Anne Stuart’s To Catch a Thief is a Victorian romp that tries to blend the sparkle of a screwball comedy with the darker edges of a thief-hero romance, and while the premise had me intrigued, the execution left me pretty much deflated. The setup is delicious: James Rafferty, a former highwayman and reluctant thief, slips into the Manning household under the guise of a butler, intent on uncovering a hidden stash of money left by his late employer.

What he does not expect is Georgiana Manning, the spirited and slightly harum-scarum (reckless) younger daughter of the house, who latches onto him with equal parts naiveté and stubborn determination. Their worlds collide in ways both comedic and fraught with danger, all under the watchful eyes of her disastrous family.

Rafferty, at thirty-one, should have been the sort of dangerous rake Anne Stuart is so good at delivering; a man torn between his criminal instincts and his inconvenient conscience. Instead, he spends far too much of the story vacillating, sometimes ruthless, sometimes noble, sometimes maddeningly indecisive. His backstory as the grandson of a duke who abandoned privilege for a life of thievery had such potential, but it remained unexplored, leaving me wishing for more depth.

Georgie, meanwhile, at twenty, is the archetypal sunshine heroine, full of chatter, good intentions, and starry-eyed notions of reforming her “project.” At first her effervescence is charming, especially when contrasted with her odious sister Norah and selfish mother, but over time her blind devotion and lack of growth made her feel more like a lamb following Rafferty around than a heroine finding her strength.

The conflict, on paper, has everything I adore: class difference, forbidden attraction, a hero caught between his past sins and his chance at redemption, a heroine desperate to be seen and loved for herself. Yet the pacing falters under repetitive inner monologues, with Rafferty constantly telling himself he must resist Georgie, only to fall into her arms again and again. Instead of delicious tension, it sometimes felt like narrative whiplash. The treasure hunt subplot and the looming threat of Rafferty’s criminal rival which should have injected urgency often took a backseat to the circular dance of “will he/won’t he” between the leads.

What kept me turning the pages were the glimpses of Anne Stuart’s signature style; moments of biting humor, wicked dialogues, and a secondary cast that sparkled with more life than the central pair. Martina and Neddy’s unlikely romance, Norah’s comeuppance, and even the dowager Duchess added texture and entertainment. Georgie did win me over in flashes, particularly when her unvarnished honesty forced Rafferty to confront himself, but too often she was written as a childlike foil rather than an equal partner.

For me, the greatest disappointment is that this story echoed the elements that make Anne Stuart’s older works so irresistible; ruthless anti-heroes, headstrong heroines, high-stakes passion, but never fully captured the sharp edge of danger or the intoxicating pull of inevitability. It felt like a pale imitation of her best, with potential left untapped.

Recommended for: readers who do not mind a stubbornly naïve heroine, a hero torn between sin and salvation, and an eccentric supporting cast stealing the spotlight.

Final Verdict: A Victorian romance bringing together two protagonists who should have worked, yet remained weighed down by indecision and repetition. Left me mourning for the untapped potential.

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