But within a short period, the cholera had killed Jeremy, and the Marquess had died in a hunting accident. That left Jeremy’s young son as heir to the dukedom—Julian, whose blood was one-quarter native.
Now Julian Sinclair was grown, and his grandfather, the current duke, had made sure through every legal means that his grandson would follow him in the succession. But Marcus could not accept the idea that a man of mixed blood might inherit the title, when Marcus, pure-blooded English and in line after Sinclair to inherit, might himself wear the strawberry leaves so well.
“He didn’t seem Indian,” she whispered to herself.
“Of course he didn’t!” Marcus exploded. “The Duke has done everything in his power to assure it—Eton, Cambridge, a seat in the Commons. But while a man can ape his betters, he can’t change his blood. The proudest title in Britain is to go to a mongrel!”
She looked back to him, stunned. “Marcus, you sound so… hateful.”
He stared at her, his mouth thinning into a grim line. “Is that so? To think, you’ve only been here for five days, and already you’re starting to pant after the natives. What would your parents say?”
She winced. A servant was passing with a tray of wine; she reached out and snared a glass. “That is cruel.”
“Cruel but true. Even in death, they knew the honor of being Martins.”
She took a deep swallow of the wretched bordeaux and shut her eyes. Again and again it returned to haunt her—this image of her parents’ faces, so small and pale as the ocean closed over them. The pain of their deaths did not fade; most nights, she still awoke weeping from nightmares of drowning with them. Only a miracle had guided her to the gig on which she had floated for almost a day; only God had given her the strength to cling to it as the hot sun beat down and she despaired of ever being found.
She set the glass on a sideboard and looked directly at him. The atmosphere was close and torpid, and sweat was trickling down her nape; strange, then, that she felt so cold. “You think it would have been more honorable to let myself drown?”
After a mute, stubborn moment, his face softened, and he reached for her hands. “No, my dear, of course not.”
But she wondered. After all, he could play with his precious honor all he liked, risking it with his conspicuous philandering, his exorbitant gambling debts. But to have that honor tarnished by a woman! Surely it must irk him, to risk being made a laughing-stock by upholding a betrothal with a woman of questionable reputation—a woman who had arrived in India sheltered not under the watchful gaze of her mother and father, but by a crew of rough-and-ready sailors. Those sailors had saved her life, but Anglo-Indian society was wondering if they hadn’t robbed her of something even more important: her virtue.
Naturally, the fact that her betrothed’s virtue was completely and publicly compromised was of no import at all.
She lifted her chin. “Oh, I was only speaking with him, Marcus. Do let’s forget it. There’s no need to look so grim.”
Marcus exhaled. His eyes began to search the crowd beyond her shoulder. “I’m wondering why he hasn’t been thrown out by now.”
“Perhaps because he’s the Marquess of Holdensmoor?”
He slanted her a sharp glance. “I’m not in the mood for your cheek, Emmaline. And for your information, the man’s a threat to the Crown. He’s been stirring up talk of a possible insurrection, trying to goad us into abandoning Delhi. Thinks our native troops might turn on us.”
“Gracious! Might they?”
He waved a dismissal. “It’s treason to even think it. No, of course they won’t. We give them the bread their families eat in the morning. Just because of some silly nonsense at Barrackpore—”
Yes, she remembered that. It had been all the talk in Bombay upon her arrival in the port city. A sepoy, a native soldier, had turned on his British officers. He had shot two of them before he was stopped by his superiors; what had been so alarming, if she recalled correctly, was that none of the other natives had attempted to disarm him.
“He does have a point,” she said. “It’s a bit alarming.”
“It was one isolated incident in over two hundred years on this continent. And the man was directly hanged. We’ll have no more trouble along those lines, I assure you.”
“But if Lord Holdensmoor is partly native, perhaps he has heard something—”
“Emmaline!” Marcus wheeled to face her. “Yes, the man is part native, and for all I know, he’s trying to scare us out of Delhi so the natives can take it back! In fact, I believe that is exactly what he is up to, and I have told the Commissioner so! Now cease your ignorant speculations and make yourself pleasant for your host.”
“My host? Do you mean the one you’re cuckolding?”
All color bleached from his face. Oh dear. Blonde hair didn’t look so well on skin that particular shade of green. “What did you just say?” he asked.
“So it’s true.” Nausea rolled through her stomach. “Well. I suppose you’re going to tell me you still love me anyhow.”
His eyes, such a guileless shade of blue, searched her face. “Of course I do.”
She managed a smile. “Yes. We have loved each other quite a long time, haven’t we? Since we were born, I believe.”
“Since forever,” he said, with an admirable show of sincerity. “And whatever rumors you hear to the contrary, there is no woman in the world for me but you. Some people are jealous, you see, and they would spread vicious gossip in order to harm me—”
“I know,” she interrupted, and then stopped, swallowing hard when her voice would have broken. How sad to realize that she could no longer believe a word he said. “Marcus, I think I’d like to leave now.”
He considered her for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Of course. But I will call on you at the Residency tomorrow. We’ll discuss this, and you’ll see, my dear. These lies—you must simply set them from your mind.”
“Naturally,” she murmured. “If you’ll find Lady Metcalfe for me?”
She leaned back against the wall, watching him push his way through the congratulatory crowd as he went in search of her chaperone. Even though his back was turned, she knew every gesture that he made, sensed every smile that crossed his face. Such was the familiarity of twenty long years—decades of their families plotting to bring them together, arranging their betrothal, choosing the names of their unborn children. The Martins and Lindleys had never known that the only two who would live to fulfill their dream would be the very two who had never been quite as enthusiastic as the rest: the bride and groom themselves.
She closed her eyes, turning her head to press her cheek against the cool bungalow wall. The windows rattled in a strong gust of hot wind, and the candles flickered with the inrush of jasmine and darkness. Strange, how the night called to her so sweetly, promising a lovelier, more innocent place. Yes, India seemed to draw out her very soul. Perhaps that was why she felt so bruised inside—as though her defenses had been laid bare, allowing a terrible melancholy to settle in her core.
Surely she wasn’t grieving over Marcus? She had abandoned her childish dreams of romantic love three years ago, the first time she’d learned of one of his many paramours. She’d been heartbroken then, but her mother had explained quickly enough: marriage was not about something as illusory and fleeting as love. It was about alliances, partnerships, the continuation of the family line. Marcus’s grand and crumbling estates would be consolidated with the vast Martin wealth, and the two of them would create a dynasty that would compensate for her mother’s failure to produce male issue.
So what, then, could account for this sudden foreboding? It slid like a shadow between her and the brightly lit room, leaving her with the odd conviction that she stood apart, watching a great panorama like those they sometimes displayed in the British Museum. This room seemed like Pompeii before the volcano eruption, or Rome before the fall: a civilization on the edge of disaster.
A shiver slid over her, and she glanced away, starting as she found herself locked in a vibrant emerald gaze: Lord Holdensmoor, coming in from the gardens. His face was expressionless as he stared at her. In defiance of both Marcus and her own gloomy reverie, she offered him a smile.
His own was rakish and swift, the effect of it on his aloof, aristocratic features dazzling to behold. And then he too was gone, his tall, broad form swallowed up by the crowd in a cloud of crushed silk and waving peacock feather fans.

DC: Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

MD: I’m an avid reader of YA, paranormal romance, historical fiction, SF/F, and urban fantasy. I have ideas for books in all of these genres. Time is what I lack!

DC: What advice would you give to your younger self?

MD: Relax. There’s always time for a walk in the sunshine.

DC: You have listed on your site you’re currently reading Nalini Singh’s Branded by Fire. I have to say I loved this book, it’s the best of the series for me. How did you like it? Give us some of your thoughts about it?

MD: I just updated that yesterday! I’m a huge of Nalini Singh. I’ve just started reading the book, so I can’t say much, save that it’s fantastic so far. Oh, also: it takes serious talent to write a sex scene in the first chapter, before we’ve gotten a chance to fully invest in the characters, and make it so incredibly riveting.

DC: If you were a book, what would your blurb be?

MD: Gosh, great question. Well, blurbs are meant to sell the product, so I’ll abandon modesty for this exercise. Perhaps something like, “Fast-paced intensity, interspersed with moments of wicked humor and whimsical reverie.”

DC: Your next book has just received its title, Wicked Becomes You, and is due out in May of next year. May we get a sneak peek?

MD: Sure! Here’s the working copy:

She’s been burned not once but twice by London’s so-called gentlemen . . .

Gwen Maudsley is pretty enough to be popular, and plenty wealthy, too. But what she’s best known and loved for is being so very, very nice. When a cad jilts her at the altar—again—the scandal has her outraged friends braying for blood. Only Gwen has a different plan. If nice no longer works for her, then it’s time to learn to be naughty. Happily, she knows the perfect tutor—

Alexander Ramsey, her late brother’s best friend and a notorious rogue.

So why won’t a confirmed scoundrel let her be as bad as she wants to be?
Unbeknownst to Gwen, Alex’s aloof demeanor veils his deepest unspoken desire. He has no wish to see her change, nor to tempt himself with her presence when his own secrets make any future between them impossible. But on a wild romp from Paris to the Riviera, their friendship gives way to something hotter, darker, and altogether more dangerous. With Alex’s past and Gwen’s newly unleashed wildness on a collision course, Gwen must convince Alex that his wickedest intentions are exactly what she needs.

DC: What would be your “voice’s” tagline?

MD: Hmm. Okay, I was blushing for days over something the Book Smugglers said about Bound by Your Touch – Ana called it “sophisticated, beautifully written and utterly romantic.” I’d like to imagine this applies to my voice!

DC: If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

MD: Well, I’m a PhD student in anthropology, so I hope to be an anthropologist as well as a novelist. Were it not for the fiction writing, I’d still be aiming at a professorship.

