There is a dangerous mystique about Sir David Sherwood that Kit Winslow finds impossible to ignore. When she unravels the puzzle surrounding the handsome baronet, will he turn out to be the spy she suspects or her hero?
While visiting England with her aunt and cousin, Kit Winslow expects to enjoy the London season, perfect her painting, and return home to work for her father. She does not, however, expect to bump into a mysterious gentleman bent on nefarious activities, become entangled with French spies, or find herself encumbered with an unwanted fiancé.
Sir David Sherwood regrets the necessity of involving Kit in his perilous venture, but must act quickly if he is to save her life and his. When the threat passes, he vows to see the beautiful American again. Despite his dangerous mystique, Kit can not deny her growing passion for David.
Beneath the splendor of London’s ballrooms, danger threatens to engulf the lovers. Will David turn out to be the French spy Kit suspects...or her hero? Will they overcome the danger threatening their lives and future...or perish at the hands of their enemy?
Excerpt
A man burst from the thicket.
The force of his momentum sent Kit Winslow tumbling down the incline. She screamed involuntarily as she slid across the damp grass. Her easel flipped and her paints scattered. Strong hands grabbed her under the arms and dragged her into the undergrowth.
Leaves hit her face. A branch tugged at her skirt, ripping the fabric. The man continued pulling her through the brush. Fear clogged Kit’s throat, his strength overwhelming her.
“Let me go,” she yelled. She kicked her legs in an effort to impede his progress. She grabbed a branch, but the man continued dragging her. The bark and leaves cut her hand as it was ripped from her grasp.
They stopped in the undergrowth, the shrubs pushing them down. Her back banged against her assailant. One hand covered her mouth while the other trapped her arms. She was going to die.
“Be quiet if you value your life,” a voice rasped in her ear.
Fear snaked through her. His callused palm pushed against her mouth, her teeth biting into the tender flesh of her lips. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She smelled grass and dead leaves and mud. Blood pumped through her, pounding behind her eyes. Her heart beat erratically in her chest.
Panicking, her hands came up and grabbed her attacker’s wrist. She clawed at the fingers covering her mouth, her alarm growing. Lashing out, her foot connected with his ankle. He released a satisfying ‘oof,’ and she felt some vindication for her action. Twisting, her elbow connected with his chest. She tried screaming but his hand muffled the sound. Opening her mouth once more, his arm tightened, cutting off her air
“Keep still,” he hissed. “Do you wish to live?” The tension from his body radiated into hers. She sensed his alertness and somehow knew he listened for approaching sounds.
Terror filled her. Although she longed to shriek, she nodded.
Her heart pounded and her pulse raced. She surely lost her mind. This man held her captive and she agreed to keep quiet. Perhaps she should take her chances with whoever chased him. The man holding her was probably the criminal. When he knew himself safe, he would murder her.
Hot breath brushed her ear, and Kit shivered. The muscles in her shoulders tensed. His hands remained firmly in place, making breathing difficult.
Stomping feet drew her attention away from her attacker and back to the clearing where her supplies lay in a shambles. Two voices sifted through the bushes, the tones angry.
“I thought you said the bastard came this way.”
“I’m sure I saw ‘im.”
“If you’d done your job, he wouldn’t ‘ave gotten away. He’d be dead.”The sound of a pistol being cocked rang out. “Here fool, prime it with this.”
Kit stiffened. Perhaps the brute behind her was the safer choice. These men sounded crude and dangerous. The roughness of their voices frightened her more than the man holding her prisoner.
“’ow was I supposed to know he could fight?” one man grumbled.
The sound of splintering wood reached her. My easel. They broke my easel. She heard a foot making contact with something heavy and realized that one man kicked her case. The box clattered across loose gravel, falling down the hill.
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