Night of a Thousand Stars

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Overview

On the verge of a stilted life as an aristocrat's wife, Poppy Hammond does the only sensible thing?she flees the chapel in her wedding gown. Assisted by the handsome curate who calls himself Sebastian Cantrip, she spirits away to her estranged father's quiet country village, pursued by the family she left in uproar. But when the dust of her broken engagement settles and Sebastian disappears under mysterious circumstances, Poppy discovers there is more to her hero than there ...

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Night of a Thousand Stars

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Overview

On the verge of a stilted life as an aristocrat's wife, Poppy Hammond does the only sensible thing—she flees the chapel in her wedding gown. Assisted by the handsome curate who calls himself Sebastian Cantrip, she spirits away to her estranged father's quiet country village, pursued by the family she left in uproar. But when the dust of her broken engagement settles and Sebastian disappears under mysterious circumstances, Poppy discovers there is more to her hero than there seems.

With only her feisty lady's maid for company, Poppy secures employment and travels incognita—east across the seas, chasing a hunch and the whisper of clues. Danger abounds beneath the canopies of the silken city, and Poppy finds herself in the perilous sights of those who will stop at nothing to recover a fabled ancient treasure. Torn between allegiance to her kindly employer and a dashing, shadowy figure, Poppy will risk it all as she attempts to unravel a much larger plan—one that stretches to the very heart of the British government, and one that could endanger everything, and everyone, that she holds dear.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Utterly irresistible."

-Eva Stachniak, internationally bestselling author of The Winter Palace

"Night of A Thousand Stars brims over with romance, adventure, suspense and humour. I wish someone would make it into a movie!"
-Kate Forsyth, bestselling author of BITTER GREENS

"Raybourn's first-class storytelling is evident....Readers will quickly find themselves embarking on an unforgettable journey that fans both old and new are sure to savor." -Library Journalon City of Jasmine

"Raybourn skillfully balances humor and earnest, deadly drama, creating well-drawn characters and a rich setting."

-Publishers Weekly on Dark Road to Darjeeling

"From sweetly touching moments requiring tissues to hot-blooded hunts for prey of both two- and four-legged varieties, this book elicits the widest range of emotions, and does it with style."
-Library Journal on A Spear of Summer Grass

"With a strong and unique voice, Deanna Raybourn creates unforgettable characters in a richly detailed world. This is storytelling at its most compelling."

-Nora Roberts, #1 New York Times bestselling author

"[A] perfectly executed debut... Deft historical detailing [and] sparkling first-person narration."

-Publishers Weekly on Silent in the Grave, starred review

"A sassy heroine and a masterful, secretive hero. Fans of romantic mystery could ask no more-except the promised sequel."

-Kirkus Reviews on Silent in the Grave

" A great choice for mystery, historical fiction and/or romance readers."

-Library Journal on Silent on the Moor

"Raybourn...delightfully evokes the language, tension and sweeping grandeur of 19th-century gothic novels."

-Publishers Weekly on The Dead Travel Fast

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780778317753
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 9/30/2014
  • Pages: 368
  • Sales rank: 134,311
  • Product dimensions: 5.30 (w) x 8.20 (h) x 1.20 (d)

Meet the Author

Deanna Raybourn

New York Times bestselling author Deanna Raybourn graduated from the University of Texas at San Antonio with a double major in English and history and an emphasis on Shakespearean studies. She taught high school English for three years in San Antonio before leaving education to pursue a career as a novelist. Deanna makes her home in Virginia, where she lives with her husband and daughter and is hard at work on her next novel.

Biography

If there is one thing that novelist Deanna Raybourn has learned, it is the old adage "write what you read." Before penning her critically hailed debut, a spellbinding historical mystery titled Silent in the Grave, she spent years struggling to perfect the romance novel. Native Texan Raybourn wrote her first romance at the age of 23. Although she did receive some attention from potential publishers, she failed to publish the book. Ultimately, she stored it away in a box in her attic. Over the next several years, that manuscript would be joined by eight more, all written in the same lusty vein. That's when she finally had the revelation that would lead to her first published novel. "I lean more towards mystery and historical fiction in my reading, so I finally decided to write what I read," she explains on her website. "Apparently THAT is the magical formula for success, in case anyone is writing this down." Two years later, she had finished Silent in the Grave and Mira Books ("known in my house as The Finest Publishing Company on The Planet," Raybourn says) picked it up.