DC: What else is on the horizon for Meredith Duran?

MD: I’m off to India for a year to do anthropological research! The laptop, of course, comes with me.

Lightning Round:

- dark or milk chocolate?     – Dark.
- smooth or chunky peanut butter?     – Chunky.
- heels or flats?   – Both.
- coffee or tea?    – Coffee.
- summer or winter?   – Summer, for the sunlight – not for the heat!
- mountains or beach?   – Mountains.
- mustard or mayonnaise?    – Mix them together!
- flowers or candy?    – Candy.
- pockets or purse?    – Pockets.
- Pepsi or Coke?   – Coke.
- ebook or print?     – Until I get an e-reader, print all the way.

And because they’re still amusing:

1. What is your favorite word?    – kerfuffle
2. What is your least favorite word?     – Glint.
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?    – Reading amazing fiction. Mountains that slope down to the ocean. London. Airports and hotel lobbies, spaces that encode the possibility of encountering the unexpected.
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?    – Anxiety. Traffic. The glare of the sun off concrete and high-rise windows. Really, really hot weather.
5. What sound or noise do you love?     – Fiddle music. The ocean at night. The sound a dog makes when he sighs through his nose. The scratch of a fountain pen across textured paper.
6. What sound or noise do you hate?     – The squealing of brakes and microphones. The high-pitched, almost-but-not-quite-undetectable hum of electronic equipment. Alarm clocks.
7. What is your favorite curse word?     – Erm. In my mother’s presence? “Crap.” Since she’ll probably google me and find this interview, I’ll leave it at that!
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?   – In another life, I’d love to work for the foreign service. Learning languages is such fun. The opportunity to live in so many places overseas, to settle down and really get to know those places, and also to find a support network wherever you land — all of that sounds fantastic.
9. What profession would you not like to do?    – I would make a very bad chemist. In high school, titration always slayed me.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?    – “Good job. The library is that way, between the pizza parlor and the puppy playpen. Get to it!”

DC: Meredith, thank you so much for taking the time to chat with us today!

What a time we had with Sherry Thomas during her Duck Chat here at the pond! We’d like to thank her for spending the day with us.

Now it’s time for those lucky winners of Not Quite a Husband to find out who they are! With the use of that really handy random number generator, we won’t keep you in suspense any longer!  Our winners are:

**CrystalGB (14) **

**Quilt Lady (28) **

Congrats, ladies! Please send your snail mail address to lighthousetagger (at) gmail (dot) com and we’ll notify Sherry to get those books on their way to you!

Glad you’re all here with us for our Duck Chat!

Sherry Thomas is our guest today. If you have been to Sherry’s website to read about her incredible journey through life that eventually led her to becoming an author, you should hightail it over there. The short version is Sherry came to the United States from China at age 13; therefore, her first language is not English, but she did what was necessary and now Sherry gives readers like you and me beautiful romances to read. A motivating story like so few others.

Sherry’s first book was Private Arrangements, which released in March of last year, and was followed by Delicious in July. Both books have won awards and fans can’t get enough of them. Get ready for a fun day with Sherry! Be sure to ask questions or leave a comment because she is giving away a couple of copies of her latest release, Not Quite a Husband. Now let’s chat!

DUCK CHAT: Sherry, after reading about you on your website, I have to give you kudos on your commitment and dedication in learning the English language once you got to the United States at the age of 13. What a terrific story and it’s hopefully incentive for other people, no matter what they choose to do in life. Were there other similar obstacles you had to overcome on your way to discovering you’d like to write?

SHERRY THOMAS: Hmm, I would say the other obstacle was the belief that writing is not any kind of proper career. I come from a family of scientists and engineers. My mom especially is as practical a person as they come–she is still very much surprised that I’m an author.

So I don’t think I would ever have pursued writing if I hadn’t found myself a stay-at-home mom at a very young age, all my other plans put aside while I looked after my new baby. It was one of those things where I went, oh well, I don’t have any other career prospects now, so why the heck not? *g*

DC: If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

st: LOL. I think it is far too early in my career for me to have same-question fatigue yet. I’m happy and grateful to answer questions, even if I’ve answered similar questions before. I never copy and paste answers as I’m a different me every day and even similar questions get different answers depending on when they come to me.

DC: I hear you like playing computer games with your sons. What’s your favorite game? Do you let your sons win? Or are they a take-no-prisoners players and you have to be on your toes all the time?

ST: My favorite games are the Wonderland series and the Mystery Case Files series—both casual games, as we don’t really have game consoles at home. Wonderland is the cutest game ever, with these adorable characters and their equally adorable foes in adorable adventure-puzzle boards that you need to solve. My sons do the more action-y parts and I do the more think-y parts.

Mystery Case Files games started as a fairly straightforward hidden-object game—like I Spy. But it has since evolved to include ever more puzzle elements. Their latest installment, Return to Ravenhearst, is an absolute masterpiece of game design. I can’t rave enough about it.

None of these are head-to-head games so we play collaboratively, my sons and I. But on hidden-object games, I often hold back and let them find more of the items. I figured it wouldn’t be fun if I were playing with my mother, and she’s locating everything!

DC: I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

ST: I can’t really say my stories come from an unknown place. LOL, they come from my head and I’d like to think I am somewhat familiar with that particular place. The stories I write are the stories I’d like to read. They cater very closely to my personal tastes so it is highly unlikely that I am going to suddenly discover that I’m writing a ménage story or a tale of forbidden love between a werewolf and a wererabbit.

What does surprise me is how much I can improve a story, when my editor is standing behind me with a whip. My particular weakness as a writer is that I like the stuff I write—no tormented artist here. But my editor is very, very strict. She edits hard. I moan and wail. But my belief is that as a writer, you never explain yourself to a reader and hope they’ll like your books better as a result. If they’ve read it and they don’t care for it, either it is not to their taste or you’ve failed in your job.

Since my books are to my editor’s taste, or so she assures me every time after she tears a draft apart, I go back to the drawing board and reassess how I can do it better. And every single time, without fail, I end up with a vastly superior draft from the one I started with.

DC: Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing? Who usually wins?

ST: No, never. They do what I say. Whom do you think I whip when my editor whips me? *eg*

DC: There’s a quote on your website I found interesting, “when she is not writing, she thinks about the zen and zaniness of her profession…” I think our readers will be curious about this. Can you share a few of those thoughts with us?

ST: Writing is a profession that is tough on the ego, because there is no such thing as a book done exactly right. There is no objective standard. Every book that is loved is also hated. Every book that has passionate detractors will also have passionate defenders. And everyday people bemoan the presence of certain books on the bestseller list and the absence of certain other books.

So I think about how to maintain my inner equilibrium. How do I deal with both praise and criticism directed at my own books? How do I look at my numbers and neither despair—it is soooooo much less than so-and-so’s—nor gloat—it is still better than so-and-so’s? How do I stayed focused on the work rather than the peripherals of the work?

I wouldn’t say it is a daily struggle—I’m far too absent-minded for it. But it is an ongoing process to find the zen zone and then to stay there.

DC: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

ST: This blog and others like it. I have chronic and incurable blog-itis.

DC: How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved so far in your career? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

ST: When I first started writing, I had no idea at all what either character or characterization meant—I never had any creative writing or even plain old English classes in college. I remember working on my second heroine—in a space-opera story—and thinking to myself, no, she can’t be ruthless, because the heroine from my first story is ruthless, they’ll be exactly the same if they are both ruthless.

And mind you, that was after I’d finished a full manuscript already.

What set me on the road to truly understanding characters is Judith Ivory’s book Beast. Now I’m amazed that I started to write before I’d ever read her because she is such a seminal influence in my evolution as a writer. Not to be hyperbolic, but until I read Beast, I didn’t quite understand human nature. Didn’t understand how a person could contain so many contradictions and still be a working whole. Or how even with all our imperfections, we can still rise above.

DC: Let’s talk about Not Quite a Husband, which was released May 19. First, where did the idea for the story come from? Is it relatively the same book now as it was when you started it?

The germ of the idea came from the movie The Painted Veil, which is about a terribly estranged couple caught in a dangerous place (interior China) at a dangerous time (1920s). The movie was marvelous, except for SPOILER the death of the hero END SPOILER at the end. I felt so awful afterward that I just had to write about a terribly estranged couple caught in a dangerous place at a dangerous time.

My dangerously place turned out to be the North-West Frontier of British India in 1897, with the hero and the heroine encountering an uprising in the Swat Valley. Sound familiar? History does repeat itself, alas.

It is very much not the same book as when I started, because as usual, after my editor went through with it, I rewrote most of everything. And I couldn’t be more grateful that she pushed me for the changes, because the book ended up much better.

DC: Please tell us about Leo and Bryony.

ST: They are a mismatched couple. She is older than him by four years. He is vastly popular. She avoids society like the plague. He is multi-talented. She is good at only one thing, medicine. He understands himself. She doesn’t, at all.

But such is love, is it not, that it can forge connections that entirely baffle outsiders? *g*

Extra special treat, excerpt from Not Quite a Husband:

Prologue

In the course of her long and illustrious career, Bryony Asquith was the subject of numerous newspaper and magazine articles, almost all of which described her appearance as “distinguished and unique, characterized by a dramatic streak of white in her midnight-dark hair.”

The more inquisitive reporters often demanded to know how the white streak came about. She always smiled and briefly recounted a period of criminal overwork in her twenties. “It was the result of not sleeping for days on end. My poor maid, she was quite shocked.”

Bryony Asquith had indeed been in her twenties when it happened. She had indeed been working too much. And her maid had indeed been quite shocked. But as with any substantial lie, there was an important omission: in this case, a man.

His name was Quentin Leonidas Marsden. She’d known him all of her life but never gave him a thought before he returned to London in the spring of 1893. Within seven weeks of meeting him again, she proposed. Another three months and they were married.

