My Surrender [NOOK Book]

Overview

CONNIE BROCKWAY
sweeps readers into the ballrooms and boudoirs of Regency-era London and on to the Scottish Highlands in a sizzling tale of scandal, deception, and breathtaking passion.

Charlotte Nash is the most impulsive of the Nash sisters. Using her position as one of London's most popular and naughty debutantes, she assists English spies in conveying messages that will help them infiltrate Napoleon's inner circle -- and fulfill the ...
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My Surrender

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Overview

CONNIE BROCKWAY
sweeps readers into the ballrooms and boudoirs of Regency-era London and on to the Scottish Highlands in a sizzling tale of scandal, deception, and breathtaking passion.

Charlotte Nash is the most impulsive of the Nash sisters. Using her position as one of London's most popular and naughty debutantes, she assists English spies in conveying messages that will help them infiltrate Napoleon's inner circle -- and fulfill the mission her father died trying to achieve. But only as a courtesan can she infiltrate London's most notorious gatherings and retrieve a crucial document. Is she ready to take part in a deception that will leave her reputation in shreds? And when Highlander Dand Ross -- a dangerous, disreputable blackguard -- reappears in her life and offers his aid, dare she accept it? The exquisite pleasure she finds in his arms might be worth the price of her surrender, but is the dark Highlander who loves her so passionately really just luring her toward the ultimate betrayal?
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In the final installment of RITA Award-winner Brockway's Rose Hunters Regency trilogy (My Seduction; My Pleasure), Charlotte, youngest of the Nash sisters, behaves like a flirt and a romp (words trotted out by the author a bit too often to describe her) in order to spy more effectively on enemies of the Crown. When St. Lyon, a French loyalist resident in London, lays hands on a valuable letter, Charlotte is determined to do what she can to retrieve it. Unfortunately, the only way to get close to St. Lyon is to pretend to be his mistress-and to be convincing, she must allow herself to be ruined very publicly. Who better to do the ruining than attractive fellow spy Andrew "Dand" Ross? The two are unable to deny the passion they feel for one another, but Charlotte's decision to destroy her reputation strains their relationship. While readers will enjoy seeing Charlotte more fully developed than in her sisters' tales, the prospect of her impending prostitution casts a pall over the book. Dand, too, is so dark and brooding that he becomes almost a caricature of himself, and the novel's resolution feels almost madcap when compared to the narrative's earlier slow pacing. Agent, Steve Axelrod. (May) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
From the Publisher
"A luscious, sexy delight."
— Teresa Medeiros
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781416506812
  • Publisher: Pocket Books
  • Publication date: 5/27/2005
  • Series: Rose Hunters , #3
  • Sold by: SIMON & SCHUSTER
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 246,238
  • File size: 381 KB

Meet the Author

Connie Brockway is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of numerous historical romance novels and series, including Bridal Favors; The Bridal Season; the McClairen's Isle trilogy, featuring the novels The Passionate One, The Reckless One, and The Ravishing One; and the novels of the Rose Hunters trilogy: My Seduction, My Pleasure, and My Surrender. She also coauthored the acclaimed saga Once Upon a Pillow. A two-time RITA Award winner, she lives in Minneapolis.

Visit her website: conniebrockway.com.
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Read an Excerpt


Chapter 1
Culholland Square, Mayfair

July 14, 1806

"La, Mr. Fox, if your eyes occasionally strayed above my neckline you might find it easier to guess what I am miming during the game," Charlotte said archly. The redheaded young man, heir to a merchant's vast fortune and as of last Wednesday owning a suspiciously acquired baronetcy, colored violently.

Charlotte took no pity. The bran-faced upstart had been staring at her bosom since he'd arrived in the company of the young people she'd invited to her town house for games and refreshments -- her first "at home" since she had taken possession of the fashionable Mayfair address, a scandalous move since she intended to live as a spinster. Alone.

As Lady Welton was chaperoning the occasion, it was all perfectly respectable -- even though the baroness had fallen asleep in a patch of sunlight hours before. At least, Charlotte amended with a nod to her conscience, it was supposed to have been respectable. But then nothing she ever did seemed to turn out quite as respectably as her lineage, lofty associations (she was, after all, the sister-in-law of Ramsey Munro, marquis of Cottrell, as well as the renowned Colonel Christian MacNeill) and delightful manners would suggest.

