Well before Bond, this regency era tale of the crown's operatives is the second in the Liar's Club series. 

Celeste Bradley
Author Book List

It isn't easy moving about Society dressed like a dandy- especially when one is a ruthless spy. But that's precisely the latest mission for Liar's Club agent Dalton Montmorecy. Dalton is posing as Sir Thorogood, the elusive cartoonist whose scathing political caricatures have all of London abuzz. The true identity of Sir Thorogood is a mystery, and Dalton hopes that impersonating him will flush out the real menace before his cartoons do further damage to the Crown. Now, if Dalton could only find a way to get the irksome, yet oddly appealing widow, Clara Simpson, off his trail...

When Clara meets Sir Thorogood at a ball, she's certain he is an impostor-because she's the true Sir Thorogood. Secretly penning the cartoons under the frothy nom de plume, Clara hopes to save enough money so that she can leave her in-laws and find a new residence. Now she is determined to reveal an imposter's identity-and that means doing some undercover work herself. But pretending to be someone you're not has a funny way of making a woman do things she wouldn't ordinarily dream of-even if it drives her straight into the arms of her devilishly handsome adversary!

Excerpt

"You never told me your name," he said.

"Nor have you."

Dalton smiled. Ever the saucy one. "Monty," he said, his nickname from school long ago.

"It's a nice name," she said softly, "for a thief."

"Only in good cause, little rose."

She tilted her head and looked back at him soberly. "You know, I believe you mean that."

They came to a narrow door that opened onto a set of even narrower stairs that wound down into complete darkness. Dalton spared fleeting moment of pity for the poor souls who had to carry all the flotsam of the household up those tight turns. Were the stairs in his own house so inaccessible?

They traveled down, taking turn after turn. Dalton realized that she was leading him straight to the ground floor.

With one hand held by the girl and one hand trailing along the wall to keep his bearings in the darkness, Dalton had no way to tell that she had stopped short before him until he ran into her.

His arm swung to catch himself, and wrapped right about her waist. She gave a quick intake of breath, which only served to tighten his grasp.

She was taller than he'd thought, for her head fit just under his chin. If he bent down, he could kiss the top of her silly mobcap. Not that he wanted to, of course, though she smelt of flowers and warm woman, and fit so nicely against him.

The thought scampered across his mind that this was the second time in two days that he had been in this position with a woman.

He felt her let her breath free in a slow, controlled exhalation, then she calmly peeled his arm away and moved on, never losing her grip on his other hand.

"I'll thank you not to be thievin' from me, masked man. My safe-box is not for your pilferin' hands."

Dalton grinned in the dark. She was a bold thing, this thorny rose -- ladylike and poised, but saucy.

He decided that he liked saucy.

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