From the very beginning they were considered an unlikely pair. He was the handsomest, wildest, and most accomplished of the five handsome, wild, and accomplished Marsden brothers. By the time of their wedding, at age twenty-four, he’d had a paper read at the London Mathematical Society, a play staged at St. James’s Theatre, and a Greenland expedition under his belt.

He was witty, he was popular, he was universally admired. She, on the other hand, spoke very little, was not in demand, and was admired only in very limited circles. In fact, most of Society disapproved of her occupation—and the fact that she had an occupation at all. For a gentleman’s daughter to pursue a medical training and then to go to work every day—every day, as if she were some common clerk—was it really necessary?

There were other unlikely marriages that defied all naysayers and prospered. Theirs, however, failed miserably. For her, that was; she’d been the miserable one. He seemed scarcely affected. He had a second paper read at the mathematical society; he was more lauded than ever.

By their first anniversary things had quite deteriorated. She’d barred the door to her bedchamber and he, well, he did not wallow in celibacy. They no longer dined together. They no longer even spoke when they occasionally came upon each other.

They might have carried on in that state for decades but for something he said—and not to her.

It was a summer evening, some four months after she first denied him his marital rights. She’d returned home rather earlier than usual, before the stroke of midnight, because she’d been awake for seventy hours—a small-scale outbreak of dysentery and a spate of strange rashes had her at her microscope in the laboratory when she wasn’t seeing to patients.

She paid the cabbie and stood a moment outside her house, head up, the palm of her free hand held out to feel for raindrops. The night air smelled of the tang of electricity. Already thunder rumbled. The periphery of the sky lit every few seconds, truant angels playing with matches.

When she lowered her face Leo was there, regarding her coolly.

He took her breath away in the most literal sense: she was too asphyxiated for her lungs to expand and contract properly. He aroused every last ounce of covetousness in her—and there was so much of it in her, hidden in the tenebrous recesses of her heart.

Had they been alone they’d have nodded and walked past each other without a word. But Leo had a friend with him, a loquacious chap named Wessex who liked to practice gallantry on Bryony, even though gallantry had about as much effect on her as vaccine injections on a corpse.

They’d been having excellent luck at the tables, Wessex informed her, while Leo smoothed every finger of his gloves with the fastidiousness of a deranged valet. She stared at his gloved hands, her insides leaden, her heart ruined.

“…awfully clever, the way you phrased it. How exactly did you say it, Marsden?” asked Wessex.

“I said a good gambler approaches the table with a plan,” answered Leo, his voice impatient. “And an inferior gambler with a desperate prayer and much blind hope.”

It was as if she’d been dropped from a great height. Suddenly she understood her own action all too well. She’d been gambling. And their marriage was the bet on which she’d staked everything. Because if he loved her, it would make her as beautiful, desirable, and adored as he. And it would prove everyone who never loved her definitively wrong.

“Precisely,” Wessex exclaimed. “Precisely.”

“We should leave Mrs. Marsden to her repose now, Wessex,” said Leo. “No doubt she is exhausted after a long day at her noble calling.”

She glanced sharply at him. He looked up from his gloves. Even in such poor soggy light, he remained the epitome of magnetism and glamour. The spell he cast over her was complete and unbreakable.

When he returned to London, everyone and her maid had been in love with him.

He should have had the decency to laugh at Bryony, and tell her that an old-maid physician, no matter the size of her inheritance, had no business proposing to Apollo himself. He should not have given her that half smile and said, “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Good night, Mr. Wessex,” she said. “Good night, Mr. Marsden.”

Two hours later, as the storm shook the shutters, she lay in her bed shivering—she’d sat in the bath too long, until the water had chilled to the temperature of the night.

Leo, she thought, as she did every night. Leo. Leo. Leo.

She bolted upright. She’d never realized it before, but this mantra of his name was her desperate prayer, her blind hopes condensed into a single syllable. When had mere covetousness descended into obsession? When had he become her opium, her morphia?

There were many things she could tolerate—the world was full of scorned wives who went about their day with their heads held high. But she could not tolerate such pitiable needs in herself. She would not be as those wretches she’d witnessed at work, wild for the love of their poison, tenderly fueling their addiction even as it robbed them of every last dignity.

He was her poison. He was that for whom she abandoned sense and judgment. For the lack of whom she suffered like a maltreated puppy, shaking and whimpering in the dead of the night. Already her soul withered, diminishing into little more than this vampiric craving.

But how could she free herself from him? They were married—only a year ago, in a lavish affair for which she’d spared no expenses, because she wanted the whole world to know that she was the one he’d chosen, above all others.

Thunder boomed as if an artillery battle raged in the streets outside. Inside the house everything was silent and still. Not a single creak came from the stairs or the chamber that adjoined hers—she never heard any sounds from him anymore. The darkness smothered her.

She shook her head. If she didn’t think about it—if she worked until she was exhausted every day—she could pretend that her marriage wasn’t a complete disaster.

But it was. A complete disaster.

One small lie—This marriage has never been consummated—would free them both.

Then she could walk away from him, from the wreckage of the greatest and only gamble of her life. Then she could forget that she’d been mired in an unrequited love as unwholesome as any malarial swamp on the Subcontinent. Then she could breathe again.

No, she couldn’t. She could never leave him. When he smiled at her, she walked on rose petals. The one time she’d allowed him to kiss her, for days afterward everything had tasted of milk and honey.

If she asked for and received an annulment, he would marry someone else, and she would be his wife and the mother of his children, not Bryony, forgotten and unlamented.

She did not want him to forget her. She would endure anything to hold on to him.

She could not stand this desperate, sniveling creature she’d become.

She loved him.

She hated both him and herself.

She hugged her shoulders tight, rocked back and forth, and stared into shadows that would not dispel.

She was still sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking and staring, when her maid came in the morning. Molly went about the room, opening curtains and shutters, letting in the day.

She poured Bryony’s tea, approached the bed, and dropped the tray. Something shattered loudly.

“Oh, missus. Your hair. Your hair!”

Bryony looked up dumbly. Molly rushed about the room and returned with a hand mirror. “Look, missus. Look.”

Bryony thought she looked almost tolerable for someone who hadn’t slept in three days. Then she saw the streak in her hair, two inches wide and white as washing soda.

The mirror fell from her hands.

“I’ll get some nitrate of silver and make a dye,” Molly said. “No one will even notice.”

“No, no nitrate of silver,” Bryony said mechanically. “It’s harmful.”

“Some sulphate of iron then. Or I could mix henna with some ammonia, but I don’t know if that will be—”

“Yes, you may go prepare it,” said Bryony.

When Molly was gone she picked up the mirror again. She looked strange and strangely vulnerable—the desolation she’d kept carefully hidden made manifest by the translucent fragility of her white hair. And she had no one to blame. She’d done this to herself, with her relentless need, her delusions, her willingness to gamble it all for a mythical fulfillment conjured by her fevered mind.

She set aside the mirror, wrapped her arms about her knees, and resumed her rocking—she had a few minutes before Molly rushed back with the hair dye, before she must arrange a meeting with him to calmly and rationally discuss the dissolution of their marriage.

Leo, she permitted herself this one last indulgence, a widow at her husband’s grave, sobbing his name in vain. Leo. Leo. Leo.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way, Leo. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.
Chapter One
Kalash Valleys
Near Chitral, Northwest Frontier, India
1897

The white streak was a gash of barrenness against the rich deep black of her hair. It started at the edge of her forehead, just to the right of center, swept straight down the back of her head, and twisted through her chignon in a striking—and eerie—arabesque.

It invoked an odd reaction in him. Not pity; he would no more pity her than he would pity the lone Himalayan wolf. And not affection; she’d put an end to that with her frigidity, in heart and body. An echo of some sort then, memories of old hopes from more innocent days.

She’d finished washing her hands minutes ago, but she hadn’t moved from the edge of the stream. Instead she’d picked up a twig to traced random patterns in the swift-flowing, aquamarine water.

Beyond the stream fields of wheat glinted a thick, bright green in the narrow alluvial plain. Small, rectangular houses of wood and stacked stone piled one on top of another, like a collection of weathered playing blocks. Behind the village, the ground rose quickly, a brief stratum of walnut and fruit trees before the slope butted up against austere crags that supported only dots of shrubs and an intrepid deodar or two.

“Bryony,” he said at last—he wasn’t sure how much longer he could remain standing.

She went still. The twig washed downstream, caught in a rock, then spun and floated free again.

So she hadn’t known that he was there. With her it was sometimes hard to tell. She was capable of a surpassing obliviousness. But he did not put it past her to deliberately ignore him in public. It had happened before.

She picked up the rubber gloves she’d worn during the caesarean section and began to wash the blood from them. “Mr.Marsden, how unexpected. What brings you to this part of the world?”

“Your father is ill. Your sister sent several cables to Leh, and when she received no response from you, she asked me to find you.”

She was still again. “What’s the matter with my father?”

“I don’t know the specifics. Lady Callista only said that doctors are not hopeful and that he wishes to see you.”

She rose and turned around at last.

At first glance, her face gave the impression of great tranquility and sweetness. Then one noticed the bleakness behind her eyes, as if she were a nun on the verge of losing her faith. When she spoke, however, all illusions of meek melancholy fled, for she had the most leave-me-alone voice he’d ever heard, not strident but stridently self-sufficient, and little concerned with anything that did not involve diseased flesh.

But she was silent this moment and reminded him of a churchyard stone angel that watched over the departed with a gentle, steady compassion.

“You believe Callista?” she asked, destroying the semblance.

“I shouldn’t?”

She shook droplets of water from the gloves. “Unless you were dying in the autumn of ’95.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She claimed you were. She said you were somewhere in the wastes of America, dying, and desperately wanted to see me one last time.”

