Dearest Rogue (Maiden Lane #8)
Forever / May 26, 2015 / $8.00 print, $7.99 digital
Lady Phoebe Batten is pretty, vivacious, and yearning for a social life befitting the sister of a powerful duke. But because she is almost completely blind, her overprotective brother insists that she have an armed bodyguard by her side at all times-the very irritating Captain Trevillion.
Captain James Trevillion is proud, brooding, and cursed with a leg injury from his service in the King's dragoons. Yet he can still shoot and ride like the devil, so watching over the distracting Lady Phoebe should be no problem at all-until she's targeted by kidnappers.
Caught in a deadly web of deceit, James must risk life and limb to save his charge from the lowest of cads-one who would force Lady Phoebe into a loveless marriage. But while they're confined to close quarters for her safekeeping, Phoebe begins to see the tender man beneath the soldier's hard exterior . . . and the possibility of a life-and love-she never imagined possible.
The heroine of the delightful Dearest Rogue, Lady Phoebe Batten, is blind, which presents some unique problems for her and for the reader. So much of how we experience the world - and fall in love - is done through sight. So Phoebe - and by extension we - must employ our other senses to navigate through life and love. Elizabeth Hoyt does a fabulous job of showing Phoebe's limitations but also how her other senses stimulate her life.
Lady Phoebe is the target of several kidnapping attempts and her stalwart bodyguard James Trevillion, late of His Majesty's Dragoons, whisks her away from danger, racing through the London streets on horseback.
Around them the cacophony of London continued, eternally unabated: the rumble of carriage and cart wheels, the tramping of thousands of feet, the babble of voices raised in song and argument, people buying and selling and stealing, callers of wares, and the shriek of small children. Horses clip-clopped by and church bells tolled the hour, the half hour, and sometimes even the quarter hour.
As they rode, people shouted at them angrily. A canter was quite fast for London, and judging by the bunching of muscles beneath them and the sudden changes of direction, Trevillion was having to weave in and out of the traffic.
She turned her head toward him, inhaling. Captain James Trevillion wore no scent. Sometimes she could discern coffee or the faint smell of horses on him, but beyond that, nothing.
[Oh! Captain James has her smitten...]