She wondered who could be the caller, knowing from the style of the conveyance in which he had come. . . ."" True, Cartland fans are an undemanding crowd, but will they really put up with her increasingly awkward prose? Or her thinnest, silliest plots? This one features Chandra Wardell, daughter of ""the greatest Sanskrit scholar of his day"" (1895), who sets off to India when her father has a heart attack: she will attempt to replace Papa on a well-paying assignment to accompany Lord Damon Frome to Nepal and locate the famous Lotus Manuscript. Handsome Lord Frome, however, is a woman-hater (a female once broke his heart)--so he's furious when Chandra arrives instead of Prof. Wardell. Chandra does know her Sanskrit, however, so Frome relents, insisting only that Chandra pose as his wife to avoid scandal. And, by the time Frome and Chandra reach the lamasery, of course, Frome has changed his tune: he's giving Chandra saris and necklaces and inviting her to share his bed--separate quilts, of course--when there's danger from nasty natives over a stolen jewel. (""I. . . I would like. . . that. . . but it might be . . . uncomfortable for you. . . ."") The sweethearts don't ultimately get the Lotus Manuscript (it's too holy), but what does Chandra care? ""Incoherently, because her happiness made it hard to speak, she managed to whisper: 'I. . . love you. . . I love you. . . there is nothing else in the. . . world the sky. . . or beyond. . . but you.'"" Incoherently, indeed--and only for those who find Harlequin Romances heavy going.