“I see,” he said. “Does she make a habit of it?”

“Are you engaged to be married?”

“No,” he said. Though he should be. He knew a number of beautiful, affectionate young women, any one of whom would make him a warm, delightful spouse.

“According to her you are. And would gladly jilt the poor girl if I but give the command.” She did not look at him as she said this last, her eyes on the gloves, which she patted dry with a cloth. “I’m sorry that she dragged you into her schemes. And I’m much obliged to you for coming out this far—”

“But you’d rather I turned around and went back right away?”

Silence. “No, of course not. You’ll need to rest and re-provision.”

“And if I didn’t need to rest or re-provision?”

She did not answer, but bent down to stow the gloves and the drying cloth in her bag.

Weeks upon weeks of trekking across some of the most inhospitable terrains on Earth, sleeping on hard ground, eating what he could shoot and the occasional handful of wild berries, so he wouldn’t be weighed down by a train of coolies carrying the usual necessities deemed indispensable for a sahib’s travels—and this was her response.

One should never expect anything else from her.

“Even the boy who cried wolf was right about the wolf once,” he said. “Your father is more than sixty years old. Is it so unlikely for a man of his age to ail?”

She tightened the straps of her bag and buckled it shut. “It would be four months to go from here to England and back, on the off-chance that Callista might be telling the truth.”

“And if she is, you will regret not having gone.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Her ambivalence toward most of Creation had once fascinated him. He’d thought her complicated and extraordinary. But no, she was merely cold and unfeeling.

“Chitral is one march away,” he said. “We can reach it tomorrow. We’ll need a day or two there for provision and coolies. Then we can start for Peshawar.”

She looked back at him, her expression unyielding. “I did not say I’d come.”

It was 370 miles from Gilgit, where he’d been peacefully minding his own business, to Leh, that much again back to Gilgit, then 220 miles from Gilgit to Chitral. For most of the way he’d done two marches a day, sometimes three. He’d lost a full stone in weight. And he hadn’t been this tired since Greenland.

Fuck you.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

DC: Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

ST: I tackle everything I like. So there are very few things that I like and haven’t tackled, but there are tons of things I’ve tried but haven’t finished. Somewhere on my hard-drive there are three science fiction romance partials, a two-thirds-there screenplay, a martial-art epic, and a Star Wars novel.

I also have an in-the-home-stretch contemporary romance that I call my waiting-for-Caitlin book. Caitlin is my editor. Whenever I’m waiting on her to get back to me about something, that’s the book I work on. I’m determined to finish it this year, right after I finished the current historical work-in-progress.

DC: What advice would you give to your younger self?

ST: To not have waited so long to chuck the “after I get published” rider. What I mean is that for a long time I used to postpone the rest of my life by saying I’ll do (insert heart’s desire) after I get published. LOL, now I’m published and I never do anything but type—I am a slow writer so deadlines, no matter how far out, are always breathing down my neck. I really should have lived it up back then!

DC: You have some terrific information about and pics of British India, where Not Quite a Husband takes place, on your website. Has that inspired a yearning in you to see it firsthand yourself?

ST: I have been to India—my husband is Indian—but not anywhere close to the foot of the Himalayas, where most of Not Quite a Husband takes place. I would love to see that part of the world, so incredibly rugged and beautiful. And ride the bus that rattles the whole length of the Korakoram Highway from Peshawar all the way to Kashgar in the very far west of China.

But only after the troubles die down and peace and prosperity return. And even then my mother might not let me!

DC: If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

ST: I have no idea what I would be doing now, but I do know that I would have liked to become a diplomat. Not that I have any particular finesse or international negotiation skills, but I love wearing cocktail dresses and I love eating hors d’oeuvres. Embassy parties, anyone?

Actually, you know what? I should have been an ambassador’s wife. Then I can write all day, and eat hors d’oeuvres in my cocktail dress all night!

DC: What’s next for Sherry Thomas?

ST: What is next for Sherry Thomas is certain humiliation. I’ve been telling people left and right that I am writing my own version of Loretta Chase’s Mr. Impossible, except without anything to do with Egypt. Well, guess what? I finally got around to re-reading Mr. Impossible and that book is pretty much perfect. I might as well have said I’m writing my own Hamlet, lol.

On the other hand, reading Mr. Impossible makes me impossibly happy. I love it when a romance really is all that.

Lightning Round:

- dark or milk chocolate? – Mild dark chocolate. I used to think I loved dark chocolate until I had the70%-pure sort. I totally cried uncle and ran back to milk chocolate for a while.
- smooth or chunky peanut butter? – Smooth.
- heels or flats? – Flats for everyday. Heels for RWA Nationals.
- coffee or tea? – Tea.
- summer or winter? – Spring and autumn.
- mountains or beach? – Mountains that rise from the ocean, beach optional.
- mustard or mayonnaise? – Mayonnaise. I was once gently escorted away from the salad bar in my high school’s cafeteria because I was loading my burger with so much mayonnaise.
- flowers or candy? – Cake.
- pockets or purse? – Pockets.
- Pepsi or Coke? – Italian soda.
- ebook or print? – Print, but only because I will not be able to keep track of an e-reader.

And because they’re still fun:

1. What is your favorite word?    – “Totally”
2. What is your least favorite word?    – “Vagina,” followed closely by “penis.”
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?     – Peace of mind.
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?  – Lack of peace of mind.
5. What sound or noise do you love?    – Rain.
6. What sound or noise do you hate?     -  Metal scraping against anything.
7. What is your favorite curse word?    – “Crap!”
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?    -  Advertising copywriter.
9. What profession would you not like to do?   – Prostitution of any kind, literal or figurative.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?   -  “Fresh hors d’oeuvres inside!” Or, if nobody ever eats in Heaven, then maybe, “Well done, my young Padawan.”

DC:  Sherry, thank you so much for taking the time to chat with us today!

Sandy M’s review of Not Quite a Husband by Sherry Thomas
Historical Romance published by Bantam 19 May 09

This is my first Sherry Thomas book, much to my dismay. I’ve chatted with other readers who have read her books and while they all enjoy their reads, it’s a split decision on whether they like the flashbacks that Ms. Thomas utilizes. I have to say that I rather liked this element use in NQaH. It gave me more insight on the characters both in the present and in the past, sometimes giving me a look at what gave rise to the current circumstances. It worked quite effectively.

We learn about the hero and heroine’s childhood and how they met at the same time we’re learning about them and how they’re reconnecting in real time. We also learn why Bryony had her marriage to Leo annulled so quickly even before Leo himself finds out, which is the bottom line that runs through this story. Ms. Thomas does an excellent job of then giving us their romance and love story all over again as they go through the trials of forgiveness and rediscovering each other through danger and heartbreak.

It’s been several years since their annulment when Bryony is surprised by Leo showing up in India where she’s putting her medical knowledge to good use. He bears bad news concerning her father, and though she doubts the veracity of the news due to its origination, she agrees to accompany him back to London to make sure all is well. This is where those flashbacks really shine in the story. While they both are wary around each other now, we get see how things really happened when Bryony approached Leo with her request to end their marriage, how he was thrown for a loop by that request, not seeing it coming, and how they acted around each other through the whole process and then how they’re currently reacting to each in the present.

This continues through their journey home, giving the reader more and more insight into these two characters. The trek they take is enlightening for both of them, as well as fraught with danger, and they end up in the middle of an Indian attack on an English outpost, suffering seven days and nights of not knowing if they will survive, seven days and nights of getting to know each other body and soul all over again. These are terrific moments between them during this time. They love and they share their thoughts and feelings more than ever before, bringing them closer and showing them they really can make a life between them work.

Back home in England, they still have a few issues to get through, but this time around they’re more open with each other, know each other better, and have decided to trust each other. I really enjoyed Leo and Bryony. Leo is more of a beta hero with moments of alpha-ness that all have to do with Bryony and his feelings for her, his sorrow at the hurt he caused her. I like that he’s open and willing to talk to her when the time calls for it. Bryony is strong-willed and very independent, has covered the globe in her post-annulment days, not sure at all what she now wants out of life. I thought at first she might make Leo pay even more dearly than she had before, but she’s definitely grown up in her traveling years and now faces everything much differently than before.

I really enjoyed Ms. Thomas’ writing. I have her previous books in the TBR pile and have every intention of cracking them open as soon as I can.

Grade: B+

Summary:
.
Their marriage lasted only slightly longer than the honeymoon—to no one’s surprise, not even Bryony Asquith’s. A man as talented, handsome, and sought after by society as Leo Marsden couldn’t possibly want to spend his entire life with a woman who rebelled against propriety by becoming a doctor. Why, then, three years after their annulment and half a world away, does he track her down at her clinic in the remotest corner of India?
.
Leo has no reason to think Bryony could ever forgive him for the way he treated her, but he won’t rest until he’s delivered an urgent message from her sister—and fulfilled his duty by escorting her safely back to England. But as they risk their lives for each other on the journey home, will the biggest danger be the treacherous war around them—or their rekindling passion?
.
Read an excerpt. (scroll way down)

Lawson’s review of Not Quite a Husband by Sherry Thomas
Historical romance released by Bantam 19 May 09

If you haven’t read Thomas’ first two books, you need to go and get them and read them ASAP. If this is your first Thomas book, you won’t be sorry. It’s loosely connected to Private Arrangements and Delicious, but not part of any sort of series and stands very well on its own. It’s also a bit timely in that it’s set in the Swat Valley in what is today Pakistan, where various rebellious groups and militants are staging their own uprising, though the setting is in 1897 and not the present day. I must point out as well that the summary, while not terribly inaccurate, doesn’t really give the best description of the book.

