A night to surrender, di Tessa Dare

A Night to Surrender by Tessa Dare
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Generalmente i romanzi storici mi annoiano o mi fanno cadere le braccia. Ho però scoperto due cose:
- se li leggo in inglese li apprezzo di più (più umorismo, più guizzi, più richiami, più fascino)
- se in una serie provo prima con le novelle, riesco a farmi un'idea abbastanza chiara se la scrittrice mi può andare a genio.
E devo dire che nel caso di TESSA DARE il risultato è stato ottimo!

Ho iniziato leggendo due racconti, "Once upon a winter's eve" e "Beauty and the blacksmith". Il primo un po' smorto per storia e personaggi, per la verità, ma con una bella scrittura. Il secondo davvero divertente, ben costruito, non convenzionale, in cui peraltro si confermava la capacità di scrivere con talento.

Allora sono passata alla serie principale cui queste due novelle fanno riferimento, Spindle Cove.
"A night to surrender" è il primo volume ed è veramente riuscito. Bella l'ambientazione, originale l'idea di un luogo di ricovero per giovani donne particolari, intrigante la storia tra Susanna e Bram, carinissimi tutti i personaggi di contorno, in primis le pecore; ironici e salaci i dialoghi, divertenti o pungenti o commoventi le scene, ben definiti tutti gli elementi principali e anche quelli di contorno.
Solo due cose lasciano un po' a desiderare: l'improbabilità dei luoghi in cui i due protagonisti si scambiano le loro effusioni amorose (cosa che grazie a Dio la scrittrice ha avuto presente, dato che fa dire a Susanna, ad un certo punto, se riusciranno mai a fare qualcosa in un letto, tanto per cambiare) e la nuova visione del padre di lei che emerge alla fine del libro, mentre per tutto il resto l'uomo era stato mostrato in un altro modo. A parte questo, davvero un bel romanzo!

View all my reviews

Citazioni...

“No, no. Don't make that face. Every time I propose to you, you make that twisty, unhappy face. It wears on a man's confidence.” 

“He pierced her with a look. “I thought we had an agreement. I keep my men away from your ladies, and you keep your distance from me. You’re not holding your end of the bargain.”
“It’s but a momentary interruption. Just this once.”
“Just this once?” He made a dismissive noise, rifling through papers. “What about just now in the church?”
“Very well, twice.”
“Try again.” He stacked his papers and looked up, devouring her with his intent green gaze. “You invaded my dreams at least a half-dozen times last night. When I’m awake, you keep traipsing through my thoughts. Sometimes you’re barely clothed. What excuse can you make for that?”
She stammered to form a response, her tongue tripping against her teeth. “I . . . I would never traipse.” Idiotic reply.
“Hm.” He tilted his head and regarded her thoughtfully. “Would you saunter?”

“I'm not going to accept your challenge. There will be no duel."
"Why not? Because I'm a woman?"
"No, because I've seen the way you spinsters handle a pistol. You'd shoot me dead where I stood.” 

“A beast is just what you want. A big, dark medieval brute to throw you to the ground, tear the clothes from your body, and have his wicked way with you. I know I’m right. I haven’t forgotten how excited you were in the aftermath of that blast."
The nerve of him!
How could he tell?
She lifted her chin. "Well, I haven't forgotten the sound you made when I first touched your brow. It wasn't even a moan, it was more like . . . like a whimper."
He made a dismissive sound. "Oh yes. A plaintive, yearning whimper. Because you want an angel. A sweet, tender virgin to hold you and stroke you and whisper precious promises and make you feel human."
"That's absurd," he scoffed. "You're just begging to be taught a hard, fast lesson in what it means to please a man."
"You're just longing to put your head in my lap and feel my fingers in your hair."
He backed her up against a rock. "You need a good ravaging."
"You," she breathed, "need a hug."
They stared at each other for long, tense moments. At first, looking each other in the eye. Then looking each other in the lips. "You know what I think?" he said, coming closer. So close she could feel his breath wash warm against her cheek. "I think we’re having one of those vexing arguments again."
"The kind where both sides are right?"
"Hell, yes."
And this time, when they kissed, they both made that sound. That deep, moaning, yearning, whimpering sound.
That sound that said yes.
And at last.
And you are exactly what I need.”

“She [Susanna] realized she was still hugging the wall. Pride propelled her two steps forward. As she advanced, something bleated at her, as though chastising her for trespassing. She stopped midstep and peered at it. "Did you know there's a lamb in here?"

"Never mind it. That's dinner."

She gave it a smile and a friendly pat. "Hullo, Dinner. Aren't you a sweet thing."

"It's not his name, it's his...function.” 

