The Christmas Husband Hunt

Publisher: Penguin

Series: The Sons of Sin Book 2

ISBN: 978-1101444153

Published: October 5, 2010

Sensuality Level: Sensual/Hot

“For a wanton, Helen, you have a remarkably unformed understanding of sharing a bed with a man.”

-To Save The Devil

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Other Books In The Series

To Save The Devil

Love and duty conflict for two unlikely lovers. Will Jones, an ex-spy and ex-Bow Street Runner, is a master of disguises. In disguise he enters the discreet brothel run by his family’s enemy and rescues a virgin being auctioned off as “Helen of Troy.” Helen is no swooning maiden, but a woman of wit and determination with a mission of her own. She must retrieve dangerous letters of her mother’s from a blackmailer. Disguised as a youth, Helen is determined to escape Will until she realizes he may be her only hope of getting her mother’s letters back. In the bleak winter days after mad old King George’s death, London is more dangerous than ever, and as Will and Helen search for her mother’s letters and his brother, they stumble on a plot to assassinate the English cabinet, which divides them in a moment of stunning betrayal.

In addition to a fast-paced, exciting plot, Moore infuses the story with snappy banter and large dollop of speculation and lore about the real Helen of Troy, and she skillfully whets readers’ appetites for the final tale. –Booklist

Fast-paced, witty, and highly satisfying. I enjoyed every last word …Kate Moore really delivers with To Save the Devil. –Romance Junkies

TO SAVE THE DEVIL has all the hallmarks of a Kate Moore historical - passionate romance, vivid imagery, and page-turning writing. This author always seems to go above and beyond most romance writers in that her books really bring Regency London to life. You feel totally transported to the time and place. And boy, do you root for Helen and Will. Bottom line: this is a really good historical romance. –Amazon 5-Star Reader Review

Powerful emotions, taut mysteries, dark secrets and deep sensuality draw readers into Moore’s unforgettable story. Like Lorraine Heath, Moore draws on the Dickensian aspects of London to enhance a story already filled with realistic characters and pulse-pounding adventure. Moore is a talent to remember. –Romantic Times

This installment brilliantly delivers a complete, satisfying romance while skillfully tantalizing readers with hints of what’s to come. –Library Journal


Will unlocked the hidden door and led her up the two flights of stairs to the outermost room of his linked apartments. He settled her in an antique tapestried chair by the fire and removed the blindfold.

Everything in the room was just as he’d left it. He stirred up the fire where jugs of water stood waiting to be warmed for the bath. A great copper tub stood next to a bench piled with fragrant towels. He lit a branch of candles on the cabinet by the bed. Ah, he did enjoy that bed.

“Are we still in London?” she asked, looking at the bed.

“In its depths. You’re safe here for the moment.” He put a kettle on the hob for tea. She would need warming and something to counteract the drug’s effects. He took hold of chair arms and leaned over her. “What did they give you to drink in the brothel?”

“Some chocolate.”

“Breathe on me.”


“Let me smell your breath.”

She leaned back in the chair. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. I’ll be able to tell what drug they gave you.”

“Oh.” She stopped straining away from him. After a moment, she opened her mouth like a singer and exhaled.

He almost groaned as the huff of warm, sweet breath reached him. “Opium and satirio.”

“What is that?”

“A wild orchid, something to make you most receptive to a man’s attentions. Drink as much tea as you can. And eat. You’ll find bread and cheese by the bed.”

She glanced at it again. “Are you perhaps a sultan?”

He laughed as he spooned leaves into a pot. “No sultan.”

He knelt and took her hands in his, chafing them lightly. “I take it that it was not your plan to end up as a prize auction item this evening.”

“Of course not.”

He laughed at the look of offended intelligence in those brown eyes. “What went wrong?”

“Guy Leary. He was not … I did not expect to have to deal with him.”

“Whatever your business there, send a man to deal with Leary.”

“I can’t.” Her face was solemn. “I have to go back.”

He pulled her to her feet and dragged her over to stand in front of a cheval glass by the enormous bed. “Then I suggest that you change and wash the paint off your breasts before you attempt to pass unnoticed through London’s streets.”

Their eyes met in the glass, hers shocked and wide, his frankly hungry, with no concealing disguise. He pulled the cords from her wrists, tossed her a towel, and turned away.