'You are too lovely. God should not have put so much splendour in the keeping of one body, one mind, for surely He must have robbed the rest.' 'Then make me as all the rest, sir,' she begged. 'You, sir, you.' . . . Her groin was thickly matted and the pale hair, to his amazement, did have a tinge of red to it. . . the total glory of her breasts, so large, so firm, so irresistibly nippled. . . ."" What would the historical be without such interludes between the swordplay? Oxford student Nick Minnett, son of wealth, loves smuggling French claret into England with his ketch Golden Rose, yet loves his French cousin Aurora still more. But Aurora is a maid-in-waiting to Marie Antoinette, a prisoner in the Tuileries, and will not desert her. Poor Nick's in a jam anyway. He's been seduced by Lady Caroline Moncey and forced into marriage, though not before his seduction of (or by) Seraphine Condorcet, the wife of a leading Republican. Only the blindest reader, however, will not suspect, nay, know that the author reserves Nick's deepest affections for Anne Yealm, his shipmate's widow, she of the red tinge and large irresistibles. And with so many floating strands at the close, a sequel appears as inevitable as lines like, ""Haste, haste. Fair stands the wind for France.