The story opens with the globe trotting doctor being chased down in the mountains northwest of the Swat Valley due to the rumor about a dying father. The doctor, Bryony Asquith, is disbelieving of the news as it comes from her sister through her ex-husband. Her sister Callista has been trying to get the two of them back together for the past three years in various ways and hasn’t succeeded. Though not believing her father is ill, Bryony still leaves with Leo Marsden, her ex-husband.

Leo wants to get Bryony back to London as soon as possible, but it becomes apparent that he is ill. Forced to wait for a good number of days so Leo can get over a bout of malaria, Bryony is forced to face her past, not only with Leo, but with people not there with her, but in her memories. When Leo recovers there is a tentative rekindling of their romance that confuses both in many ways, and various truths about their marriage and annulment come to light while on their journey out of British India.

What happens instead of a steady trip is an uprising with the local tribes in the Swat Valley and with Bryony and Leo caught at a frontier fort where Leo is forced to fight against the rebels and Bryony is thrust into the role of battlefield surgeon and the need to overcome their fears in the midst of this crisis to become truly happy.

Writing a woman doctor in 1897 is probably a hard sell. Especially since said woman doctor, through nothing of her own doing, had a childhood full of grief and loss that has shaped her into a very aloof and hard-hearted woman. Bryony carries her emotions so close and is nearly afraid of loss that more often than not she closes herself off to caring rather than risk emotional pain. Bryony’s growth and change through out the book is raw and heart wrenching as she is anything but the unfeeling automaton that she tries desperately to portray in her own defense to hide her true feelings.

Where Bryony is logical and emotionally distant, Leo is warm, open and has a spirit that others want to copy. When they marry, many people asked why he would choose her. Leo has always been blessed by a sunny disposition, a brilliant mathematical mind and an ease of manner that has made him well loved by society. His family had the neighboring estate to the Asquiths’ and as he grew up he wanted to bring some light into Bryony’s life, though she was always focused on escaping her childhood she never noticed his overtures.

Like Thomas’ first two books, the history is told through the use of flashbacks, though it’s more a small device and expands on more of the character’s motivations rather than a major part of the narrative. The growth and change of both Bryony and Leo is the main conflict of the story and it is echoed by the flashbacks and the Swat Valley uprising around them. The romance takes the center stage and isn’t overshadowed by any of these other elements of the story.

Perhaps what sets this story apart is the details.  The setting, the memories that Bryony holds so close, Leo’s personality and charm, and many other small things, while maybe not the truest to period, give the characters things to talk about and work through together to get to their happiness.  The story also shows very well through aspects of Bryony’s that life isn’t easy, there is heartbreak, loss, and grief and it’s the choices that you make that grant you happiness, not what is given or done to you. Both Bryony and Leo come to this conclusion and in the end give an emotional romance and a very satisfying ending.

Grade: A

Summary:
.
Their marriage lasted only slightly longer than the honeymoon—to no one’s surprise, not even Bryony Asquith’s. A man as talented, handsome, and sought after by society as Leo Marsden couldn’t possibly want to spend his entire life with a woman who rebelled against propriety by becoming a doctor. Why, then, three years after their annulment and half a world away, does he track her down at her clinic in the remotest corner of India?
.
Leo has no reason to think Bryony could ever forgive him for the way he treated her, but he won’t rest until he’s delivered an urgent message from her sister—and fulfilled his duty by escorting her safely back to England. But as they risk their lives for each other on the journey home, will the biggest danger be the treacherous war around them—or their rekindling passion?
.
Read an excerpt.

C2 started it off, but I’ve got a list as well!  (And my choices are way better than hers.)  2008 was a great year for books, but here’s my top 10:

The Outlaw Demon Wails (The Hollows, Book Six) by Kim Harrison
Urban fantasy released by EOS 26 Feb 2008

Kim Harrison keeps this series going storng with an entry that solves a lot of ongoing questions and to open new ones. The paperback is now available with a bonus story just in time to reread for the release of White Witch, Black Curse.

Dark Needs at Night’s Edge (The Immortals After Dark, Book Four) by Kresley Cole
Paranormal romance released by Pocket 1 Apr 08

It was a toss-up between this and Dark Desires After Dusk. With this year’s releases, Cole set the bar high for Kiss of a Demon King. Seriously, any paranormal romance fan needs these two on their shelves.

Lament: The Faerie Queen’s Deception by Maggie Stiefvater
Young adult fantasy released by Flux 1 Oct 08

This debut has faeries, violence, music, and romance. What more can one ask for?

Dreaming Again edited by Jack Dann
Speculative fiction anthology released by EOS 30 Sept 08

Australia’s literary scene rocks hardcore. Here some of its best authors serve up 35 excellent stories. This anthology contains no misses.

Generation Dead by Daniel Waters
Paranormal young adult released by Hyperion 6 May 08

Zombies, high school, and sociology come together for a humorous novel that will stay with you for awhile after you finish.

Madhouse (Cal Leandros, Book Three) by Rob Thurman
Urban fantasy released by ROC 26 Feb 08

Just read this series. Please.

Delicious by Sherry Thomas
Historical romance released by Bantam 29 July 08

Another author with two brilliant releases to choose between -this and her debut Private Arrangements. Both are terrific, but only this one makes me hungry. Food porn and romance is a winning combination.

Embrace the Night (Cassandra Palmer series, Book Three) by Karen Chance
Urban fantasy released by ROC 1 Apr 08

This series really hit its stride with this book. Chance also debuted anther series with the excellent Midnight’s Daughter.

Undone by Brooke Taylor
Young adult released by Walker Books for Young Readers 22 July 08

Taylor’s debut is emotionally strong, which any romance reader can appreciate.

Paper Towns by John Green
Young adult released by Dutton Juvenile 16 Oct 08

Green understands the nerd lifestyle, strong females, and what makes a good story. I don’t know if the man is capable of writing a book that isn’t made of win.

Honorable Mentions

Wicked Game by Jeri Smith-Ready
Urban fantasy released by Pocket 13 May 08

Smith-Ready makes her urban fantasy debut with a series that takes an inventive approach towards vampires and adds to the genre.

Tarnished Beauty by Cecilia Samartin
Literary fiction released by Atria 18 Mar 08

This is not self-important literary fiction. It’s simply a beautifully written story.

Sybil has demanded that I post something rather than her about visiting with the wonderful Sherry Thomas. I think this may be a bit short as Sherry is packing up her big bag of tricks and we may be heading out.

Sherry said she had a good time discussing Query letters and signing books and apparently we’re running off for some chocolate or food or something. If anyone has questions for Sherry be sure to post them and we’ll make sure she stops by within the next week and answers them.

What R U Doing?

Got a question for her?

Where will YOU bes @ 2pm today (Aug 9, 2009)? hmmm
Wellllll let me tell you where you should be, if at all possible, if you are a romance author in the making or a fan of the awesomeness that is Sherry Thomas.

hmmm First we need music! yes I know you have never heard of this song, you should have bought A Spanner in the Works when it came out. Sez I. You can go do it now while picking up your copy of Delicious by Sherry Thomas if you haven’t done so already and can’t make today’s event. (bah, it will take you to the site and you have to press play, then you can finish your reading pleasure with the delicious sound of rod. or you know not… and can skip it… song has zip to do with the book other than it plays in my head every time I hear the title of the book and figured I would share the earworm)

Delicious by Rod Stewart

You can twitter along with Sherry here, blog here, & keep up with what is new in her writing here aka her website.

Sherry will also be apart of the “Levy/Meijer Bus Tour, signing books at nine Meijer stores across Michigan (Kalamazoo, Grand Rapids, Lansing, Ann Arbor, and Detroit) September 19-21, 2008″ ::sniff:: They need to do it in Texas, sez me. But woot for Wendy’s hometown (I think, if that isn’t wrong I blame the seizure for keeling what few brain cells I had left. Work with me here people). Need to find duckies or peeps to go to this and report on it. Lawson, member me I need to do that. K?

Lawson’s review of Delicious by Sherry Thomas
Historical romance released by Bantam 29 Jul 08

Thomas’ debut, Private Arrangements, was a wonderful book and a great debut. How nice for everyone that her next book has come out so soon after the first. The aspects from the first book are present here the beautiful style, vivid descriptions and deep characterization that the few problems I had with the book got pushed to the side.

What problems could there be? I’m sure there’s a lot of people asking that question and I don’t know how much to reveal without giving bunches of spoilers. I’ll do the best I can though. Verity Durant is a world class chef, though she’s carrying a secret with her. Actually, she’s got three. Throughout the book as they come to light it becomes easier to sympathize with her plight and how instead of buckling under the weight of her past, she forges on to a future on her own terms.

After some hitches in Verity’s plan, she’s pretty steady in her life. Though a little past 30, she’s happy enough cooking in the kitchen for a former lover. The descriptions of her food are absolutely mouthwatering. She spends her nights remembering a night from her past when she met her White Knight, but she knew that it wouldn’t work and accepted her fate as a cook, though she is considered one of the best in England.

Her employer, Bertram Somerset, dies and as with estates, she’s passed on to his heir, her employer’s brother. Stuart Somerset is the illegitimate half brother of Bertie, but in a major court case Stuart won his right to be legally recognized. Stuart has some of his own problems to deal with upon hearing of his brother’s death and new inheritance. He’s getting married to a not-so-young lady, Elizabeth Bessler, because his Cinderella from so many years before hasn’t turned up and so he’s found someone he can live with.

This brief summary, of course, cannot do the plot any justice, for that would be giving away far too many spoilers. As hard as it is to believe that two people could fall in love over one night and keep that love for each other for ten years without moving on is a little unrealistic in some ways, but Thomas makes it all very real and very passionate. How Verity and Stuart deal with their issues, of course, makes the story worthwhile and with the richness of detail and characterization easily masks any issue with the length of the separation.