Raybourn's sprawling debut novel takes its title from a foreboding quote in the Bible's book of Psalms: "Let the wicked be ashamed and let them be silent in the grave." This is the final threat that London society hound Sir Edmund Grey receives before he unexpectedly falls dead in the middle of a dinner party. While his wife Julia initially believes Edmund's death to be the result of a preexisting heart condition, private agent Nicholas Brisbane informs her that he believes her husband's death to be of a more insidious nature. When Julia solicits Brisbane to find the killer, they are both drawn into a dangerous mystery and drawn to each other.

Silent in the Grave garnered much praise from Raybourn's fellow writers, the online community, and the literary press for its masterfully paced suspense and historical authenticity. Karen Harper, who wrote the bestselling thriller Hurricane, applauded, "This debut novel has one of the most clever endings I've seen." Dana Stabenow of PoisenedPen.com declared that Raybourn has a "strong voice akin to Amelia Peabody's, a superbly realized setting—you'll choke on the coal smoke of Raybourn's Victorian London." Meanwhile, Publishers Weekly called Silent in the Grave a "perfectly executed debut," while Kirkus insisted, "Bring on the sequel"! That demand was promptly met, as Raybourn continues to add to her Lady Julia Grey mystery series.

Good To Know

Although Raybourn says that the ultra-busy schedule of a hot new writer does not allow for much free time, she admits that she regularly allows herself spare moments throughout the day to mourn the loss of her favorite show Will & Grace.

On her web site, Raybourn boasts, "I double-majored in history and English, which means I know how to find Jesus imagery in any book you care to give me, and then I can write a fifty-page paper about it with footnotes."

A few interesting outtakes from our interview with Raybourn:

"I taught English for three years, and my favorite lesson was my Trojan War lecture. It lasted three days. Aside from teaching, I was written up for insubordination at every job I ever had. The first book I remember writing was a diary of Marie Antoinette when I was in third grade."

"I read like a fiend. I knit badly, but I just learned to purl, so I'm hoping things will pick up. I am addicted to podcasts—I currently have 600 loaded onto my iPod that I have yet to listen to. I watch too much television, usually classic movies, the History Channel, or Will & Grace reruns. I adore astrology and am always downloading natal charts. I am a Gemini with Libra rising and a Pisces moon."

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    1. Hometown:
      Williamsburg, Virginia
    1. Date of Birth:
      June 17, 1968
    2. Place of Birth:
      Ft. Worth, Texas
    1. Education:
      B.A. in English and History, University of Texas at San Antonio, 1990
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

March 1920

"I say, if you're running away from your wedding, you're going about it quite wrong."

I paused with my leg out the window, satin wedding gown hitched up above my knees. A layer of tulle floated over my face, obscuring my view. I shoved it aside to find a tall, bespectacled young man standing behind me. His expression was serious, but there was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes that was distinctly at odds with his clerical garb.

"Oh! Are you the curate? I know you can't be the vicar. I met him last night at the rehearsal and he's simply ancient. Looks like Methuselah's godfather. You're awfully young to be a priest, aren't you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"But I'm wearing a dog collar. I must be," he protested. "And as I said, if you're running away, you've gone about it quite stupidly."

"I have not," I returned hotly. "I managed to elude both my mother and my future mother-in-law, and if you think that was easy, I'd like to sell you a bridge in Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn? Where on earth is that?"

I rolled my eyes heavenward. "New York. Where I live."

"You can't be American. You speak properly."

"My parents are English and I was educated here—oh, criminy, I don't have time for this!" I pushed my head out the window, but to my intense irritation, he pulled me back, his large hands gently crushing the puffed sleeves of my gown.

"You haven't thought this through, have you? You can get out the window easily enough, but what then? You can't exactly hop on the Underground dressed like that. And have you money for a cab?"

"I—" I snapped my mouth shut, thinking furiously. "No, I haven't. I thought I'd just get away first and worry about the rest of it later."

"As I said, not a very good plan. Where are you bound, anyway?"

I said nothing. My escape plan was not so much a plan as a desperate flight from the church as soon as I heard the organist warming up the Mendelssohn. I was beginning to see the flaw in that thinking thanks to the helpful curate. "Surely you don't intend to go back to the hotel?" he went on. "All your friends and relations will go there straight away when they realise you've gone missing. And since your stepfather is Reginald Hammond—"

I brandished my bouquet at him, flowers snapping on their slender stems. "Don't finish that sentence, I beg you. I know exactly what will happen if the newspapers get hold of the story. Fine. I need a place to lie low, and I have one, I think, but I will need a ride." I stared him down. "Do you have a motorcar?"