And that, Charlotte fully appreciated, was a great deal of her appeal. Within Charlotte's charmed circle, things could be said that one daren't utter elsewhere, a few steps of the notorious waltz might be demonstrated, the ladies' gowns were more fashionable and less substantial, laughter came more freely, and the verbal ripostes that most unmarried young girls didn't dare serve their potential suitors Charlotte doled out regularly to hers. Thus, Charlotte's set-down of the goggle-eyed Mr. Robinson brokered as many giggles among the females as guffaws from the males.

"Sorry. Don't know what I was thinkin'," Mr. Robinson sputtered.

"I don't think thought entered much into it, do you?" Charlotte asked sweetly, giving rise to another round of scandalized laughter. "Come, my friend, let us practice looking at a lady's face...no, no, no! Not my lips -- the whole of my face. See? Two brows, a pair of oddly colored eyes, an inconsequential nose, a rather too decisive chin. Ah! There. Bravo!"

The young ladies and gentlemen, acknowledged by all to be by far the fastest set of unmarried young people in the ton, clapped appreciatively and Mr. Robinson, as determined to be one of them as he was to charm Miss Nash, found the self-confidence to laugh at himself, bowing in turn to her and the rest of the company.

The byplay ended, her guests began taking turns at charades again and Charlotte, realizing that the punch bowl was growing woefully low, popped out into the corridor to find a maid. She had gotten no further than the kitchen door when a masculine voice hailed her in breathless tones.

Knowing all too well what would follow, she turned around. But it was not Mr. Robinson. It was Lord LeFoy. Tall, sandy-haired Lord LeFoy. Well, here was a surprise. She'd thought he had all but offered for the Henley girl.

"Miss Nash," he breathed, coming toward her with his hands outstretched. She waited politely. His hands, finding none waiting to secure, fell to his sides.

"Yes?"

"I must have a moment of your time."

"Yes."

"Alone."

She glanced tellingly around the short corridor. "Yes."

He frowned. Apparently this was not going as he'd hoped. Poor Lord LeFoy. Things seldom did where she and gentlemen were concerned. At least, for the gentlemen.

"You had something you wished to impart of a private nature?" she prompted.

"Yes," he said, nodding eagerly. "Yes. I...I..."

"Yes?"

"I adore you!"

"Ah."

He reached down and grabbed one of her hands, snatching it to his lips and pressing an ardent kiss to the gloved surface. "I am your slave. Ask me anything, anything, and I shall do it. I am yours to command. I worship you, you angel, you devil!"

"Like Lucifer?" she asked, letting her hand lie like a dead thing in his. Really, to encourage him would be too cruel, and she already had a bit too much of a reputation for heartlessness. Added to which, she rather liked the Henleys. They would be relieved of a great deal of worry with the marriage settlement Lord LeFoy's father would offer.

"Eh?" Lord LeFoy blinked owlishly.

"Angel and devil. If I have my catechism correct, only one being qualifies on both counts and that is Lucifer."

"Ah. Yes. No. I meant that you are an angel but that your angelicness bedevils me." He seemed quite pleased with this explanation. "You must be mine!"

"Oh, dear. Are you declaring yourself, Lord LeFoy? Because I would rather think not, if you wouldn't mind. I like you, you see. And I should lead you a merry chase if we were to wed." At his blank expression she gave a little sigh.

"Allow me to enumerate my shortcomings," she said kindly. "I haven't it in me to be faithful. I detest jealousy and possessiveness in any degree and should react strongly and in a possibly scandalous fashion if presented with either. I should think I would be deuced expensive to keep. Added to which I have no desire now, or in the near future, to produce offspring." She smiled pleasantly.

Lord LeFoy's round eyes grew rounder. She could almost see Reason trying to assert itself in that beleaguered expression. But then Reason was not a man's strong suit when he had decided he must have something.

"I don't care. I adore you!"

"Of course you do," she answered, patting the hand still clutching hers. "The point isn't what you feel. It is what is best. I should hate for your adoration to turn to misery. I dislike being around miserable people. They are tiresome. And it would turn to misery. Your father...? " She laughed at the thought of the lecherous Earl of Mallestrough as her father-in-law. "I suspect I should have to lock the bedroom door against him whenever you left the house. Not a very winning prescription for matrimonial harmony, now is it?"

At the mention of his father, Lord LeFoy went quite still. At least he respected her enough not to challenge her estimation of his sire.

"No, no," she said. "We are far better off as we are now with you adoring me and me wallowing in it. Very romantic. And more civil, too, because this way neither your adoration nor my wallowing in it need interfere with our lives. You will wed Maura Henley, who will make a lovely bride and a fine mother for your children and who will never throw your things from her room or cause a scene at Almacks. You shall be very happy. Except that for my vanity's sake, might you occasionally be gentleman enough to sigh wistfully when we meet in public so that I might happily hear it?"

