What do you think?
Rate this book


When newly graduated medical doctor Charlotte Duvall receives word that her father has died, she immediately leaves America and returns home to see to her family's estate. Among her father's possessions is a box of her late mother's letters, which feels like a balm to Charlotte's grief-stricken heart. But the letters contain some inconsistencies that suggest there was more to her mother's death than Charlotte had been told. She turns to the one man she trusts more than anyone—her treasured friend and director of London's police force, John Ellis.
John Ellis has harbored feelings for Charlotte ever since he first met her. Tucked into his heart are thoughts of her sharp mind, quick wit, and remarkable beauty. Though he has not yet found the courage to share his feelings with the young doctor, he is eager to help her in her hour of need.
Investigating the details of a death was not how Charlotte imagined she would find love, but as she and John work to unravel a dark web of secrets and lies, she finds herself relying on him more and more—and opening her heart to him in the process.
As the danger draws ever closer, John vows to do everything in his power to protect Charlotte from harm. But he fears protecting her heart might come at the cost of breaking his own.
288 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2024
- John mentions using the Bertillon system to lift and catalog fingerprints from a crime scene. The Bertillon system appears to have been used to catalog measurements of people who had been arrested, not to lift latent fingerprints and store them somewhere until they can be compared to a suspect who hasn’t been arrested yet. (Also, nothing ever happens with these fingerprints. They only seem to be mentioned so John can tell us how forward-thinking he is.)
- Police ranks again. On page 221, John asks where a constable’s captain is. There is no rank of “captain” in British policing. That’s an American thing.
- Someone makes a disparaging remark about the Labor Party (p. 143). First of all, spell it correctly—“Labour.” Secondly, the Labour Party wasn’t founded until 1900; there was an Independent Labour Party and a number of other small socialist groups, but the big political parties were the Liberal Party and the Conservative Party. Maybe all liberal-leaning parties were lumped by their opponents under the banner “labour,” but I kind of doubt it.
- Charlotte goes to a pub at one point. I don’t know a lot about pub history, but it seemed odd that a woman would just be able to waltz into a pub and talk to the barman and nary an eyebrow would be lifted. It looks like pubs had places specifically for women (snugs), but Protecting Her Heart doesn’t provide any indication that was where Charlotte was. She’s just a lady rubbing elbows with gentlemen in a not particularly reputable drinking establishment. Cool.
- At one point, John mentions how a murder scene in which the victim has been bludgeoned to death is one of the worst murder scenes he’s seen except for a specific gang-related murder scene that occurred a few years ago (p. 221). There have apparently been no sufficiently gruesome murders since then. To which I say, what about the Whitechapel murders, specifically those attributed to Jack the Ripper? If John is head of CID, let’s assume he’s been that for at least a year (probably longer because I think he was called “director” in the first book of this series and that was at least four years ago based on the age of Michael and AHmelie’s kids and Charlotte’s going to America for medical school). The Metropolitan Police were definitely involved in the Whitechapel cases, so even if John was not head of CID at the time (unlikely, given the series’ established timeline), he would have 100% known about them and likely seen them. And based on the descriptions of the victims, those murders were terrible and brutal. [If this book takes place in 1887 like in the blurb, this point is moot. I don’t know, though, because the difference in dates between the blurb and the text is throwing me.]
- She “engendered a sense of envy in some of the female variety” (p. 146), according to Mr. Carter. The phrase “some of the female variety” makes me want to poke out my own eyes.
- She was beautiful and lovely.
- She “wasn’t demure” or given to “feminine pursuits.” In fact, one of her friends (a man, because of course) states that “if girls had been allowed to play cricket, she would have been the best in town. I remember that anecdote because the ladies in the group were quite disdainful of the idea” (p. 165).
- All women are envious of her. That may be because their husbands were in love with her and she was in love with each of them at various points, but the women are obviously in the wrong. Their envy and dislike is “unwarranted” because “Kat was a kind woman” who was “effusive, enthusiastic, always the center of attention” but who also did secret acts of kindness (p. 165).
- She “did not ever have to seek for attention or approval” (p. 177). Because she always got them, I’m guessing?
- She was the most moral of all the morally people. She would never have pursued a married man because of morals, and also because of her pride, and also because she had “loads of [integrity] with plenty to spare” (p. 177).
“Rather a good thing I take initiative, wouldn’t you say?” She grimaced. “Unless we led a murderer to his door. Either way, helps to be thorough.”
John stood before the mirror in his Hampton House dressing room, successfully tying his cravat with a sense of pride but chafing at the fact that his key witness had been killed in his jail cell.