“And Then He Kissed Her”… And so he did. And it was the most important part of this book. It was like being fourteen again. It was like living in Victorian times.
The plot is what it is. There is an old spinster (by 19th century standards so approaching thirty), a secretary to a rakish viscount who doesn’t even notice her until she throws a tantrum, quits, and subsequently transforms herself into some Victorian Martha Stewart. She knows all about etiquette and how to throw a party that will be the talk of the season but soon to her utter horror she realises that there are things one can do on a kitchen table that are a lot more fun. So there goes Martha Stewart, enter a wanton.
In time the viscout and our spinster will discover they actually do love each other and all will be well, as it always is in romance novels. This is not what is important here. What is important here is that insane sensuality. In our desensitised twenty-first century world it is so difficult to get excited over little things. We need more and more to arouse us and Ms Guhrke brings it back to basics. He touches her hip and you feel it in your stomach. He kisses her palm and you get dizzy. This is, ladies and gentlemen, what I’m talking about. This is why Pride and Prejudice will continue to be universally loved because all fifty of Grey’s shades won’t get you going like that one scene when Mr Darcy walks out of the lake in a wet shirt and runs into Lizzy.
This is not one of those romances with a sex scene every ten pages that you almost end up skimming over them, it’s only in-out, in-out. This is more of a crackling electricity kind. I loved it.