"You would make a scene at Almack's?" he breathed in horrified wonder.

"Oh, I should think eventually it will become inevitable, don't you?" she asked sweetly, tilting her head.

He dropped her hand. "Begad, yes. You would. You will."

"Now, before some of the others decide that this little conversation amounts to your having compromised me, you had best return while I see to the punch bowl," she said brightly.

He gulped, turned, hesitated, and turned back. "Ah. Thank you, Miss Nash. You are a very...levelheaded woman."

She leaned forward and whispered, "Don't tell anyone."

Lord Lefoy nodded, just as eager to leave as he had been to press his suit five minutes ago, and all but trotted back to the parlor, leaving Charlotte to raise her eyes heavenward with a mumbled word of thanks.

She had no sooner begun down the corridor once more when her maid, a pert, sharp-eyed girl named Lizette, appeared. "I beg your pardon, Miss Nash, but there's a...man here that insists on seeing you."

A man. Not a gentleman. And not a tradesman or Lizette would have dealt with him herself. Charlotte's curiosity was piqued.

"Who is this man?"

"He says he's a thief taker, Miss Nash, and come with word of some jewels he's recovered." Lizette's pretty, round face scrunched in consternation as she scoured her mind for memory of missing jewels. She wouldn't find any. Probably because Charlotte wasn't missing any jewels. Charlotte's heart began beating faster and a shiver ran along her skin.

"Where is he?"

"I didn't know where to put him, so I put him in the morning room, miss."

"Very well," Charlotte said. "Please explain to my guests that I may be a while."

Without waiting to see that her orders were obeyed, Charlotte followed the hall to the morning room and entered.

Her heart was still racing.

"Thief taker?" Amused, Charlotte slowly circled her favorite chair where Dand Ross slouched, legs straight out, his shoddy boot heels crossed on the clean surface of her favorite inlaid table. His unannounced appearance filled her with excitement. Not that she would tell him that. He would preen, or worse, be amused. And it was only because he always brought with him an air of tantalizing danger that she reacted thus.

She hadn't known she would find danger so...appealing when she'd entered Dand Ross's shadowy world. But she could not deny it, any more than she could resist it. Though she was loath to let Dand know the degree to which she looked forward to his unheralded arrivals.

She tapped one perfectly manicured nail pensively against her lips as if pondering a conundrum before leaning forward and sniffing delicately. Her face alit with sudden inspiration. "I have it...Lizette misheard you. You must have said rat taker!"

He looked up at her through thick chocolate brown lashes. "You know, Lottie, me love," he said thoughtfully, "they are actually wearing bodices in Paris these days instead of just admitting to the concept."

His gaze fell on her daring décolletage before lifting to meet hers. She returned it calmly. If he expected to raise a blush in her cheeks, he was doomed to disappointment. More men than she could easily count had ogled her not-all-that-bountiful bounty without so much as warming her cheeks.

Besides, in the years since they'd met and in dozens of meetings since, he had sometimes teased her with a feigned sexual interest, but he had never acted on his bold words. He was the consummate professional: detached, cynical, uninvolved.

She studied him as he tipped a glass of claret into his mouth. The years had broadened him and lengthened him and hardened him, too, but he still had that loose-knit, damn-your-eyes sort of grace one saw in the more successful tomcats.

Dusky brown hair, hooded smoky brown eyes, a lean face with a wide mouth and thin lips and a square jaw that currently hid beneath a thick beard along with a piratical scar. Though he cheerfully admitted that mark had been the result of falling off a ladder while stealing apples and not the dueling wound she had once imagined.

She wasn't certain she believed him. She wasn't certain of what she really knew about Dand and what he wanted her to believe she knew. He kept his own counsel, his feelings -- if he had any -- well hidden.

"Really?" she drawled sweetly. "Well, we are at war and there are embargos on and I consider it my duty to see that my dressmaker doesn't stress the economy overmuch by any extravagant use of material."

"Such patriotism, Charlotte," he rejoined dryly. "I am struck dumb by your sacrifices. Or should I say sacrifice in the singular? It doesn't look as if you are denying yourself too much in the way of creature comforts."

