Genre: Adult Fiction (Historical Romance)
Date Published: August 23, 2022
Publisher: Avon
A Princess of Thieves
Raised among London's most notorious criminals, a twist of fate landed Adelaide Frampton in the bright ballrooms of Mayfair, where she masquerades as a quiet wallflower--so plain and unassuming that no one realizes she's the Matchbreaker...using her superior skills as a thief to help brides avoid the altar.
A King of Reputation
Henry, Duke of Clayborn, has spent a lifetime living in perfection. He has no time for the salacious gossip that arises every time the Matchbreaker ends another groom. His own reputation is impeccable--and the last thing he needs is a frustrating, fascinating woman discovering the truth of his past, or the secrets he holds close.
A Royal Match
When the two find themselves on a breakneck journey across Britain to stop a wedding, it's impossible for Clayborn to resist this woman who both frustrates and fascinates him. But late-night carriage rides make for delicious danger...and soon Adelaide is uncovering Clayborn's truths, throwing his well-laid plans into chaos...and threatening to steal his heavily guarded heart.
Heartbreaker is the second book in the Hell's Belles series by Sarah MacLean. I loved the whole Match Breaker premise of this one, plus the enemies to lovers, and it was just a whole lot of fun to read. I love the characters and the chemistry between them. I'm a big fan of the bantering. I've seen a lot of people saying it's unrealistic for the times, but you know what? When it comes to this author, I really don't care. I thoroughly enjoy her books for the fictional escape that they are.
The light was fading fast inside the building, so she worked quickly. Replacing the bottom of the drawer, she returned the ledger books, dismantled her skeleton key, and stood, tucking her snuffbox away and settling the wooden cube into the crook of her arm.
“That doesn't belong to you.”
Her heart leapt into her throat as she looked to the doorway, her free hand already sliding inside her skirts to the false pocket at her thigh, headed for the blade she kept there. She preferred to remain invisible and not leave a mess on missions, but she wasn't above taking out this bruiser if she had to.
He was the opposite of invisible, tall and lean, standing in the shadows just inside the office door, peaked cap pulled low over his brow, doing absolutely nothing to hide the sharp lines of his handsome face—a long, straight nose and an angled jaw that appeared to have been honed by the best of bladesmiths.
This was not one of her father's bruisers.
Even if she hadn't been able to hear it in his proper voice, or see it in the way he held himself, as though it had never occurred to him that he did not belong in a place—even a dark warehouse owned by a hardened criminal . . . even if he didn't look as though he'd spent his youth learning to fence instead of fight . . . it was the nose that gave it away.
He'd never once spent a night hungry. Never once had to brawl for his safety or his supper. Never once had to steal, because he had obviously been born into all he had.
The man was money.
“That doesn't belong to you.”
Her heart leapt into her throat as she looked to the doorway, her free hand already sliding inside her skirts to the false pocket at her thigh, headed for the blade she kept there. She preferred to remain invisible and not leave a mess on missions, but she wasn't above taking out this bruiser if she had to.
He was the opposite of invisible, tall and lean, standing in the shadows just inside the office door, peaked cap pulled low over his brow, doing absolutely nothing to hide the sharp lines of his handsome face—a long, straight nose and an angled jaw that appeared to have been honed by the best of bladesmiths.
This was not one of her father's bruisers.
Even if she hadn't been able to hear it in his proper voice, or see it in the way he held himself, as though it had never occurred to him that he did not belong in a place—even a dark warehouse owned by a hardened criminal . . . even if he didn't look as though he'd spent his youth learning to fence instead of fight . . . it was the nose that gave it away.
He'd never once spent a night hungry. Never once had to brawl for his safety or his supper. Never once had to steal, because he had obviously been born into all he had.
The man was money.
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Sarah now lives in New York City with her husband, baby daughter, their dog, and a ridiculously large collection of romance novels. She loves to hear from readers. Please visit her at www.macleanspace.com
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