WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE
Author: Julie Anne Long ISBN: 9780061885686 3/2011 HISTORICAL Publisher: AVON
Time Period: Regency
For years, he's been an object of fear, fascination . . . and fantasy. But of all the wicked rumors that shadow the formidable Alexander Moncrieffe, Duke of Falconbridge, the ton knows one thing for certain: only fools dare cross him. And when Ian Eversea does just that, Moncrieffe knows the perfect revenge: he'll seduce Ian's innocent sister, Genevieve—the only Eversea as yet untouched by scandal. First he'll capture her heart . . . and then he'll break it.
But everything about Genevieve is unexpected: the passion simmering beneath her cool control, the sharp wit tempered by gentleness . . . And though Genevieve has heard the whispers about the duke's dark past, and knows she trifles with him at her peril, one incendiary kiss tempts her deeper into a world of extraordinary sensuality. Until Genevieve is faced with a fateful choice . . . is there anything she won't do for a duke? |
 RRAH's THOUGHTS AND PONDERINGS: 
WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE is book five in Pennyroyal Green Series and the love story of Genevieve and Alex.
Instead of telling you that Julie Anne Long’s written a book that I’ll remember for the rest of my life; is full of three-dimensional and complex characters; is easily one of the best dialogues written and makes all the characters jump of the pages as if alive and right in front of you; its humor and wit is so natural, it will have you laughing out loud; its writing so sensual, it could make you swoon…instead of summarizing the plot or summery, I’ve decided to share some of the best scenes in this book that I call “Poetry in E-Motion”.
In this scene, which is at the beginning of the book, Ian Eversea, brother to Genevieve, has decided to ‘encroach’ on Alex’s soon to be ‘property’. Ian, caught with his ‘pants’ down (literally) by the duke, is trying to read the situation and anticipate the duke’s next move. What follows is priceless:
"’Just…for the love of God, do whatever it is you intend to do.’
Silence as the duke considered—or pretended to consider—this entreaty.
‘Very well’ the duke said with equanimity. ‘As you make an excellent point, Eversea, I’ll do what I intended to do …’
Ian was so focused on the pistol he hadn’t noticed the man was unbuttoning his trousers as he spoke.
‘…is share her with you. Slide over, Eversea.’
Their gasps nearly sucked the air out of the room.
Satisfied he’d shocked a few years from their lives, Alexander Moncrieffe, the sixth Duke of Falconbridge, paused his hand on the trouser buttons and contemplated all the whiteness: bulging white eyes, the naked white shoulders, the white sheet his fiancée had yanked modestly beneath her chin to disguise from him all that pale nudity she was willingly sharing with Eversea.”
At the house party, Alex has joined Genevieve on the lawn to watch the others play cricket. They sit next to each other, talking of kissing, and we, together with Genevieve, realize that this man’s an adult. He’s no Harry.
“’A real man would have kissed you on the mouth, Miss Eversea. ‘Gentleman’ or no. And it’s a very good mouth you have.’ He volunteered this as though offering advice on Harry’s cricket form.
She stared at him, shock dropping open her mouth.
Her very good mouth.
Damn him for inciting curiosity about what constituted a good mouth. She nearly raised her hand to touch it. Stopped herself. And then she did, surreptitiously, rest the back of her hand against it.
They were soft, her lips, barely pink. Shaped neatly and elegantly.
But what made it good?
She’d no vocabulary at all for this type of conversation. For the types of compliments he produced. They were very adult, and he presented them to her as though she ought to know what to do with them.
She didn’t. But speaking with him reminded her of the first time she’d taken a sip of coffee. A bitter, foreign black brew, that grew more appealing, more rich and complex, the more necessary, the more she sipped.”
And then there’s my favorite scene. They’re in a grey salon. She walks in on him, it’s late at night, and he’s drunk. They converse casually, and he ends up kissing her.
“Her control excited him almost unbearably. He would steal it from her. He wanted it unleashed. He wanted to be over her and inside when the storm finally broke.
And this is why he ended the kiss. Not abruptly. He eased it to a close with a grace of an excellent actor ending a scene. He held her close to him, one hand resting on the curve of her arse, the other still wound in her hair, and for a moment their chests rose and fell against each other. Her breasts were crushed against him. Her breath fell softly through parted lips against his chin.
And just as slowly as he’d wound her hair, he unspooled it. It fell from his fist as though it was a yard of silk he’d spun all on his own.
Now that he’d unleashed her, he stood back.
Neither of them spoke. He could hear the roar of his own breath but felt as removed from the sound as though he were listening to the wind blowing down the chimney. And yet he was acutely aware of the surface of his skin; it was feverish, aching from the need to contain the tide of …want …that swelled in him.”
It has come to my attention that the author got titles and forms of address wrong. Truthfully, I was so involved with the story that I haven’t even noticed.
WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE left me breathless. It’s flawless. Pure poetry in E-motion. A keeper and a yearly reread, for sure!
Melanie Friedman |