He looked startled. "Well, yes, but—"

"Excellent. You can drive me."

"See here, Miss Hammond, I don't usually make a habit of helping runaway brides to abscond. After all, from what I hear Mr. Madderley is a perfectly nice fellow. You might be making a frightful mistake, and how would it look to the bishop if I aided and abetted—"

"Never mind!" I said irritably. I poked my head through the window again, and this time when he retrieved me he was almost smiling, although a slim line of worry still threaded between his brows.

"All right then, I surrender. Where are you going?"

I pointed in the direction I thought might be west. "To Devon."

He raised his brows skyward. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

"I'll go on my own then," I told him, setting my chin firmly. Exactly how, I had no idea, but I could always think of that later.

He seemed to be wrestling with something, but a sound at the door decided him. "Time to get on. My motorcar is parked just in the next street. I'll drive you to Devon."

I gave him what I hoped was a dazzling smile. "Oh, you are a lamb, the absolute bee's knees!"

"No, I'm not. But we won't quarrel about that now. I locked the door behind me but someone's rattling the knob, and I give them about two minutes before they find the key. Out you go, Miss Hammond."

Without a further word, he shoved me lightly through the window and I landed in the shrubbery. I smothered a few choice words as I bounced out of his way. He vaulted over the windowsill and landed on his feet—quite athletically for a clergyman.

"That was completely uncalled-for—" I began, furiously plucking leaves out of the veil.

He grabbed my hand and I stopped talking, as surprised by the gesture as by the warmth of his hand.

"Come along, Miss Hammond. I think I hear your mother," he said.

I gave a little shriek and began to run. At the last moment, I remembered the bouquet—a heavy, spidery affair of lilies and ivy that I detested. I flung it behind us, laughing as I ran.

"I shouldn't have laughed," I said mournfully. We were in the motorcar—a chic little affair painted a startling shade of bright blue—and the curate was weaving his way nimbly through the London traffic. He seemed to be listening with only half an ear.

"What was that?"

"I said I shouldn't have laughed. I mean, I feel relieved, enormously so, if I'm honest, but then there's Gerald. One does feel badly about Gerald."

"Why? Will you break his heart?"

"What an absurd question," I said, shoving aside the veil so I could look the curate fully in the face. "And what a rude one." I lapsed into near-silence, muttering to myself as I unpicked the pins that held the veil in place. "I don't know," I said after a while. "I mean, Gerald is so guarded, so English, it's impossible to tell. He might be gutted. But he might not. He's just such a practical fellow—do you understand? Sometimes I had the feeling he had simply ticked me off a list."

"A list?" The curate dodged the little motorcar around an idling lorry, causing a cart driver to abuse him loudly. He waved a vague apology and motored on. For a curate, he drove with considerable flair.

"Yes. You know—the list of things all proper English gentlemen are expected to do. Go to school, meet a suitable girl, get married, father an heir and a spare, shoot things, die quietly."

"Sounds rather grim when you put it like that."

"It is grim, literally so in Gerald's case. He has a shooting lodge in Norfolk called Grimfield. It's the most appalling house I've ever seen, like something out of a Brontë novel. I half expected to find a mad wife locked up in the attic or Heathcliff abusing someone in the stables."

"Did you?"

"No, thank heavens. Nothing but furniture in the attic and horses in the stables. Rather disappointingly prosaic, as it happens. But the point is, men like Gerald have their lives already laid out for them in a tidy little pattern. And I'm, well, I'm simply not tidy." I glanced at the interior of the motorcar. Books and discarded wellies fought for space with a spare overcoat and crumpled bits of greaseproof paper—the remains of many sandwich suppers, it seemed. "You're untidy too, I'm glad to see. I always think a little disorder means a creative mind. And I have dreams of my own, you know." I paused then hurried on, hoping he wouldn't think to ask what those dreams might be. I couldn't explain them to him; I didn't even understand them myself. "I realised with Gerald, my life would always take second place. I would be his wife, and eventually Viscountess Madderley, and then I would die. In the meantime I would open fêtes and have his children and perhaps hold a memorable dinner party or two, but what else? Nothing. I would have walked into that church today as Penelope Hammond and walked out as the Honourable Mrs. Gerald Mad-derley, and no one would have remembered me except as a footnote in the chronicles of the Madderley family."

