DUKE OF SIN is book ten in Elizabeth Hoyt's Maiden Lane series. Valentine Napier, the Duke of Montgomery is a devilishly handsome rogue and aristocratic blackmailer. Hugh Fitzroy, the Duke of Kyle -- one of the supporting characters in DUKE OF SIN -- is much more fitting in the role of hero. However unlikely Val is a hero, he is a witty and vastly entertaining master of all he surveys. Housekeeper Bridget Crumb is the perfect foil for Val. Elizabeth Hoyt crafts a hero and heroine very different from each other but they fit surprising well together. As Val's plans and schemes take him into ever darker waters, Bridget is a courageous protector -- for him, as well as protecting others from him.
Right from the start, in DUKE OF SIN, Bridget and Val play an erotically charged game of cat and mouse. Bridget has infiltrated the duke's household to retrieve items Val is using for leverage against good people that Bridget cares about. Although a shark in everyday life, Val is intrigued by Bridget. When Val calls Bridget his "Seraphine" in a throaty whisper, it is difficult for her to not fall under his spell. Despite her level-headed practicality, Bridget is captivated by the luxuriousness and sensuality of Val and his world.
Any time an author creates a bad boy rake hero it's sometimes difficult to maintain the delicate balance between keeping the hero just bad enough to have his appeal without going totally dark, and to show how finding love changes him without destroying the very thing readers loved most about him. Elizabeth Hoyt nails it. The more I know about Val, the more I like him for more than just his golden good looks or witticisms. Elizabeth Hoyt provides the reader with enough glimpses into Val's background to get a better understanding of why he is the way he is. Bridget is no simpering virgin and can go toe-to-toe with Val when he's trying to play the part of intimidating autocrat. The chemistry between Bridget and Val is really convincing and a big part of why I like DUKE OF SIN so much.
DUKE OF SIN is a story about a seriously sexy scoundrel and the woman who mystifies and inflames him. Young Mehmed and the delightfully scrappy Pip make great supporting characters and inject a lighter mood into the story now and then. Hippolyta Royle makes a convincing damsel in distress, and her predicament coupled with Val's somewhat creepy ancestral home and the fiendish Lords of Chaos waiting in the wings all add a wonderfully Gothic touch. I look forward to the next Maiden Lane story by Elizabeth Hoyt.
A MAN OF SIN
Devastatingly handsome. Vain. Unscrupulous. Valentine
Napier, the Duke of Montgomery, is the man London
whispers
about in boudoirs and back alleys. A notorious rake and
blackmailer, Montgomery has returned from exile, intent
on
seeking revenge on those who have wronged him. But what
he
finds in his own bedroom may lay waste to all his plans.
A WOMAN OF HONOR
Born a bastard, housekeeper Bridget Crumb is clever,
bold,
and fiercely loyal. When her aristocratic mother becomes
the
target of extortion, Bridget joins the Duke of
Montgomery's
household to search for the incriminating evidence-and
uncovers something far more dangerous.
A SECRET THAT THREATENS TO DESTROY THEM BOTH
Astonished by the deceptively prim-and surprisingly
witty-domestic spy in his chambers, Montgomery is
intrigued.
And try as she might, Bridget can't resist the slyly
charming duke. Now as the two begin their treacherous
game
of cat and mouse, they soon realize that they both have
secrets-and neither may be as nefarious-or as innocent-as
they appear . . .
Val threw down his knife and fork with a clatter.
βExplain it to me, this thing, love. Why would a
perfectly intelligent girl want to marry a man so beneath
her? She could take him as a lover if she wantedβI
certainly wouldnβt care. Why marry the fellow?β
Mrs. Crumb carefully placed her fork and knife upon her
plate and folded her hands in her lap. She turned to face
him. βLove is the best of all human emotion. It separates
us from the beasts and brings us closer to God and to
heaven. There is no greater gift than love between a man
and a woman.β
He looked at her a moment, studying her earnest
expression, and then grinned. βYouβve never loved a man,
have you?β
She pursed her lips, looking not a little irritated.
βNo.β
He took up his knife and fork again, feeling more
cheerful. βA woman?β
βPardon, Your Grace?β
He waved his knife, a bit of the beef skewered on the
end. βHave you ever loved a woman?β
She pursed her lips and for a moment he thought theyβd
have another round of tedious prevarication. Then she
sighedβaudibly this time. βI was fond of my mother but I
doubt that is what you mean. Iβve never loved another
woman romantically.β
He smiled and ate the bite of beef. She came from the
country. Yet she was rather more sophisticated than heβd
first thought her.
βThenβ¦β She stared at him very seriously, almost shyly.
βYouβve never loved another?β
βGood God, no.β
βNot even your intended fiancΓ©e?β
He threw back his head and laughed at the very thought.
βNo. Oh, no. I think that one must have some essential
part to love.β
She knit her black brows again, quite severely, and the
resemblance to some stern saint was very strong. βWhat
part?β
He shrugged, twirling his fork in the air as he thought.
βI donβt know? A belief in goodness and God? Or maybe
godliness? Perhaps innocence?β He smiled and looked at
her. βIn any case, whatever that essential thing is, I
donβt have it in me. I never had it.β
Her brows were level. Her dark eyes intent on him. He
might be the only man in the world to her right now. Oh,
heady, erotic thought. βNever? Not even when you were a
child?β
He shook his head slowly, aware of the soul-deep
blackness that had seeped into his skin, been driven
through his muscles, and embedded in his very bones. βNot
even in the womb.β
He rarely told the truthβwhy bother? It was so dullβbut
when he did, most mistook it for jest.
She did not.
She looked at him soberly, and despite her martyrβs eyes,
she seemed to make no judgment of him, which, if nothing
else, was refreshing.
He leaned a little forward and took her chin, her skin
soft and warm under his fingers. Alive. Human. Womanly.
Her dark eyes widened.
βNow, you, Mrs. Crumb, you arenβt like me at all. You
have that part, whatever it is. You can love, which
raises the question: Why havenβt you?β
She made a movement, like a mare trying to shake a
bridle, but he held her, squeezing her face tightly.
Perhaps he even left bruises.
He enjoyed that thought, imprinting his fingertips on her
face for all to see.
βWhy, my gentle housekeeper?β
Her nostrils flared and she stilled, glaring at him. βI
like my job. I like doing as I please. Falling in love
with a man would inconvenience me, Your Grace.β
He caught his breath in admiration. βHow very practical
of you, Mrs. Crumb.β
He drew her forward, making her half rise, his gaze fixed
on that wet, reddened mouth and her angry dark eyes, his
cock beating, bold and insistent, against the placket of
his breeches. Perhaps heβd mark her further. Perhaps heβd
see to what depths a saint could fall.
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