Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.

I don't understand the draw of this book. It's full of rape (mostly "just" attempted rape) and abusive behavior, far too much of either to be classified as a romance in my book.

The protagonist's husband, whom she leaves behind in 1945, has nothing at all in common with her. She spends quite a lot of ink (it's told in first person) talking about how boring she finds his work and his hobbies; yet, we are supposed to believe in her indecision and her sense of longing for him.

The love interest from the 1700s is likable enough, right up until they get married, and then he is a controlling asshole and damn near a rapist, himself.

The only GLBT characters are evil gay male predators.

This is not a good romance, a good book, or a good use of anyone's time to read.

My only positive comments (and reason for not giving it a single star): it's far better written than most of the other popular fiction that's really about abusive behavior (e.g. Twilight and its offshoots), and it does offer a little bit of history and vocabulary building (at least, I had to look up two words).