"Quite the existential crisis," he said lightly. I nodded.

"Precisely. I'm very glad you understand these things." I looked around again. "I don't suppose you have a cigarette lying about anywhere? I'd very much like one."

He gestured towards the glovebox and I helped myself. As soon as I opened it, an avalanche of business cards, tickets, receipts and even a prayer book fell out. I waved a slip of paper at him. "You haven't paid your garage bill," I told him. "Second notice."

He smiled and pocketed the paper. "Slipped my mind. I'll take care of it tomorrow."

I shovelled the rest of the detritus back into the glovebox, and he produced a packet of matches. I pulled out a cigarette and settled back then gave a little shriek of dismay. "Heavens, where are my manners? I forgot to ask if you wanted one."

He shook his head. "I don't indulge."

I cocked my head. "But you keep them around?"

"One never knows when they'll be in demand," he said. "How long have you had the habit?"

"Oh, I don't. It just seems the sort of thing a runaway bride ought to do. I'll be notorious now, you know."

I gave the unlit cigarette a sniff. "Heavens, that's foul. I think I shall have to find a different vice." I dropped the cigarette back into the packet.

He smiled but said nothing and we lapsed into a comfortable silence.

I studied him—from the unlined, rather noble brow to the shabby, oversized suit of clothes with the shiny knees and the unpolished shoes. There was something improbable about him, as if in looking at him one could add two and two and never make four. There was an occasional, just occasional, flash from his dark eyes that put me in mind of a buccaneer. He was broad-shouldered and athletic, but the spectacles and occupation hinted he was bookish.

There were other contradictions as well, I observed. Being a curate clearly didn't pay well, but the car was mint. Perhaps he came from family money, I surmised. Or perhaps he had a secret gambling habit. I gave him a piercing look. "You don't smoke. Do you have other vices? Secret sins? I adore secrets."

Another fellow might have taken offence but he merely laughed. "None worth talking about. Besides, we were discussing you. Tell me," he said, smoothly negotiating a roundabout and shooting the motorcar out onto the road towards Devon, "what prompted this examination of your feelings? It couldn't be just the thought of marrying him. You've had months to accustom yourself to the notion of being the future Viscountess Madderley. Why bolt now?"

I hesitated, feeling my cheeks grow warm. "Well, I might as well tell you. You are a priest, after all. It would be nice to talk about it, and since you're bound by the confessional, it would be perfectly safe to tell you because if you ever tell anyone you'll be damned forever."

His lips twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. "That isn't exactly how it works, you know."

I flapped a hand. "Close enough. I always had doubts about Gerald, if I'm honest. Ever since he asked me to dance at the Crichlows' Christmas ball during the little season. He was just so staid, as if someone had washed him in starch rather than his clothes. But there were flashes of something more. Wit or kindness or gentleness, I suppose. Things I thought I could bring out in him." I darted a glance at the curate. "I see now how impossibly stupid that was. You can't change a man. Not unless he wants changing, and what man wants changing? The closer the wedding got, the more nervous I became and I couldn't imagine why I wasn't entirely over the moon about marrying Gerald. And then my aunt sent me a book that made everything so clear."

"What book?"

"Mrs. Stopes' book, Married Love"

"Oh, God." He swerved and neatly corrected, but not before I gave him a searching look.

"I've shocked you." Most people had heard of the book, but few had read it. It had been extensively banned for its forthright language and extremely modern—some would say indecent—ideas.

He hurried to reassure me. "No, no. Your aunt shocked me. I wouldn't imagine most ladies would send an affianced bride such a book."

"My aunt isn't most ladies," I said darkly. "She's my father's sister, and they're all eccentric. They're famous for it, and because they're aristocrats, no one seems to mind. Of course, Mother nearly had an apoplexy when she found the book, but I'd already read it by that point, and I knew what I had to do."

"And what was that?"

"I had to seduce Gerald."

This time the curate clipped the edge of a kerb, bouncing us hard before he recovered himself and steered the motorcar back onto the road.

"I shocked you again," I said sadly.

"Not in the slightest," he assured me, his voice slightly strangled. He cleared his throat, adopting a distinctly paternal tone in spite of his youth. "Go on, child."