His ironic gaze traveled about the exquisitely decorated sitting room, touching on the slate blue walls accented by the clean lines of white painted woodwork and on to the furniture: the settees with their beautifully fluted legs upholstered in bishop's blue watered silk, the open-backed chairs carved into elegant lyres, the pillows and cushions fitted in expensive jonquil-colored brocade. At a japanned side table his perusal checked on a riot of yellow roses and waxy white gardenias that spilled from an enormous Chinese urn.

"Are those yellow roses?"

"You recognize them."

"Oh, yes." His voice was quiet. "I nourished them with my blood. Where did you get them?"

"They came from the plant you and your companions gave us so many years ago. I brought cuttings with me from York. First to the Welton's town house and now here," she said, "to remind me of the good old days. You should see the sensation I cause when I dress them in my hair or use them to decorate what I think of -- apparently erroneously -- as my bodice." She grinned. "I do so like causing a sensation. Besides, they suit the décor," she added, surveying the room with satisfaction.

"New address. New paint. New furniture," Dand was murmuring as he too, looked around. "One must ask oneself: Is it quite respectable, though? A young woman living alone?"

"Oh, I don't think so," she answered glibly. "But then...what do I care for respectability when it only ties my hands and prevents me from being as useful to you and your associates as I am here, alone?"

"So practical, Lottie. You've become rather a tough little article, haven't you?"

"I should like to think so."

"I know you would," he said with a lazy smile. "How many hearts have you broken this week, cruel little Miss Nash?"

"Hearts?" She pondered. "None. Pride? A few."

"Poor bastards." He set the goblet by his feet and tipped his chair back, balancing on the back legs and crossing his hands across the hard, flat plane of his belly.

After all these months, she still could not get over the wonder that he was one of England's premier secret agents. It seemed so improbable. Disreputable, devious, and dangerous -- she couldn't believe that her first impression of him emerging from the shadows in Father Tarkin's library had been so off the mark.

There had been an instance then, before a word had even been spoken between them, when their eyes had met and her breath and heart had stilled. Time had disappeared and she'd felt she could live there, held forever in his bright, fierce gaze. Except then he had spoken -- dismissing her, dismissing that instant of communion. Ah, well. It was all fantastical anyway. There were no sacred bonds, no deeper union. There was purpose and duty. And that was more than enough to anchor a life.

"Still. Something must have prompted your change of address," Dand persisted. "What happened, Lottie? Did you finally perpetrate some social crime even the Baron and Lady Welton couldn't overlook? Did you wear diamonds before noon? Don the same gown twice in a month?" he asked. "Tell me. What did you do that made the Weltons hide the front door keys so you couldn't run tame about their house?"

"Nothing at all. It is simply that Maggie Welton had the audacity to get married," she answered airily. "And her husband, poor creature that he is, refused to invite me to live with them. Can you imagine the gall?"

Dand grinned. "How inconsiderate."

"Exactly," she agreed primly. "Yet, employing that delicacy of feeling which others," her gaze skewered him, "must only imagine, I deduced that now was the most reasonable time to leave my dear friends the Weltons and set up my own establishment. Happily, with the funds Kate and Christian conferred upon me, I am well able to do so."

Dand's gaze swept up her new gown, pausing on the Kashmiri shawl about her shoulders and the pearl bobs swinging gently from her ears. "The settlement must have been more generous than I realized."

She smiled noncommittally. He had no idea.

"Speaking of your inheritance, what news do you have of Colonel and Mrs. MacNeill?" Dand asked. "And the beautiful Helena and equally beautiful Ram, of course?"

At the mention of her oldest sister, the new marchioness of Cottrell, Charlotte hesitated. Helena's last letter had been short, her effort not to criticize or question Charlotte's outré behavior apparent in every line. At least Charlotte could be thankful that her other sister, Kate, attached to her husband's regiment in far-off lands, heard little of the gossip that blistered Helena's ears.

"Not much," she said. "Helena and Ramsey are preparing to set sail from Jamaica where Ram has been dismantling one of the old marquis's plantations. They should be in London within the month. Kate and Christian are on the Continent."

"And do they all still think I am a murderer?"

The query caught Charlotte off guard. She hadn't realized Dand cared what his former companions thought of him. Caring what others thought of one only led to sleepless nights and muddied one's focus. She had learned that lesson from Dand. Too many nights she had lain awake wondering what risks he undertook in returning to France or what dangers he had come fresh from when he arrived at her door, until, to keep herself from going mad with the terrifying images her brain conjured, she forced herself not to think of him at all.

Yet here he was, asking after the other Rose Hunters. It was unexpected. It hinted at a heart beating in concert with the rest of humanity, prey to all manner of weaknesses and foibles. She had always thought Dand Ross well-nigh impervious to any such thing. Well, now.