The secondary plot dealing with Lizzie and how she turns out is as evenly fleshed out, if in a different way, than the love story of Verity and Stuart. I started off not really caring for Lizzie, but by the end of the book I was glad she got a happy ending as well. The other plot dealing with the Dowager Duchess of Arlington does stretch things a bit, as though it was added in to make sure there was a bit of Hollywood added to the ending, but it doesn’t overshadow the rest of the fine points in the story.

One last thing to mention is the food. Or maybe the use of the descriptions of food. It’s more that just a plot device, it’s an integral element, almost a character of its own. Verity speaks through her food, and when Stuart becomes her employer she wants to convey certain messages to him through the food. There’s an especially erotic part when he’s eating a chocolate dessert of hers in the privacy of his bedroom that just makes the body tingle. Another pivotal scene is a dinner party where the food is so delicious that the guests are speechless, though Stuart’s mind is whirling about why his cook prepared what she did.

An excellent second book and though some of the same elements from the first book are present, such as having paced flashbacks through the story and a long separation between the characters, the tone between Verity and Stuart is different, as well as the secondary plot lines and the food make this book stand next Private Arrangements as great historical for 2008.

Grade: B+

Summary:

Famous in Paris, infamous in London, Verity Durant is as well-known for her mouthwatering cuisine as for her scandalous love life. But that’s the least of the surprises awaiting her new employer when he arrives at the estate of Fairleigh Park following the unexpected death of his brother.

Lawyer Stuart Somerset worked himself up from the slums of Manchester to become one of the rising political stars of England’s Parliament. To him, Verity Durant is just a name and food is just food until her first dish touches his lips. Only one other time has he felt such pure arousal—a dangerous night of passion with a stranger, a young woman who disappeared at dawn. Ten years is a long time to wait for the main course, but when Verity Durant arrives at his table, there’s only one thing that will satisfy Stuart’s appetite for more. But is his hunger for lust, revenge—or that rarest of delicacies, love? For Verity’s past has a secret that could devour them both even as they reach for the most delicious fruit of all…

Read an excerpt.

Ok, so the Duckies have been so very remiss as to announce the winner to this contest. The contest is now TWO MONTHS OLD. Right, well better late than never (really Lawson was waiting for it to show up so she could read it and I had to break it to her that no hon going to the winner so she gave in). . .

Before we get there though, I thing this is a great thing to share, because I agree with Lisa Kleypas about Sherry Thomas:

“Sherry Thomas is the most powerfully original historical romance author writing today. She is a rebel, a rule-breaker, and above all, a romantic. Searing, tender and filled with passion, her writing is nothing short of a revelation. ‘Private Arrangements’ clearly heralds the beginning of a dazzling career, and I am looking forward to more brilliantly told romances from this accomplished writer.”

Now, on to the reason for this post, the winner.

Congratulations to Beverly!

The prize, if you don’t remember, is an ARC of Delicious, Sherry’s next book due July 29, 2008 and a Private Arrangements t-shirt.

Congratulations to our winner and you need to email your physical address to Sybil at redwyne @ gmail. com so that she can get your prize to you.  Be sure to put “SHERRY THOMAS IS A GODDESS” in the subject line of your email!

**UPDATE**  Sybil and Lawson are in Pearland/Houston right now, meeting with Lisa Kleypas.  If you have any questions you want them to ask Lisa, please be sure to put them in the comments to this post!

If you’re near Pearland, TX or Houston, TX on March 25th, join Lawson and I on March 25th (a.k.a. TOMORROW) as we flock** (think stalk with feathers and permission) Lisa Kleypas at two signings:

- 1-3pm, we’ll be at the new “super” HEB in PEARLAND, TEXAS - it’s like a combination of Central Market, a book store, and home entertainment store all in one. If you think I just took on an accent I did, really really I did.  Nora Roberts did one of these, I think.

- 7pm in HOUSTON at the Barnes & Noble in the Champions area.

Then, if you’re near Austin, TX on April 5th, join GWEN (maybe), lawson (if she can get away in time) and of course… ME ME ME ME when we flock Sherry Thomas at the B. Dalton Booksellers – Highland Mall.
** gwen said to make sure I explained my oddness: FLOCK = birds grouping together, as in group of readers… book signing + group of readers = flocking. GET IT?   just nod and smile damn it

by Sherry Thomas

I read romance sites and blogs and have for a long time. Becoming a publish author myself, however, means that from time to time I suddenly run into mentions of my name or my book when I’m least expecting it.

The first time it happened it nearly gave me a heart attack. I was reading this opinion piece on DearAuthor.com, about the truths and perceptions of historical accuracy, when I came across this paragraph:

Recently I read a book set in the late 1800s in England that referred to New York harbor on Independence Day (1885); werewolf (Old English); velvet lined handcuffs (pre 1900s). The book was historically accurate but because I have had a decade of reading almost solely Regency related romances, when I first started reading, I had to remind myself of the time period. The more immersed I became in the story, the less this became a concern.

That book, of course, was Private Arrangements. And what gave me the heart attack was that I’d never thought to check up on any of those things, especially Independence Day, which according to Jane’s research came into use only 8 years ahead of the time setting of the scene in which it was mentioned — I totally lucked out there.

And it’s not as if I don’t research. I’m constantly looking up words, phrases, people and constantly learning dates that surprise and sometimes dismay me.

For example, the word “dreadnought“. I had my heroine’s mother barge into a duke’s path like a dreadnought. I loved that simile: this refined, petite woman compared to a deadly hulk of steel. Alas, according to my dictionary, the term “dreadnought,” at least as referring to a class of battleships, did not come into use until 1906. There went my wonderful imagery.

Another place in my manuscript originally had a phrase that went “Mycenaean bronze, still-vivid relics of Minoan fresco, glass-encased fragments of papyrus from the time of the Pharaohs.” Upon further research, however, I discovered that the word Minoan was coined by British archaeologist Arthur Evans, who had yet to start his major digging on Crete when this particular scene took place. And I couldn’t find mentions of fresco being found lying around, so Minoan fresco became “seals from the island of Crete.”

And other examples abound. My first copyeditor caught quite a few of them. The phrase “femme fatale,” for example, isn’t old enough: it came into use only in 1912. The word “deadpan” is even newer: 1928.

The word “Marquis,” however, is too old. My copyeditor commented that in England, the word “Marquis” had been deprecated in favor of “Marquess” since the early 1800s. At which point I said “You’ve got to be @#%&ing kidding me!” and hauled myself to the university library. I went through several hundred pages of a Debrett’s Peerage from the turn-of-the-century, and sure enough, not a single marquis in sight.

So, like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, now we have words that are too old, and words that are not old enough. What are words that are just right? Yep, we have a few of those too.

“Shag,” for example. I know a lot of people think Austin Powers but shag, as in to copulate with, dates from 1788. The word “bang,” as referring to sexual intercourse, dates from some years after the setting of my book. But I took a little artistic liberty as the dates given in dictionaries are when the words first make it into written media, and it’s safe to assume that vulgar slang words could hang around for years — especially in those more restrictive days — before showing up in print.

And of course, the word “fuck” is as old as dirt. And the first instance of it in known writing? A satirical poem composed partly in code, which when deciphered, reads “they [the Carmelite friars of Cambridge] are not in Heaven because they fuck the wives of Ely [a nearby town]“.

Hehehe.

CONTEST!

Comment on any of today’s four Sherry Thomas guest posts with whatever crazy thing you’ve done for love, or the strangest anachronism you’ve ever read in a book or seen in a movie, and you could win an ARC of Sherry’s 29 July 08 Bantam release, Delicious, and a Private Arrangements t-shirt! (Two prizes, one winner.)

Remember, only one entry per IP address is eligible for the prize, but you can comment as often as you wish. Winners will be chosen from comments entered between now and midnight tonight, 24 March, according to the blog’s timestamp (U.S. Central).

Good luck!

by Sherry Thomas 

Everything under the sun pushes somebody’s button; that is an inescapable fact of life. So I feel it is my moral duty to be up front with readers about elements of my book, Private Arrangements (Bantam, 25 Mar 08), that might cause consternation.  Here we go:

1. OMGWTFBBQ, she be not chaste during their long separation! Back in 2001, a kindly NYC agent, after she read the first incarnation of Private Arrangements, called me and told me that while she thought the book had potential, she couldn’t sell it the way it was. One, she said, the story should not be told from the very beginning, but from the point when the hero and the heroine meet again. Two, she said, the majority of romance readers live below the Mason-Dixon Line and would not tolerate a heroine who takes other lovers. I tend to take 50% of the advice people give me, so guess which 50% I did not take? Seriously, I live below the Mason-Dixon Line and I would have a problem with a woman who does not take a lover in ten years, when her husband has vowed never to return to her.

2. There be flashbacks. That’s what I get for taking the advice about starting the book in the middle. And here’s a funny story. I once e-mailed Susan Elizabeth Phillips in the hope that she’d read my book and give me a blurb. The classy lady that SEP is, she turned me down in a way that made me feel wonderful about myself. Some weeks later at RWA Nationals in Dallas, I sat in on one of her workshops. She expounded on things that would take a reader out of a book. And she stressed, “Do not, do not write a wonderful first chapter and then start your second chapter with ‘Ten years earlier.’

Guess what my second chapter starts with? Wrong. It’s “Eleven years earlier.” Ha!

3. Omgwtfbbq, he be not chaste during their long separation! You saw that one coming, didn’t you?

4. There be a virgin hero. His first time is with her and it is on-screen. So this book qualifies as a book with a virgin hero. (But it’s so totally hot! Come on, Sybil, testify!)

5. There be a secondary romance. I understand some readers want only the primary relationship. Believe me, I was in that camp, because I felt that the secondary h/h often usurped the primary h/h. But then I figured out that the secondary h/h cannot have a problem half as bad as the primary h/h, they should have a problem only about 1/6 the severity of the primary h/h’s. That way, it makes for a pleasant change of pace and a good way to insert a bit of humor and levity.