"Well, it was rather more difficult to arrange than I'd expected. No one seems to want to leave you alone when you're betrothed, which is rather silly because whatever you get up to can't be all that bad because you're with the person you're going to be getting up to it with once you're married, and it's all right then. And isn't it peculiar that just because a priest says a few words over your head, the thing that was sinful and wrong is suddenly perfectly all right? No offence to present company."

"None taken. It does indeed give one pause for thought. You were saying?"

"Oh, the arrangements. Well, I couldn't manage it until a fortnight ago. By that time I was fairly seething with impatience. I'm sorry—did you say something?"

"Not at all. It was the mental image of you seething with impatience. It was rather distracting."

"Oh, I am sorry. Should we postpone this discussion for another time? When you're not driving perhaps?"

"No, indeed. I promise you this is the most interesting discussion I've had in a very long while."

"And you're still not shocked?" I asked him. I was feeling a bit anxious on that point. I had a habit of engaging in what Mother called Inappropriate Conversation. The trouble was, I never realised I was doing it until after the fact. I was always far too busy enjoying myself.

"Not in the slightest. Continue—you were seething."

"Yes, I was in an absolute fever, I was so anxious. We were invited to the Madderleys' main estate in Kent—a sort of 'getting to know you' affair between the Madderleys and the Hammonds. It was very gracious of Gerald's mother to suggest it, although now that I think about it, it wasn't so much about the families getting to know one another as about the viscount and my stepfather discussing the drains and the roofs and how far my dowry would go to repairing it all."

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Customer Reviews

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  • Posted October 6, 2014

    I have realized that I am a Deanna Raybourn Fan (with the capita

    I have realized that I am a Deanna Raybourn Fan (with the capital F).
    I am sorry that, due to a change in publishers, there will be no further Lady Julia Grey stories.
    I am delighted, however, that her style is continuing with other story lines.

    This is a fun story with a plucky, if sometimes naive, main character.
    She is most certainly of the March family (see the other stories for their special style).
    Realizing at the last possible moment that she cannot marry he staid, monied, boring fiance, she bolts. Adding to the fun is the unexpected assistance of a young curate who shows up at just the right moment.
    Then things get really complicated and interesting with her ending up in the middle East.

    Her intelligence and bravery are tested mightily.
    It's all a great (albeit with serious overtones of political intrigue, international finagling, and deaths) romp.

    My only complaint is that my copy of the book is poorly made. On one reading pages are falling out and I am not a rough reader.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 30, 2014

    Deanna Raybourn has been on my to-read list for a long time. Wh

    Deanna Raybourn has been on my to-read list for a long time. When I saw “Night of a Thousand Stars” I jumped at the chance to finally read her! I’m so glad to say that Raybourn did not disappoint! The characters were so fun and loveable. Even the secondary characters were interesting to read about. I expected this to be just romance but it was really a lot more!
    The heroine, Poppy Hammond/March was a delightful character. She was just so endearing, funny, complicated and human. When the story begins she is in her wedding dress escaping through a window because she realizes that she wants more out of her life than to just become a Viscounts wife. Despite the prestige and high titled in society, she is not happy or satisfied. Poppy spent most of her life floating from one project/finance/ school to another. Although she knows that her decision to leave her fiancé at the alter will make her an outcast in society and a deep disappointment to her family she knows that she cannot marry. Sebastian Cantrip/Fox is there to help Poppy escape. She believes him to be a vicar and he does not correct her. Sebastian can’t help but rescue Poppy and drives her to her father’s home. There are many parts to Sebastian and for the first half of the book he remains a mystery to be solved. He is also seeking adventure. Poppy is looking for adventure and when she seeks Sebastian to thank him for his help she is intrigued by him and her search takes her on an unexpected journey.
    I loved both Sebastian and Poppy. Individually and together they were really enjoyable. When Poppy arrives in Damascus she has no idea just how much adventure is in store for her. Rayburn was able to balance the romance and mystery and the development of the characters. It was easy to like and root for Poppy as she searched for herself in the mist of all this. The dialogue is so funny and witty. One of my personal favorite lines was said by her father when Poppy escaped her wedding and everyone gathers at his house, pragmatically he asks “perhaps you could send down some clothes for her if you think about it. She can’t totter about like Miss Havisham in her wedding finery.” There are so many cleaver and funny lines I found myself highlighting many aspects of the book. Overall, I absolutely loved this book. It was funny, deep, romantic. I plan to read a lot more Rayburn. These characters will stay with me!

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