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Giggle. Snort.

No, not over my winning the RITA, though that astonishing event still catapults me into spasms of giddy laughter, moments when I least expect it.

But this time over the wonderful racy LOL humor in my current contest prize, Janet Mullany‘s A Most Lamentable Comedy.

I’ve got my own copy now (I stayed with Janet at her house near DC during Romance Writers of America’s National Conference last week). And on my last morning, I had the pleasure of waking up the author with my gasps and giggles.

Raucous, sometimes broadly physical, A Most Lamentable Comedy is funny in the best way. Not in the eager-puppy, look-at-me-aren’t-I-adorable way: it’s funny on the off beats, the pauses and knowing twists of voice. And (as my husband pointed out), it can turn on a dime from funny to touching and back.

At this point it’s only published in the UK, though free and fast shipping is available from But wouldn’t it be nicer if you won a free, autographed copy here, by entering my contest?

You’ve only got three days, though. I’ll choose the winner after midnight, this Sunday, July 28.

I’ve already posted an excerpt here. And just for fun, I’m going to include another: an interchange between the heroine, Caroline — in first person — and a gentleman who’s not the hero (in case you’re wondering).

Just for fun and in profound admiration:

“Inigo [Caroline says], I am so glad I didn’t marry you.”

“I too, though I don’t remember asking you.”

“You didn’t”

We both laugh at this, in a way we could never have done during our liaison.

“Was I truly horrid?” I ask.

He considers for a moment. “Absolutely. Shrill, demanding, voracious, unpredictable, expensive — all one could ask for in a mistress, in other words. Thank God we escaped each other.”

“And look what I excaped to — Elmhurst, who never loved me as I loved him.”

“Ah, Caro, don’t be sad.” He puts his arm around my shoulders in a brief, friendly embrace, and for a moment I’m tempted to turn my head into his shoulder and weep; I the woman who has cried for no one except Elmhurst, except now I feel like weeping for myself, what I have been, what I may become.


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