Two of my many passions are standing up for romance novels and also being a feminist. I’ll often argue that even if you have read one romance novel, it does not speak for the entire genre, and one should pick up a good one before passing judgment. This book is precisely the sort of book that would put anybody off the genre for good.

Daphne Joyes is a woman trying to live her life in peace, helping other battered women by giving them a safe home and work to do in her flower business, The Rarest Blooms. Unfortunately, when her landlord passes away, she is left in the hands of the Duke of Ass- whoops, I meant Castleford. Upon seeing her, the duke’s sole joy is making lewd comments that embarrass Daphne, as well as the reader.

Anyhow, the duke basically informs Daphne that if she does not come to London at his command, he will toss her out, along with the other women that she is helping. Oh, and he decides that he will be seducing her. At first Daphne is rightfully resistant to his advances, but soon thereafter melts in his embrace, because she cannot control herself.

I found this entire novel terribly contrived. Daphne and Castleford have nothing in common, and Castleford, frankly, has nothing at all to recommend him. I’m not sure when it was decided that overbearing control freaks are attractive, but if they are, Castleford’s a real super hottie. I thought that maybe his tendency to order about every aspect of the heroine’s life might soften throughout the book. Alas, no. Up until the bitter end, he instructs her on what she is do. The one time she doesn’t listen, he calls her a bitch. What a winner!

Additionally, Daphne seems to have no self control. She’s one of those weeping, wilting, oh-but-I-can’t-resist-him-heroines. You know, the kind of heroine that lets a gross aristocrat fondle her while thinking, I hate him so much! But his touch is too irresistible!

Oh, and then he commands her to marry him. He does not ask, he commands.

I wouldn’t bother with this book. There isn’t anything faintly romantic throughout the entire novel, which rather defeats the purpose of a romance novel.