When I first saw this book I was very skeptical. I loved
the concept of a regency era Mr. and Mrs. Smith. However, I
found myself doubting whether the book would live up to my
expectations. Would this adventure be action-packed,
adventurous, romantic, and still remain uncomplicated
enough that it captured my attention? The resounding answer
came back as Yes! Yes this book was everything that I
wanted it to be and then there were the little quirks that
made it even better!
Lady Sophia Smythe has been hiding her whole life. She has
hidden herself away from her husband for years, he has
never seen the woman that she really is. Nor has she ever
let him get closer than hello. Her husband has only known
the quiet, shy, and mousy woman that she has shown him.
Lady Smythe has been hiding the beautiful woman she really
is and she has also been hiding the fact that she is a spy.
As Saint, Sophia can be anyone she desires. She has had
danger, adventure, and a never ending whirlwind of a life.
The thought of returning home to her husband is as daunting
as the fact that she has lost the one thing she lives for;
her life as a spy has come to an end.
Lord Adrian Smythe has shown the world a boring, stuffy,
gentleman. Secretly he lives a life of high adventure and
daring feats as he travels the world as one of the most
prominent spies that England has. Finding out that he isn't
the only one in his marriage hiding secrets is the one
thing in life that has taken him completely by surprise.
Not only is his wife beautiful, but she works with him!
After all these years Adrian finds that he has never really
known this fascinating beauty that he has been married to.
Now the two of them must work together to solve a murder
mystery that has stumped Bow Street. The one who solves the
mystery is the one who shall retain their position with the
company.
Working together should be easy, but the doubts and fears
of everyone around them will keep these two working against
each other every step of the way. It was fascinating to
watch each step that these two took. It was almost like
watching a dance where each player countered the steps of
the other. Where Adrian went, Sophia was sure to follow or
have beaten him to. When Sophia discovered a clue, Adrian
already knew it. While they started this, their last
adventure, frustrated and doubtful; these two quickly
learned a new respect and interest in the other. Watching
them come together was quite the adventure. Shana Galen has
managed to keep the action high, the adventure rolling, and
the romance leaping off the pages. I loved watching Mr. and
Mrs. Smythe discover each other as they never had before.
These two characters were every bit as charming and witty
as I wanted them to be. The story was every bit as
captivating.
Lord Adrian Smythe may appear a perfectly boring gentleman,
but he leads a thrilling life as one of England’s most
preeminent spies, an identity so clandestine even his wife
is unaware of it. But he isn’t the only one with secrets…
But one woman almost certainly can…
Now that the Napoleonic wars have come to an end, daring
secret agent Lady Sophia Smythe can hardly bear the thought
of returning home to her tedious husband. Until she
discovers in the dark of night that he’s not who she thinks
he is after all…
Excerpt
The counterattack was swift and sure. He propelled her
forward, throwing her off-balance, then whipping her
around. Again, he shook her wrist, trying to loose her
fingers from the dagger, but though her nerves screamed for
release from the pain, she would not comply. She slammed
against the wall behind her, ducking before he could grasp
her throat with his free hand. Instead, she struck out
first, catching him hard on the jaw. She heard the pop as
his head snapped back and then grunted when the retaliatory
blow came: a hard jab to her abdomen.
For a moment, she could not breathe. Small dots of light
danced before her eyes, and then with a roar, she launched
herself off the wall and collided with his body.
He lost his grip on her wrist, and she fell awkwardly,
losing possession of her dagger in the process. The clink
of the metal on the hard floor startled them both, and as
one, they began to grope for the weapon.
They were on the floor, her legs tangled with his, as their
hands patted the cold, dirt beneath them. Sophia felt a
jolt as his hand brushed over hers, and her reaction was to
kick out at him, increasing the distance between them. It
was then that she realized how close to the stairwell
they'd fallen. Three or four steps and she could be on the
stairs and away. For the first time in her career, she was
not certain she would win a battle. And why did it matter?
There was no Lucien Ducos to take prisoner. No Napoleon
Bonaparte to defeat. Exactly what was she fighting for?
