Well this is what happens when you accidentally leave your own books at home and end up rooting through a family member's attic for reading material.

What the hell was this? I recognize it was just a romance novel, not some Pulitzer prize winner, but the dialogue was atrocious and incredibly contrived and forced, the innumerable (and unnecessary) twists and turns lead to a still pathetically predictable ending (oh surprise surprise at who got who....and I don't just mean the main 2. You could have seen all the pairings coming in the first 20 pages or so), and even the sex and romance was dull and badly written, which, since that's the reason many people seem to read romance novels, is practically sacrilege. Oh, and it had the most ridiculous drawing on the inside cover. How many Scots run around in their kilts and NOTHING ELSE, and the female is wearing something no one had even conceived of in 19th century England. AAAAH!

I want my Mary Tudor biography back.

(EDIT: I feel compelled to point out: I'm not a connoisseur of romance novels. I almost never read them, and in fact avoid them. Therefore, people who enjoy this genre in general should probably take my review with a grain of salt.)