The ladies in London are abuzz over Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, especially Miss Sarah Moorehouse. Her imagination is fired up, so when she spies Matthew Devenport, Marquess Langston, mysteriously sneaking home in the wee hours clutching a shovel, she simply must investigate. Impelled by curiosity, the adventurous lass steals into his bedchamber-only to be caught red handed by the impossibly handsome and totally naked nobleman.
The Marquess Langston has more important things to worry about than a group of literature loving ladies. But Matthew's grand plan to rescue the family from ruin could be lost when he discovers Sarah hiding behind his bedroom curtain. What is the meddlesome woman up to? And why are his desires inflamed by a chit who is too inquisitive for her own good? Well, two can play at this game and when Matthew captures the beguiling Sarah in all her naked glory, the night of mischief has only just begun.
Interesting premise and likeable enough characters got me past the feeling that these were 20th century people in Regency costumes. But the ending - the ending?!? One bad romance novel cliche after another, dropped into the book like someone was over their deadline. I expect plot resolution and happy ever after, but after investing in 200+ pages this felt rushed, poorly tied in to the rest of the novel, and somewhat ridiculous.