The self-sacrificing, self-martyred protagonist man gets my goat but good. The harder the hardship, the greater the endurance, the more irritated I feel, which makes me feel bad because clearly I’m not a woman of such strength, which makes me even less disposed to sympathize with them. Vicious, unjust cycle, that, and not particularly helpful when both hero and heroine are thus afflicted.

See, on the one hand we have Saint Rose. Five years ago her father died, leaving a mountain of debts so enormous her only recourse was to find a protector. After one year in the demimonde she moved to Rubicon’s, an exclusive, ultra-high-end brothel, where she works one week each month to pay for her younger brother’s education and his debts. She hates it. Inside she’s a lady. But she endures for her brother’s sake.

Then along comes Saint James. He is similarly afflicted with excessive sibling responsibility, having married a vicious aristocrat solely to please his merchant father and to provide his younger sister with a Season. I’m not kidding about the vileness – Amelia screams things like “Why won’t you die?” But James takes it because if he didn’t, she would take it out on his sister. Never mind that he has an incredible hold over her, being the moneybags in the marriage – but, no, he just endures her lovers, her spite, and her incredible venom.

So after three years of celibacy, James can’t take it any more, and he heads to Rubicon’s where he gets Rose after hearing the madam describe her as a “kind soul”. (Heaven knows he could do with some kindness.) They see each other and have lots of sex, and they’re both such nice people it feels uncomfortable to be this critical. But nothing happens. For a while I read the book quite happily, thinking, “Oh, this is different! A prostitute heroine and a married hero! However will the story unfold?” Very, very, slowly is the answer.

This could be forgivable if the characters were interesting enough. But as I’ve already stated (and possibly quite tediously), I stopped feeling sympathetic when Rose plasters on one too many brave smiles, or when James ignores his wife’s invectives one too many times. And they have more life-changing sex. And then, earth-shattering revelations! Rose loves James! James loves Rose!

Okay, so I found the book boring. Seven Nights to Forever isn’t bad and Ms. Collins shows talent, which should make me feel even worse. But I’ve stopped feeling guilty.