"I don't know. They don't confide in me. Please recall that as a fribble of the highest order I am much more interested in my own assorted schemes and bumble broths to give a thought to anyone else."

"You sound a little bitter," he said.

Was she? She hoped not. She would hate to think she condemned her sisters for believing she was as shallow as she'd led them to believe. Yet...an unreasonable part of her sometimes wished they believed in her good character, despite all evidence to the contrary. "Not really," she answered obliquely. "Actually, I try to emulate you, Dand."

He cocked his head. "How so?"

"Worldly, street-smart," she listed off his qualities. "Without remorse or an inconvenient conscience or attachments of any kind and thus having no need to make explanations to anyone."

"And how have you arrived at this rather unflattering estimation of my character?" he asked, clearly amused.

"I don't think it unflattering at all," she said in genuine surprise. "It seems most practical."

"Really?" he asked, his eyes narrowed with amusement but also speculation. "Again, what makes you think this of me?"

"Well, your two best friends, who happen to be my brothers-in-law, thought you had betrayed them to the French, killed the guard who was to have provided the evidence of your perfidy, and sought to murder them but was stopped in this pursuit only because my sister Helena managed to drive a sword into your side a moment before you, disguised as vicar, intended to skewer her with your own."

"Such a graphic account, Charlotte. Perhaps you should write one of those overheated Gothic novels that are all the rage?"

She ignored him. "And yet, here you are, unconcerned and placid as a plate of pike despite all the nasty suspicions surrounding you. How ever do you manage?"

"I take comfort in knowing that I did not do any of the aforementioned things. I do, indeed, have a conscience, Lottie. And while it is hardly spotless, I acquit myself of charges of attempting to murder my onetime companions. Besides, Father Tarkin would vouch for me."

"Ah, but you have been away from St. Bride's for a long time. People change." She moved behind his chair, looking down at the rumpled hair streaked with gold. "How do I know you are innocent?"

His gaze tracked her watchfully.

"I never saw the man who claimed to be Vicar Tawster," she continued. "Only Helena can identify him. All I know is that you remain intent on not revealing yourself to your former companions. Or my sister. Perhaps there is a reason."

He didn't bother to reply. His collarless shirt lay opened, pulled askew so that she could see his shoulder, tanned and smoothly capped with muscle. A few inches over would be the infamous rose brand. Though she had never seen it, both of her sisters had told her of the souvenir the torturer at the LeMons dungeon had branded into their husbands' and Dand Ross's hides.

She bent down, bringing her lips to within inches of his ear. He smelled clean, of soap and camphor. He didn't even bother looking around. He took entirely too much for granted. No man of the ton had ever taken her for granted. And yet Dand Ross did. A wicked impulse arose within her.

"Added to which," she whispered in his ear, "you didn't appear in London for many months after the episode with Helena and the sword. Perhaps you retired to France to recover from your wound? Perhaps," she leaned over his shoulder, "you carry the mark...here!"

Her hand darted down, pressing low on his side. Before she realized what he was doing he seized her wrist, holding her hand hostage against his ribs a second before jerking her over his shoulder and toppling into his lap. She looked up, startled, into a face dark and suddenly alien, her offending hand held in a steel grip well away from his body.

A glimmer of fear shivered through her. She hadn't realized he was so strong or could move so fast. Or that he could look at her with such a hard expression.

Abruptly, she began to struggle. He controlled her with humiliating ease, the heat from his body seeping into her in every inappropriate place, setting her skin afire and bringing to life her long-forgotten ability to blush. He didn't even notice.

"Do you really think I am a murderer?" His low voice had lost all trace of amusement. "And if so, do you really want to play this game with me?"

Copyright © 2005 by Connie Brockway

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 11 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 11 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 19, 2006

    Couldn't Finish This One

    I only read the first rose hunter of the series (my seduction), and thoroughly enjoyed it. This one I found was leaving a very bad taste in my mouth, so I put it down half way through. I agree with the critic who said Charlotte's pending prostituion cast a pale over the book, because that is exactly why I put it down. I just wasn't comfortable with her insistence on ruining herself.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 11, 2006

    Superb Reading..Indulge & Be Delighted !!!

    Excellent tale of Dand and Lottie, and definitely the best of Connie Brockway's Rose Hunter Trilogy...Here is where we understand saving the best for last...as this was by far the best. I have truly enjoyed all Ms. Brockway's books, and as you will see, this story deserves 5 stars..