6. There be bodice ripping! Months ago, I googled Private Arrangements and came across it on a Swedish college student’s nightstand. She called it a “bodice rippern”(sic). I laughed uproariously. Then my husband said, “But she’s not wrong. There is some sort of ripping in your book.”  I stared at him, dumbfounded, until I recalled this one scene where the hero was, um, impatient with the heroine’s nightgown. My jaw dropped and a wail was heard throughout these lands, “Omigod, I write bodice rippers!”

I wanted seven reasons. Seven is the most fabulous number — there are seven days in a week, seven colors to the rainbow, and seven books in the Harry Potter series — where as six is kind of stand-offish and weird… But my h/h do not sleep with other peeps on screen, there is no skanky villain sex — not even a real villain anywhere in sight — and no overabundance of prior-book characters visiting. So I guess I’ll have to settle for six.

Now don’t say I didn’t warn ya!

CONTEST!

Comment on any of today’s four Sherry Thomas guest posts with whatever crazy thing you’ve done for love, or the wildest reason imaginable for not reading at all, and you could win an ARC of Sherry’s 29 July 08 Bantam release, Delicious, and a Private Arrangements t-shirt!  (Two prizes, one winner.)

Remember, only one entry per IP address is eligible for the prize, but you can comment as often as you wish.  Winners will be chosen from comments entered between now and midnight tonight, 24 March, according to the blog’s timestamp (U.S. Central).

Good luck!

For a fact, Private Arrangements is one of this year’s most talked about books. And while that normally means it’s awful, I’m happy to say that isn’t the case for this one. :)  And that, my dear friends, is why Sherry is guesting today because the book really is THAT GOOD.

It is always a fear of mine that when a book is built up so much, there is no way it can live up to the hype. So when I read this forever and a day ago I was beyond excited to realize it was great. And emailed her I think a year ago and said “you have to guest.”

Ten to one she thought I was insane, most likely she still does.

Stick around and meet the author. Learn a bit more about the book and than tomorrow when you buy it keep your receipt because I need it. Yep… more on that in a min. (And shit I knew I was forgetting to do something. GWEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

by Sherry Thomas

I want to be Lisa Kleypas when I grow up. Yeah, I know that’s not an original wish, but the woman is beautiful both on the inside and the outside, has legions of adoring fans, and, according to bloggers who’ve lunched with her, totally knows how to order wine.

(And look at this: according to the marketing campaign enumerated on the ARC of Blue-Eyed Devil, the first print run for the paperback edition of Sugar Daddy is 1.2 million copies. Holy @#$%! I hereby coin a new publication milestone: the Lisa Kleypas call, for when an author gets news that her print run will be 1,000,000+. Sooo, J.K Rowling, how did you feel when you received the Lisa Kleypas call?)

I have irrefutable evidence that Ms Kleypas’s destiny and mine are inextricably linked. How so you ask? Well, I won my copies of Sugar Daddy and Blue-Eyed Devil right here on this blog. Blue-Eyed Devil releases the same day as my debut Private Arrangements. And Sybil is hosting a book club for Sugar Daddy right after my guest stint, again on the day Private Arrangements hits the shelves. Okay so it was to coincide with Blue-Eyed Devil’s release but it’s destiny I tell you.

It so happens I have read Sugar Daddy. And I had a blast reading it. It was during some of my most desperate hours, with a deadline hanging over my head like a guillotine — and I said screw it and kept on reading. So herewith, seven reasons you should also read Sugar Daddy:

1. Liberty Jones, the heroine. She is the kind of friend and sister you would love more than life itself.

2. The voice. Ms. Kleypas has a great contemporary voice. I didn’t expect it, but I was entirely carried away by it.

3. The vivid writing. “The late afternoon sun was as round and white as a paper plate tacked to the sky.” “Her skin was webbed and furrowed, constantly shifting to accommodate her animated expressions.” “No dirt on earth sticks to you like East Texas red clay. The wind blows it over you and it tastes sweet in your mouth. As the clay lurks under a foot of light tan topsoil, it expands and shrinks so drastically that in the driest months Martian-colored cracks run across the ground.”

4. The trailer park. I admit I had my doubts about a story in which a significant portion is set in a trailer park. But it would turn out to be the setting I most enjoyed. Ms Kleypas made the community of Bluebonnet Ranch Mobile Home Estates — and by extension the nowhere town of Welcome, Texas — come alive.

5. Diana Jones, Liberty’s mother. In the hands of a less-skilled writer, she might come across as foolish and brittle. But depicted by Ms Kleypas’s astute and deeply humane pen, she is a complex and fully developed character and engaged all my sympathies.

6. Hardy Cates, especially in the Welcome years. There have been lots of heroes from the wrong side of the tracks. But young Hardy is something else. From the moment you meet him you know that there is something different and special about him, that he had the grits and brains and the drive to rise to the sky, and charm many a pair of pants off along his way. And there is absolutely nothing emo about him. Hooray!

7. Ms Kleypas herself. The best reading experience, for me, is a kind of communion between the author and the reader, whereby two possibly very different sets of outlooks and opinions and experiences somehow meld into a single beautiful whole. And Ms Kleypas is the kind of author who does far better than coming half way to meet you. She brings such warmth and compassion to the story that it becomes easy for a reader (me) to let go of her cynicism and lose herself in the story, which is all any reader (me) wants.

I could easily come up with more reasons, but I will keep it at the mystical and elegant seven. And here’s to the inaugural success of the TGTBTU Book Club. Long may it prosper and bring great rejoicing to bloglandia. (And may I be the next guest if it works out!)

CONTEST!

Comment on any of today’s four Sherry Thomas guest posts with whatever crazy thing you’ve done for love, or give us another reason to read La Lisa, and you could win an ARC of Sherry’s 29 July 08 Bantam release, Delicious, and a Private Arrangements t-shirt!  (Two prizes, one winner.)

Remember, only one entry per IP address is eligible for the prize, but you can comment as often as you wish.  Winners will be chosen from comments entered between now and midnight tonight, 24 March, according to the blog’s timestamp (U.S. Central).

Good luck!

Sherry Thomas, author of Private Arrangements (Bantam, 25 Mar 08), is today’s Guest Author and she’s here to share several posts with TGTBTU’s readers.  So read on to learn more about this amazing author…

Learning English the Passionate Way
by Sherry Thomas

Some of you might know — Sybil, for instance, though I’m not sure whether she remembers such things — that English is not my native tongue. In fact I hardly ever spoke it during the first eighteen years of my life — the first thirteen couldn’t be helped, I was living in another country; the latter five, well, let’s just say I found American teenagers to be more alien than Martians and observed them from a distance with a mixture of astonishment and alarm.

But while in my teens I did not speak English in any noticeable quantities, I read a great deal of it. My bio tends to give the exaggerated impression — as bios are wont to do — that I learned English solely from reading romances. That was, of course, not strictly true, as I had a vocabulary of about 200 English words — likely less — when I got off the jumbo jet, not enough to read anything beyond little booklets provided by my English-as-Second-Language classes.

But I disdained those little booklets as a French gourmet disdained le Big Mac. I’d read thousand-page wuxia novels for breakfast back home, and here I was, stuck trying to decipher 10-page picture books about puppies.

So as soon as I could, I moved on to bigger and better things; and by bigger and better things, I mean those books with very colorful covers depicting a man and a woman in various stages of proximity, books that were stocked in K-Mart, Wal-Mart, the grocery stores, and the university bookstore that was a ten-minute bicycle ride from my new home (the married student dorm, since Mom was a grad student then.)

I still remember trying to decipher the back blurbs on some of those books with my very limited English. One book touted an “infamous pirate”—and left me scratching my head. I knew if you put “in” in front of another word, the resulting word meant the opposite of what the original word meant. So why would anyone care about a not-famous-at-all pirate?

Another book said it featured a governess. I got excited. I knew that a governor was the head of a state. And a governess was, of course, a woman governor. As I flipped through the first few pages, however, I became more and more confused. Since when was a governor given a small room in somebody’s house and expected to look after the children?

The first romance that I bought and brought home was Sweet Savage Love by Rosemary Rogers, when I was a few months short of fifteen. I still have it. A couple of days ago I flipped through it and its tonnage of adverbs rather struck me. Characters stared dourly, interposed lazily, and exploded violently. But you know what, the lack of finesse in the writing was one of the reasons it made perfect reading material for me — all those I-hate-you’s were easy to understand for someone whose grasp of the language was still shaky at best. And the histrionics kept me turning the pages.

I went on to read Lindsey, Devereux, and McNaught, though no one else gave my dictionary quite the workout Rogers did. It wasn’t obvious to me then, but in retrospect, I see that at eighteen I possessed the vocabulary of a Victorian old lady. It was perfectly slang-free, since I never talked to the kids at school, and remarkably old fashioned.

For example, I am almost sure that I didn’t know—or at least never used—the words “pee” and “poop” until after I’d had a baby of my own. “Dweeb”, “twerp”, “nerd”, were those even words? And all the infinite variety and splendor of the words and phrases that could be made out of “fuck?” They were Greek to me until I started reading blogs in 2003.

But I knew just about every synonym of ardor that could be found in a thesaurus. I knew that a marquess was ranked higher than an earl, who was ranked higher than a viscount. And I knew a thousand and one ways not to call a penis a penis.

And so…I became a historical romance writer!

CONTEST!

Comment on any of today’s four Sherry Thomas guest posts with whatever crazy thing you’ve done for love, and you could win an ARC of Sherry’s 29 July 08 Bantam release, Delicious, and a Private Arrangements t-shirt!  (Two prizes, one winner.)

Remember, only one entry per IP address is eligible for the prize, but you can comment as often as you wish.  Winners will be chosen from comments entered between now and midnight tonight, 24 March, according to the blog’s timestamp (U.S. Central).

