He had even tattooed a small blue poppy high on one cheekbone in her honor, although he had known her for only one day-and never consummated the marriage. No one knew that Griffin’s ship was named for his wife, whose name was Poppy. By a few years later, just a glimpse of a black flag emblazoned with a blood-red flower would make a hardened seaman quiver with fear. He had dreamed of Britain’s past, when men were warriors and Vikings ruled the shores, fancying himself at the helm of a longboat, ferociously tattooed like an ancient Scottish warrior.Īt eighteen he was a pirate, and at twenty-two he captained his own ship, the Flying Poppy. The London residence of the Duke of AshbrookĪs a boy, Sir Griffin Barry, sole heir to Viscount Moncrieff, had no interest in the history of civilized England. I despise the H and found this entire novella to be nonsense. The fact that James ignores what would have been normal (to loathe him) in favor of portraying Phoebe as an “old” 34 year old who was just gagging for sex so much she didn’t care that he probably brought STD’s with him was pathetic. I can not even express the feelings of rage I would have had toward Griffin had I been in Phoebe’s shoes. Argh! How I wished she had fallen in love with someone else while he was gone. I guess I was supposed to be feeling their attraction to each other and believe in their love, but I didn’t. It is just sad to think of her alone for fourteen years while he dipped his wick whenever he felt like it. He had completely abandoned her for FOURTEEN years, screwed around with other women for that whole time, but had the gall to hold a double standard expecting her to remain a virgin.
For starters, it just made zero sense that she would be willing to jump into a relationship with him on the first night. I am normally an Eloisa James fan, but this novella was a disappointment.
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