The Black Moth

I’ll admit, I approached *The Black Moth* skeptical of its ‘teenage Heyer’ origins—only to be floored by how *adult* it feels. This isn’t a swoony escape but a story where every flirtation carries the weight of ruined lives. De Cuir’s narration is the perfect vessel: her voice is cool and measured, almost austere, which makes the rare moments of emotional rupture (like Jack’s confrontation with his brother) hit like a gut punch. She handles the Georgian slang and French phrases without affectation, trusting listeners to keep up—a refreshing change from over-enunciated period pieces. The plot’s strength lies in its refusal to romanticize outlaws or aristocrats. Jack Carstares isn’t a lovable rogue; he’s a man who’s made terrible choices, and Diana Beauleigh, the heroine, is no simpering miss but a woman navigating a world where her only currency is her wit. That said, the middle act drags slightly with repetitive card-game scenes, and Heyer’s youth shows in a few overly neat coincidences (a last-minute letter reveals *everything*—really?). The production is flawless, though, with no distracting edits or volume shifts, letting the story’s tension unfold naturally. If you love historical fiction with teeth—or audiobooks where the narrator *disappears* into the text—this is a standout. Just don’t expect a cozy romance; this is Heyer at her most clear-eyed and cunning.