Good luck!

Alicia’s review of Private Arrangements by Sherry Thomas
Historical romance released by Bantam Books 25 Mar 08

I went into this book knowing nothing except that it was a romance and I could count on getting a happy ending. It’s a good thing I knew that, though, because this couple put me through the wringer.

We start the book with the ten year marriage about to be dissolved. Gigi has come to the end of her ability to wait for the husband she loves and wants to have a chance at some happiness. Camden, the husband, doesn’t want her for himself but still intends to make this as difficult for her as possible. We then go back to the beginning of the story. Knowing the horrible future awaiting the young couple as they fall in love and marry is kind of like watching a train wreck in slow motion, the tremendous force behind their love only making the devastation more horrible.

The book goes back and forth between the present plot and the couple’s back-story, keeping the reader constantly involved at both levels. The unfolding is exquisite. The dignity of the characters means that the pain is not portrayed in vulgar scenes. Instead it is the bleak, almost silent bleeding out of a dream.

Gigi is the daughter of new money. She intends to marry a title and is ruthless in her hunt. She’s not shy and selfless underneath. She’s not misunderstood or innocent. She’s not in desperation, trying to save some beloved family member or under threats by some evil one. She’s just exactly what she seems and is open about it from the beginning. Actually, Camden loves her that way.

Camden has been raised in the poor and untitled branch of a “good” family. He has spent his childhood in the most fashionable locations during the least fashionable seasons, when the owners were out of town and would lend out accommodations. He is a man to whom honor is everything. It is all he ever had.

The result is painful to watch. This is one of those stories that rips out your heart and pokes needles in it, slices it in pieces, puts it through the meat grinder, then puts it back where it belongs. The emotion is high and the characters well written.

The actual writing is wonderful. The dialogue is fantastic. The use of sexual tension is precise. It isn’t used to make the book “hot” until the characters are ready for it. It isn’t rushed. The setting is Victorian and we get a feel for the time without having random history lectures tossed in. The author allows sexual references without crossing the line into unrealistic erotica (which has its place but it wouldn’t be here). It simply feels like the kind of things real adults know are part of life. The plot is simple with the focus being the characters, their history and hope (or not) for the future.

The only thing bringing my grade for this book down is my feeling like Camden didn’t demonstrate nearly enough regret. Gigi groveled enough for both of them and she gets very little reassurance of his true feelings. She has made monumental leaps in character growth and none of it easily earned. While Camden was right at first, he wasn’t right for long, and I wanted to see his pain laid bare before her for all the years she paid for her sin. She learned her lesson early and well, and he knew it. I didn’t really feel he redeemed himself.

Grade: B-

     To all of London society, Lord and Lady Tremaine had the ideal arrangement: a marriage based on civility, courteousness, freedom—and living on separate continents.

     But once upon a time, things were quite different for the Tremaines…When Gigi Rowland first laid eyes on Camden Saybrook, Lord Tremaine, the attraction was immediate and overwhelming: she simply had to have him. But what began in a spark of passion ended in betrayal the morning after their wedding—and Gigi wants to be free to marry again. Now Camden has returned from America with an outrageous demand—an heir—in exchange for Gigi’s freedom.

     Gigi’s decision will have consequences she never imagined, as secrets are exposed, desire is rekindled—and one of London’s most admired couples must either fall in love all over again…or let each other go forever.

     Read an excerpt.

Read Lawson’s review

Lawson’s review of Private Arrangements by Sherry Thomas
Historical romance released by Bantam Books 25 Mar 08

It’s a hard thing to do, write a review. After reading Private Arrangements, it’s even more difficult of a review to write. I don’t want to leave the assumption that there aren’t any good things about it. It’s a very well written story. The language is smart and there aren’t any “beat this into the reader’s head” type of themes. Both the hero and heroine are characterized extremely well and don’t do anything that goes against the grain of their characters. But. . .

Isn’t it sad that there’s a “but”? What’s worse is I just can’t put my finger on what it is that is possibly bothering me, or at least making me waver on my opinion of the book. Gigi is a little unlikeable at first, especially during the flashbacks when her youth, drive and single-mindedness in getting what she wants, which is actually what her mother wants: to be a duchess. But later what comes out is her insecurities because she’s been hunted for her money and had the idea that a title is what is needed in her life.

Enter Camden, who is newly a Marquess thanks to his cousin’s unfortunate early demise. That cousin was Gigi’s fiancee, whom she had basically blackmailed into marrying her. Camden finds a kindred soul in Gigi, for they both had lonely childhoods and carried the burden of responsibility for the family. Young lust blossoms quickly into young love, which is blind to faults, and in the end leads to betryals that tear the couple apart for ten years.

There’s some flashbacks that tell the story of the courtship, wedding, and subsequent life the two lead for the next ten years interspersed with the happenings of the present, when Gigi is seeking a divorce so she can marry a man she knows adores her and will stand by her. The chemistry between Camden and Gigi is electric, they play off each other’s good and bad sides so well and even though they spend a decade apart, they know each other well because they truly do love each other.

Maybe what bothers me is the wringer Camden and Gigi put themselves through due to how young they are when they meet and not thinking things through when they do them. Or maybe it’s the fact that though they have ten years to grow up and forgive each other it actually takes them that long to do it. Or that Camden, though he puts on a brave, strong front, is possibly just a little weak when it comes down to truly going after what he wants and being happy.

I can’t give this anything less than a high B though. I loved the dialogue, the setting, the scenes, the characters, the subplot with Gigi’s mother and the overall care and detail that Thomas obviously put into this book. Maybe I’m giving it such a high grade because it’s making me think about these things so much and deep down that’s what I want, a book that truly makes me analyze what’s good and bad about it but still gives a good HEA at the end. As well as put in my keeper shelf to reread and think more on in the future.

Grade: B+

To all of London society, Lord and Lady Tremaine had the ideal arrangement: a marriage based on civility, courteousness, freedom—and living on separate continents.

But once upon a time, things were quite different for the Tremaines…When Gigi Rowland first laid eyes on Camden Saybrook, Lord Tremaine, the attraction was immediate and overwhelming: she simply had to have him. But what began in a spark of passion ended in betrayal the morning after their wedding—and Gigi wants to be free to marry again. Now Camden has returned from America with an outrageous demand—an heir—in exchange for Gigi’s freedom.

Gigi’s decision will have consequences she never imagined, as secrets are exposed, desire is rekindled—and one of London’s most admired couples must either fall in love all over again…or let each other go forever.

Read an excerpt.

Read Alicia’s review here.

  Our next cupid is Sherry Thomas - author of two upcoming books,  Private Arrangements (Bantam mass-market paperback, releasing 25 Mar 08) and Delicious (Bantam mass-market paperback, releasing 29 Jul 08) – shares with us her love affair with a “toilet brush.”  Read on if you want to know how THAT came about…

My favorite Valentine memory has to be my first Valentine with the man who would become my husband.

We’d been seeing each other for a few months when Valentine rolled around. So we made a date for a Valentine lunch together. Yep, lunch, not dinner–we were poor students back then, he much poorer than me. When we met at the restaurant, he gave me a cute little coin purse. And then, the most astonishing thing: a flower that he’d made out of red plaid Christmas wrapping paper.

And it ain’t no origami.

Now you must understand that, other than cooking, this darling man does not make things manually. That is so not where his talents lie. He told me that one of his neighbors was aghast when she saw him leaving his apartment, the red plaid flower in hand. She insisted that he could not possible give me something that looked like a toilet brush.

We laughed and laughed about it. I adored the toilet brush flower. It’s easy to buy a flower. It’s much harder to make one. And it’s even more meaningful when the man who did it for you is not at all given to such gestures and did it only for you.

Unfortunately, we lost track of our beloved toilet brush flower. But just remembering it still make me want to hook my fingers at my husband and say, “Come here, you.” And that is, hands down, my favorite Valentine memory.

Sherry Thomas

What about you?  Have any sappy, soapy, silly, all around wonderful Valentine stories you want to share?

Sherry Thomas, a favorite commenter and author, shares with us her “Old Guys I’d Do” list.  By the way, isn’t this a great author pic? 

Don’t forget to catch Sherry’s upcoming books:

 25 Mar 08  &  29 Jul 08

12 Totally Awesome Old Dudes I’d Totally Date if I Were Single and They Available/Nonfictional

 1. The Dalai Lama. Oh teach me the Noble Truths, Your Holiness.

 2. Paul Newman. I like his sauces.  [Ed.: Looks like Paul Newman "dresses to the left."]

 3. Morgan Freeman. Gravitas is hawt!

 4. Kofi Annan. I wanted to be Secretary General of the UN when I was a kid, what can I say?

 5. George Lucas. I’ll always have a soft spot for Uncle George.

 6. Vladimir Putin. Those cold eyes, that KGB past, he scares me shitless. I know, it’s so wrong, so wrong.

 7. Jacques Pepin. He has such a gentle, old-world quality about him.

 8. Nelson Mandela. I cannot admire this man enough.

 9. Darth Vader. See 6. Vladmir Putin. This is about power, ladies. The ultimate aphrodisiac. (Not sure whether he still has the equipment left after his dunk in the lava tank, but I’m willing to find out.)

 10. Aragorn. He is about 90 years old during the time frame of the Lord of the Rings. I’ll take you, Grandpa Elessar.

 11. Stephen King. I like what he says about his wife and his marriage.

 12. Hard to decide. Warren Buffett is rich and smart. Steven Spielberg seems like such a nice person. The Weinstein brothers would be interesting to have to dinner. But you know what, I’ll take Legolas (age approximately 3000) in the end. Because this is my duodecimal, and I’m allowed to be as shallow as a puddle when it hasn’t rained for a month.

What about you – what unconventional and older guy is on YOUR “to do” list?