I really disliked this book and it just didn´t work for me.

The non-existent and terribly boring mystery, pages upon pages of Lady Julia talking to someone about something not plot related, Julia, who is a doormat, and Nicholas, who is an ass, who make for the worst romantic couple ever, the romance itself (I guess there was a kiss at one point, at least Julia tells us so … not sure, though, if Nicholas has actually slapped her in face. All of a sudden she has a bruised lip) – the whole novel was a mess and I´m giving myself a pat on the shoulder for having finished this book.

And then the author reveals the most ridiculous fact about Nicholas towards the end of the novel:

Good riddance, Lady Julia Grey and Nicholas Brisbane.

This novel would work for the Darkest London, Amateur Sleuth, Romantic Suspense and Murder Most Foul square. Since the story takes place in London, I have read it for the Darkest London square.

The revelation that Brisbane was a skillful prizefighter was not the only one disclosed that night. [...] Brisbane was speaking Romany. He was speaking, my addled brain told me, a language that he could not possibly know. But of course he did know it. Fluently and idiomatically, to judge by the laughter of his companions. His hands moved as he spoke, sketching the dramatic gestures that every Roma uses to punctuate his speech.

Nicholas really is a poor man´s Sherlock Holmes ... without having his skills of deduction. He is supposed to solve a crime an the only thing he has done so far is to sit on his ass, waiting for Julia to come up with some weak clues that he can comment on. Or he is having a migraine, which turns him into some kind of freaky, absinth-soaked animal of a man ... if he isn´t in the midst of playing the violin (and making all the women hot and bothered in the process of doing that) or beating the crap out of a Roma.

*Sigh* I can´t wait for this book to be over.

I dragged my eyes from him and realized that I was not the only one so affected. Jane was sitting with her mouth agape, her handkerchief in shreds under her nails. Portia was squirming in her chair, and both of them were blushing and moist as June roses. I did not dare look at Aunt Hermia.

I told myself I was disgusted by them. A fine pair of Sapphic lovers they were, getting themselves pink and panting over a man and his violin. But in truth, I was the worst. My palms were damp, my face hotly red, and I found myself staring at those long, nimble fingers, thinking very unsuitable things. I told myself it was natural. I had been a widow for a year, had not known the affectionate touch of a man for much longer. It was expected that I would find an attraction to a handsome gentleman of my acquaintance.

And Nicholas knows how to fiddle on a violin ....

"You will need magic. Because of him, the dark one. I cannot tell his fortune, but he brings death. He brings ruination and despair. I hear wheeping when he walks and the screams of the dead echo in his shadow."

Well, at least Nicholas is proper husband material ;D.

The potrayal of Nicholas as a dark, mysterious, brooding (and thus being an interesting) character is getting old. He is not interesting at all.

At least Julia has found a fair amount of poison, which means on page 300 the first suspect has cropped up.