Slightly Dangerous by Mary Balogh

For a defense of romance novels, see my post from last year about an earlier book in this series, Slightly Wicked. I sometimes read romance novels when I'm depressed, or under stress. For some reason, their complete sweetness seems to be what I need. This one wasn't as good as earlier books in this same series. I think Balogh ran out of steam by the time she came to the end of the family tree (connected novels involving members of the same family, each family member with his or her own book, are a common device). The duke is dull. The heroine is a klutz. The action drags, and must be padded out with filler. Ho hum. But I was having trouble sleeping earlier in the week, and not so much later in the week, when this became my bedtime reading. Things are better now.

(Book 14, 2007)