She shoved at the man again, just as she heard the dagger
scrape against the ground. He had it, and now was her
chance. While he closed his hands about the weapon, she
freed her legs from him and dove for the stairs.
She had gained the first one, and would have gone further
had her skirts not tangled about her ankles. Damn! She knew
she should not have worn this gown. It was her own vanity,
her own desire to please whoever had arranged this meeting,
which had caused her to be impractical.
And now she would pay for it. Her slight delay gave her
attacker the perfect opportunity, and she felt his hand
close on her ankle.
"Oh, no you don't," he murmured.
"Oh, yes, I do," she growled, lowering her voice so she'd
sound more like a man. Sophia kicked back and felt her
ankle collide with his jaw. Thank God she had worn her half-
boots and not some silly satin slippers. And yet the man
seemed almost unfazed by the blow. He pulled back on her
ankle, hard, and she went down. Kicking free, she gained
the stairs once again, but this time his hand snagged her
waist, and he pulled her off her feet and back into the
darkness of the lower level.
"Let go!" she barked, kicking and clawing fiercely. Sophia
much preferred a disciplined, structured attack, but she
was not averse to an unruly approach. Only, this time,
neither seemed to work.
He had her, and he had her firmly. They stumbled back, and
as he struggled to maintain control, she felt his hand
brush over her breast. He must have felt it, too, because
he jerked in shock and then clamped his hand hard about her
flesh.
"Bloody hell. I knew it!" he exclaimed. They fell into a
wall, the reverberation from the impact jarring both of
them. But not jarring him enough to release her.
Even muffled by the pounding in her head and the adrenaline
rushing through her veins, his voice sounded familiar. If
she could just place it...
"Knew what?" she asked, ramming her elbow into his gut. A
whoosh of air escaped his lungs, and he squeezed her breast
hard in retaliation. "Knew you were being beaten by a
woman?" The words came out between gasps as she fought to
suck in air.
"I am hardly being beaten, madam. If I so chose, you would
be on the floor, unconscious."
She gave a bitter laugh. "You are most welcome to try."
He pushed her free, and she did fall, but at the last
moment, she tucked her legs and rolled into a crouching
position. Without waiting for him to recover, she shot
forward, ramming her head into his gut. She'd hit him there
repeatedly now, and she knew he must feel the pain.
But he grabbed her shoulders and thrust her back, spinning
her about and, once again, imprisoning her about the waist.
But this time, his arm had come around her, confining her
limbs so she could not use elbows or hands.
She kicked back, but he danced out of her reach. She could
hear his own gasps for breath, and then his mouth was
beside her ear. "Who are you?"
"I might ask you"—she fought to take another breath—"the
same question. Let go." She was positive now that she knew
the man. The spy from Calais? The double agent from Lisbon?
If she could just grab a moment to think...
"Stop fighting." His breath was warm, and it tickled the
sensitive skin of her ear. She felt her body heat in
response and shook her head to clear it.
What was wrong with her? This man held her prisoner, would
probably kill her given half a chance, and she was becoming
aroused? No wonder the Barbican group no longer had need of
her. She was going soft.
"You are not going to win." His velvet voice rumbled
through her, and his breath skated over her neck. She
shivered. There was something about his voice. It was doing
something to her, having this erotic effect on her.
"I've never lost." She managed to wiggle her hand into the
slit at the side of her skirt. The pockets tied underneath
held her last hope.
"Famous last words."
"Yours." And with that, she freed the small pistol and
pressed the muzzle into his thigh.
He stiffened.
"Now, let me go. Slowly."
She'd expected immediate compliance, but for some reason,
the man hesitated. She dug the muzzle harder into his
flesh. "Let go."
But he was still, listening. "Wait a moment." His voice was
far away, distracted.
Damn. He'd recognized her voice. That was the last thing
she needed. She tried to distract him with another nudge
from the pistol, but he shook his head. "Who are you?"
"Someone with whom you should not trifle."
"Sophia?" The word was strained and almost high-pitched,
and before she could stop herself, she jerked in shock,
giving all away. "My, God." His hands suddenly flew from
her, releasing her as though she'd just told him she had
the pox. "It is you."
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