The Counterfeit Lady: A Regency Romance

Book 4: Sons of the Spy Lord

by Alina K. Field

Synopsis

Freedom!

Vowing she'll never submit to an arranged marriage, an earl's daughter bolts for the remote seaside cottage that should be hers upon marriage.

But instead of a quiet respite from her controlling family, she finds her refuge occupied by the last man she ever wants to see again—an American artist, who's also a thief.

And quite possibly one of her father's spies.

Release date: April 3, 2018

Publisher: Havenlock Press

Print pages: 313

Sample

Perry stood at the mullioned French doors looking out over a narrow-tiled terrace. In the distance, a boat, as tiny as a beetle on the top of a pond, bobbed on a sea that roiled like her heart. Next to her, Jenny’s mouth had dropped open.

“Are you wondering what you’ve got yourself into?” Perry whispered.

“You did promise an adventure, miss.” She put the tip of one gloved finger on the pristine window. “But I’ll not go out there on any boat, no matter.”

Perry grinned through trembling lips. Nor would she, if she could help it.

“No? In for a penny, in for a pound.” She took a breath and another fragrance came to her, the scent of her mother’s preserved rooms at Cransdall. Her father had not bothered looking for a new countess to occupy them, thank God.

“It’s spotless. They must have a girl come up from the village to clean,” Jenny whispered and pointed. “Except for the mess over there.”

Empty dishes and a glass rested on a pretty oval table. Nearby, a dark shawl, much like the ones her mother had favored, draped over the back of a sofa.

Perry stood taller. “The house is not let. No one should be here but me. I have a right.”

“But no key, miss?” Jenny arched a brow.

The sound of a footstep drew their gaze to the drawing room door. A man stood in the shadow, tall, with dark hair longer than what was fashionable. Dim light caught the white of his linens. He was naked of coats.

The clacking in her chest beat all the way to her ears. Inside her pocket was a pistol, not primed, not cocked, and no doubt far too wet to fire.

He stepped through the door, into the gray light from the windows, and her heart all but stopped.

Fox was here. Fox, the artist. Fox, the scoundrel. Fox, the thief.