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 17, 2005

    The best of the trilogy

    I only purchased 'My Surrender' to finish the trilogy. I had very low expectations, as I did not care for the first 2 books. Even so, I had to know how the mystery ended, so I began reading. How wrong I was! This book was great! It was way better than the first 2. In fact, except for the storyline, it didn't even seem like the same book. Both Charlotte and Dand were very lovable..hmm..especially Dand:)

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 14, 2005

    Great...

    This is my first book by this author and I thought it was great. I'll have to read the rest of the series. Dand was a wonderful guy and Lottie was a delight. This was a love story with a plot.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    exhilarating Regency

    In 1801 their father died; one year later their mother passed away. Within six months of their mother¿s death, the three Nash sisters being practical females all found work. The oldest Helena was a companion (see MY SEDUCTION); the middle Kate provided music lesions (see MY PLEASURE); the youngest Charlotte became a companion to Margaret Weston. --- By 1806 with her sisters married, Charlotte continues her father¿s work to uncover a French agent. She breaks the rules wildly flirting with Comte St. Lyon, hoping she can seduce him into revealing his work for Napoleon. Meanwhile, Dand Ross initially provides unwanted protection to Charlotte. However, as he gets to know her, he realizes they need to work together to uncover a spy. Neither expected to fall in love, but both intuitively knows that the world of espionage has no place for the feelings of desire towards others. --- Readers will appreciate the exhilarating escapades of Daring Dand and courageous Charlotte even with the story line is over the edge. The audience is hooked from the moment fans realize Charlotte is masquerading as a loose woman to capture a spy. Connie Brockway closes her wonderful Regency trilogy with a smashing climax that sub-genre fans will enjoy as much for the romance as for the action-packed at times jocular capers.--- Harriet Klausner

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 5, 2005

    Absolutely Wonderful!

    My Surrender is the last of the Rose Hunter's Trilogy. Connie Brockway truly outdid herself with this last installment. I loved Charlotte and fell hard for Dand! I also fully appreciated the return of Kit and Ram. A must read!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 28, 2005

    My Surrender

    My Surrender completes the Rose Hunter trilogy by Rita award winner and two-time nominee for 2005, Connie Brockway. Charlotte Nash, the most headstrong of the three Nash daughters truly shines in this tale of intrigue, scandal and sacrifice. Charlotte has taken the role of spy very seriously, after all, who would believe that such a flibbertigibbet could carry out such a role. She has cultivated a ¿certain reputation¿ among the ton while still managing to keep her morals intact and above question. The questions about her morality don¿t bother Charlotte, but they do concern Dand Ross. Dand, Andrew, Andre, call him what you will, it is very obvious that this member of the Rose Hunters has his own secrets to protect. At first the reader isn¿t sure whether or not he even likes Lottie ¿ until one begins to see below the surface. Dand might be called carefree, but again, that is only the surface of this young man. And that, truly, is what My Surrender is all about in my view. Seeing what lies below the surface, seeing what lies below the faces shown to society and to our friends. This third in the series was definitely worth waiting for and anyone who is not touched by the strength of Dand and Lottie, by the fortitude they show to one another and to their cause, is not looking below that surface, not seeing what is truly important. Honor, courage, and above all, love.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 25, 2005

    My Surrender

    My Surrender completes the Rose Hunter trilogy by Rita award winner and two-time nominee for 2005, Connie Brockway. Charlotte Nash, the most headstrong of the three Nash daughters truly shines in this tale of intrigue, scandal and sacrifice. Charlotte has taken the role of spy very seriously, after all, who would believe that such a flibbertigibbet could carry out such a role. She has cultivated a ¿certain reputation¿ among the ton while still managing to keep her morals intact and above question. The questions about her morality don¿t bother Charlotte, but they do concern Dand Ross. Dand, Andrew, Andre, call him what you will, it is very obvious that this member of the Rose Hunters has his own secrets to protect. At first the reader isn¿t sure whether or not he even likes Lottie ¿ until one begins to see below the surface. Dand might be called carefree, but again, that is only the surface of this young man. And that, truly, is what My Surrender is all about in my view. Seeing what lies below the surface, seeing what lies below the faces shown to society and to our friends. This third in the series was definitely worth waiting for and anyone who is not touched by the strength of Dand and Lottie, by the fortitude they show to one another and to their cause, is not looking below that surface, not seeing what is truly important. Honor, courage, and above all, love.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 4, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted December 15, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted January 1, 2012

    No text was provided for this review.

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