Okay, for better or for worse, once again I have to say that the only reaction I can muster to the naughty goings-on of Prince Harry in Las Vegas last week is giddy amusement. I know, he’s a prince and a diplomat representing England and the crown, but there’s just something about roguish royalty that tickles my fancy. Yesterday for Medieval Monday I talked about the other Naughty Prince Harry that our Harry is being compared to. That Harry grew up to be King Henry VIII. But our Harry has also proved that he bears a striking resemblance to some other familiar characters.
I write romance novels. Yep. And I love them. I’ve been reading romance novels since I was in high school. Anyone who reads romance novels should instantly recognize Prince Harry from the pages of their favorite books. Because our Harry is just like any of the countless naughty nobles that splash through the pages of our favorite books.
There is a certain romance novel hero archetype that continually pops in, sweeps the heroine off her feet, and raises his eyebrows at the competition. I’m talking, of course, about the Rake. You can’t read romance without running into him. He is handsome, wealthy, titled, and sinful. His conquests are legendary. Before he meets the heroine, before the book starts, he has lived a life of hedonistic pleasure.
The Rake might be a gambler or he might be a fighter. He might haunt the dens of iniquity or invite a string of well-heeled mistresses into his bed. But make no mistake, the Rake is a demon in the sack. In that deliciously fictitious romance novel way, he is able to send a woman to the heights of ecstasy with just a look. His string of past conquests sometimes show up eager to get back in his pants. Because apparently there is magic there.
The Rake can make the most straitlaced miss go all squishy with just a glance. He can send the most confirmed bluestocking into tremors of desire. It doesn’t matter if she’s vowed never to love or give herself to a man or compromise her principles, when the Rake comes along one kiss, usually stolen in a moment of impulsive alpha-male superiority, makes her gash froth. (okay, so that’s a little vulgar, but ever since I heard the phrase I’ve been dying to use it)
Once the Rake gets the heroine in bed, of course he’s akin to god in his powers of pleasure. Heroines have been known to see colors, to hear the angels sing, and to explode or shatter or be pulled under in a maelstrom of intense orgasmic bliss. Nothing ever malfunctions, nothing ever fires unexpectedly or slips around or misses the mark, and rhythm is always spot-on perfect. And the heroine never, ever finds herself making grocery lists or wondering how much it would cost to fix that crack in the ceiling. Because the Rake is amazing in every way!
Oh Harry! Yes, please!
He’s 27 years old. He’s single. He’s rich. He’s handsome. Give the boy a break! If he wants to play strip pool in Vegas with a bunch of girls he and his buddies met at the hotel then why not? He’s only doing what centuries of randy young men before him have done and what we romance novelists write about with gusto.Of course, the problem we really have here is that someone didn’t do their job and confiscate all of the cameras and cell phones before the royal pants were dropped. And since it seems that the people of Britain are the ones who foot the bill for the security patrol, well, I think someone’s head needs to roll. But if you’re expecting a privileged young man in Las Vegas to behave like a monk in a mountain retreat then you either know nothing about male biology or nothing about Vegas.Another part of the story that I love, and that helps me to smile knowingly at Harry’s indiscretions instead of punishing him for them, is the story of the young ladies at the bachelorette party that afternoon before things got wild. I don’t know if you read this one, but apparently there was a group having a bachelorette party who recognized Harry and approached him. He was, by all accounts, very personable to them and laughed and showed off for them. But when Harry asked if the girls were single and they all admitted that they were, in fact, taken, he acted like a perfect gentleman and did not invite them back to his room for the party. Frankly, I’m impressed that a wild young prince with enough money and clout to break taboos would keep his hands off the girls who are already spoken for. He may be naughty, but it sounds like he’s not a douche. Go Harry!
Yes, our Naughty Prince Harry is a romance novel hero alright! Whatever the truth is, I tend to think that, like the Rake, he will shamelessly sow as many wild oats as he can get away with until his heroine comes along. I would hope that when she does, like the best romance novel plots, he will have eyes only for her. He will put aside his wild ways for a love that novelists like me will write about for ages to come. Maybe it’s naïve of me to think that, but hey, I write romance novels!
And since I highly doubt I will ever have the experience to prove otherwise, I intend to go on believing that Harry is a dynamo in bed and that his lightest touch can send any woman soaring to ridiculous heights of fantasy pleasure. Somewhere in the world a lucky woman is bursting right now.