Mr. Norton is a gentleman spy for the Crown, but he broke every rule in his agency to save one woman's life. Now his superior officer has come to collect. Norton was about to settle down to a delicious dinner prepared by his club’s cook and a bottle or two of wine when a man seemed to appear out of thin air. “Norton,” the harsh voice said. The tall, spare man addressed him familiarly, but there was no warmth or cordiality in his grating tones. Norton liked to play the reckless fool, for it caused men to underestimate him. In actuality, while his actions were usually very daring, most of the time he had already looked at the situation and conjured up a dozen different ways that everything could go wrong, and considered what he might do in response if any of those occurred. So he had accustomed himself to a certain level of preparedness no matter where he found himself, and he did not like being surprised. But this man, being here and approaching Norton, was not only a surprise,...

It was only a torn piece of paper—until Phoebe turned it over. A piece of watercolor paper wasn’t something Phoebe would have expected Mr. Coulton-Jones to carry with him when meeting someone about a horse. But after what happened today, she began to suspect that there was much about him that was unexpected. Perhaps the smooth facade he showed to the rest of the world was far more fake than she had realized. She flipped the piece over. A circular symbol had been drawn on the paper, but the majority of it was missing because of the torn edge. The symbol had two long narrow leaves radiating from the center, and the stalks of two flowers in between the leaves. She gasped and nearly dropped the paper. She recognized this symbol. Or rather, it triggered a hazy memory from her childhood. She had seen the symbol carved into wood somewhere, but she couldn’t remember where or when. She remembered the smell of dust and maybe a bit of dirt and mold. She also knew that the symbol was circu...

Most of us have never been a debutante, but historical romance readers can imagine the flutter of a first Season—the nervous anticipation, the whispered judgments, the delicate balance of being noticed without being too noticed. For modern sensibilities, the Regency debut can feel both enchanting and impossibly rigid. At its heart lies a simple but loaded question: at what age was a young woman considered ready to enter society? In Jane Austen’s world, the answer was far more fluid than a single birthday. A girl was “out” when her family declared her available for courtship, and this could happen anywhere from fifteen to twenty or even later, depending on family circumstances, maturity, and social strategy. Take Lydia Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. At just fifteen, she is already “out,” attending balls and flirting shamelessly. Austen uses her to show the dangers of launching a girl too early—Lydia’s impulsiveness and lack of guidance lead to near-ruin. By contrast, her older sis...

Mr. Coulton-Jones didn’t see Phoebe because she was sitting behind the enormous flower arrangement, but he had just approached a man who stood against the wall near the fireplace. Mr. Coulton-Jones’s fine, coffee-brown hair had been forced into a fashionable style, and his cravat was elegantly tied, his shirt-points high but not overly so. His jacket was perhaps a couple of years old but not out of style, and it suited his muscular physique admirably. “Aunt.” Phoebe nodded toward the two men. “He only just arrived a moment ago.” She wasn’t certain how she ought to feel upon seeing him again. Now that she knew the connection between the symbol she had found on the Heath, her late Uncle Wynwood and Uncle Sol, Mr. Coulton-Jones’s meeting with that strange man took on a more sinister cast. Was he involved in something to oppose the government or the war? Because if Uncle Sol were investigating something for the Home Office, it possibly involved one of those two. Yet remembering her co...

Phoebe remained aware of their surroundings as they walked the narrow streets, and at one point, she thought that they were being followed. She turned to boldly confront the man following behind them, and when his heartbeat pulsed and he pulled a knife from his sleeve, she made a fist and punched him solidly in the nose. His cry of pain as he dropped to the cobblestones echoed off the buildings on either side. Even better, it accomplished what she had intended—two other men who had been lying in wait several yards ahead of them on either side of the road abruptly withdrew. The three women were not accosted by anyone else on the way back to the tannery. —From Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 9: Shelter Curious how it all begins? Click below to read the beginning of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 1: Archer for free and step into a world of Regency intrigue, danger, and slow-burn romance. 👉 Read the excerpt now 💌 Prefer to ease into the series? You can join my newsletter and get ...

Laura opened the note immediately, not bothering to move back into the drawing room. She frowned as she read the hastily scrawled lines: I require your presence immediately. The boy will have brought a hackney cab and ordered it to wait for you. Placing a hand to her throat, she felt the pulse racing there. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and then she told Aya, “I must go to Saffron House immediately.” Her maid frowned. “The gall of her, to order you about as if you are a servant.” “No,” Laura said thoughtfully. “She is not normally so forceful. I fear something is wrong.” —From Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 9: Shelter Curious how it all begins? Click below to read the beginning of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 1: Archer for free and step into a world of Regency intrigue, danger, and slow-burn romance. 👉 Read the excerpt now 💌 Prefer to ease into the series? You can join my newsletter and get a free ebook copy of Lissa and the Spy , a romantic Regency mystery ...

Phoebe realized the sound was coming from the partially opened door at the end of the drawing room that led to the library. “M’lady, please come out from under the desk!” Aya sounded mortified. “I was simply checking in case a re—in case something might have fallen behind the drawer.” Aunt Laura’s voice was muffled. But as Phoebe approached, the strange tone of Aya’s voice made her slow her pace and pause out of sight of the half-open door. “A receipt? A jeweler’s receipt?” Aya spoke quietly, unlike the half-scolding, half-joking tone she usually took with her eccentric employer. When her aunt didn’t reply, Aya continued, “I saw the crest on the watch. It’s the same one that was on that pendant.” “Of course not,” Aunt Laura replied briskly, but Aya interrupted. “I was there with you that night. I saw it. That watch is somehow connected to her , isn’t it?” Phoebe’s limbs had become solid blocks of ice. She had the feeling that whoever that woman was, she was important to her au...