“This explains so much," she said, clucking her tongue in mother-hen fashion. "You're compensating for this withered appendage."
Withered appendage? What the devil was she talking about? He shook his head, trying to clear it. Colin's dire predictions of shriveled twigs and dried currants rattled in his skull. Wide awake now, he fought to sit up, wrestling the sheets.
"Listen, you. I don't know what sort of liberties you've taken while I was insensible, or just what your spinster imagination prepared you to see. But I'll have you know, that water was damned cold."
She blinked at him. "I'm referring to your leg."
"Oh." His leg. That withered appendage. 

“The question is, Miss Finch . . . what are you doing in this village?”
“I’ve been trying to explain it to you. We have a community of ladies here in Spindle Cove, and we support one another with friendship, intellectual stimulation, and healthful living.”
“No, no. I can see how this might appeal to a mousy, awkward chit with no prospects for something better. But what are you doing here?”
Perplexed, she turned her gloved hands palms-up. “Living happily.”
“Really,” he said, giving her a skeptical look. Even his horse snorted in seeming disbelief. “A woman like you.”
She bristled. Just what kind of woman did he think she was?
“If you think yourself content with no man in your life, Miss Finch, that only proves one thing.” In a swift motion, he pulled himself into the saddle. His next words were spoken down at her, making her feel small and patronized. “You’ve been meeting all the wrong men.”

“She would allow him to comfort her. And perhaps, someday, she would listen patiently if a dark, dreary night found him well in his cups and he drunkenly confessed to still feeling scores of wounds that weren’t his own, but those of men under his command.”

“So I will just tell you I love you. I love you, Bram. I want everyone to see it, and I want you to know . . . you’re a part of this place now. No matter where duty takes you, Spindle Cove will always be here for you. And so will I.” He put both arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest. “You beautiful, brazen thing.” Then he went silent, just holding her gaze for what seemed like eons. Nerves multiplied in her stomach with every passing second. She swallowed hard. “Don’t you have anything else to say?”“ ‘Hallelujah’ springs to mind. Beyond that . . .” He brushed a caress down her cheek. “Does this mean that if I proposed marriage to you right now, you might not make that twisty, unhappy face?” “Try me and see.”

“How is it you’ve never married?” A soft splash. “It’s an easy enough thing. Every morning I wake up, go about my day, and return to bed at night without having recited marriage vows. After several years, I have the trick of it down.”

“A home isn’t only defined by what you need, Bram. It’s also about the people who need you”

“I adored you. All my life, I adored you. I asked nothing of you. No promises, no courtship. I surrendered my virtue. I gave you my trust. And you left me with a note.”His mouth twisted in an expression of regret. He pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m so very—” “Twenty-six words!” she shot back, in the loudest whisper she could manage. “I gave you my virginity, and you left me twenty-six scribbled words.”

“Thorne looked to the woolly beast at his [Bram's] knee and and cocked a brow. "You seem to have acquired a lamb, my lord."

"The lamb goes home tomorrow."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He's dinner.”

“This isn't food." Bram picked up a lavender-iced cake between thumb and finger and stared at it. "This is...edible ornamentation.” 

He shook his head, looking perplexed. “I even like it when you snipe at me.” “You’ve seen me with a gun. If I were to snipe at you, I promise you’d feel it. And you wouldn’t like it one bit".

“Bram stared into a pair of wide, dark eyes. Eyes that reflected a surprising glimmer of intelligence. This might be the rare female a man could reason with.

"Now, then," he said. "We can do this the easy way, or we can make things difficult."

With a soft snort, she turned her head. It was as if he'd ceased to exist.

Bram shifted his weight to his good leg, feeling the stab to his pride. He was a lieutenant colonel in the British army, and at over six feet tall, he was said to cut an imposing figure. Typically, a pointed glance from his quarter would quell the slightest hint of disobedience. He was not accustomed to being ignored.

"Listen sharp, now." He gave her ear a rough tweak and sank his voice to a low threat. "If you know what's good for you, you'll do as I say."

Though she spoke not a word, her reply was clear: You can kiss my great wolly arse.

Confounded sheep.”

“So close. He'd get there. Not today, but soon. He had a task to accomplish here, and the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could rejoin his regiment. He wasn't stopping for anything.

Except sheep. Blast it. It would seem they were stopping for sheep.

A rough voice said, "I'll take care of them."

Thorne joined their group. Bram flicked his gaze to the side and spied his hulking mountain of a corporal shouldering a flintlock rifle.

"We can't simply shoot them, Thorne."

Obedient as ever, Thorne lowered his gun. "Then I've a cutlass. Just sharpened the blade last night."

"We can't butcher them, either."

Thorne shrugged. "I'm hungry."

Yes, that was Thorne--straightforward, practical. Ruthless.”

“The further he raided, the closer he came to the other rooms. Those unused, cobwebbed chambers of her heart. Would he dare to venture there? She doubted. Jumping off a cliff was a flashy sort of courage, but a man would need true strength and valor to break through those padlocked doors. There were dark, uncharted spaces within her that had been built to house love, and even she was afraid to explore them. Terrified to learn just how vast and how achingly empty they truly were.”