What a Rake Wants, The Spies of Mayfair Series, Book 3 Available for pre-order!

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Released with Knox Robinson Publishing in print and e-book 26th August!

King George sends his private investigator, an Irishman, Kieran Flynn, Lord Montsimon, on a mission, the reason for which is unclear. Is it a plot against the Crown? Or something entirely unrelated? Flynn's inquiries lead him to the widow, Lady Althea Brookwood. Known amongst the ton as a rake, Flynn is rarely turned down by a lady, and when Althea refuses not just him but many other men, he becomes intrigued. After her neighbor, Sir Harold Crowthorne informs Althea that he means to take her country property, Owltree Cottage, by fair means or foul, she must search for help. The first man she turns to is promptly murdered and the second lies to her. That leaves Flynn, Lord Montsimon, a man she has been studiously avoiding. But Montsimon is decidedly unhelpful, and more than a little mysterious. Her only option is to seduce him. Althea has little confidence that she will succeed, especially as before her husband was killed in a duel, he often told her she was quite hopeless at intimacy. When a spy is murdered, Flynn wonders just what Althea knows and what her involvement might be with the man the king wants Flynn to investigate.

Excerpt

Althea danced with several partners. But when the musicians struck up a waltz, Montsimon beat several other men to her side. She held herself stiffly at first, but the skill of both the musicians and Montsimon’s dancing could not be ignored. She began to enjoy herself.

“Sir Henry must have brought the musicians from London,” she said. “They are quite superb.”

“Accomplished certainly.” Montsimon swept her around the floor. “I find the country air invigorates one. But then, when one is suffused with energy, there is little of the right company with which to enjoy it. What does one do?”

Must he make every comment sound suggestive? “One could ride or hunt.” She raised her eyebrows. “Or play cards or backgammon.”

“That would certainly account for a few hours.”

“I find no difficulty in employing myself.”

“How fortunate you are not to suffer ennui by the lack of society.”

“Sometimes society can be a bore.”

“Really?” He studied her thoughtfully. “You surely can’t be much above six-and-twenty.”

A soft gasp escaped her. The devil had added two years to her age. “How old I am has nothing to do with it.”

He quickly turned the flash of humor on his face into a concerned frown. “You’re not ill?”

She raised a brow. “I’m very well, thank you for your concern.”

“Of course you are.” His gaze roamed her face. “You’re positively glowing.”

“Dancing with you might contribute to my high color, my lord,” she said, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

“You may not be if I elaborated.”

A smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. “Surely you aren’t about to retire and become a recluse? I believe I heard a collective sigh from all the gentlemen in the ballroom.”

“Not at all,” she said crisply. Was he working up to request a liaison, as two other men here had done? She tensed, preparing to give him short shrift.

“Do you like dogs, Lady Brookwood?”

Startled, she gazed into his grey eyes, finding them sharp and

assessing. How unpredictable he was.