With This Ring
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- 5,99 €
Descrição da editora
Leo Drake, the “Mad Monk of Monkcrest,” is notoriously eccentric and unquestionably reclusive. But he is also a noted antiquities expert, which is why Beatrice Poole has demanded his reluctant assistance.
The freethinking authoress of “horrid novels,” Beatrice is searching for the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite, a mythic treasure she suspects played a role in her uncle's death. Beatrice finds Leo every bit as fascinating as one of the heroes in her novels—and she's convinced he's the only one who can help her. But after only five minutes in her company, Leo is sure he's never met a woman more infuriating . . . and more likely to rescue him from boredom.
Yet the alliance may well prove to be the biggest mistake of their lives. For a villain lurks in London, waiting for the pair to unearth the Forbidden Rings—knowing that when they do, that day will be their last. . . .
Praise for With This Ring
“If you start an Amanda Quick book in the late afternoon, you'll probably spend the night with it.”—The Denver Post
“[Amanda Quick is] an exceptional storyteller.”—Daily News of Los Angeles
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
"An author must decide early on whether to write for the readers or the critics, because there is generally no way to please both." So says the heroine of Quick's latest Regency romance, an "authoress" of "horrid" novels (gothic precursors of our pulp romances) who finds herself starring in a horrid of her own. Beatrice Poole, a young widow writing under the alias Amelia York, suspects her uncle of being murdered for his role in the search for a fabled treasure, the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite. Seeking out an antiquities expert, Beatrice finds herself allied with Leo Drake, a mysterious, sexy widower who may be her perfect match. The swiftly moving plot holds interest, and Quick (Surrender) gets her leading couple into bed with alacrity if, perhaps, with less panache than her readers expect. At one point Beatrice warns that "critics who accuse her of writing overwrought and overheated prose had not seen anything yet." The same is too true of Quick, whose camp sensibility goes only so far to excuse a tale in which "Pain and bad temper had fused into a dangerous flame in his eyes," and an aroused woman "dissolves into a warm puddle" and has eyes that "were wide, limpid pools."
