The Undercover Scoundrel Synopsis:
The author of The Millionaire Rogue returns to her dazzling series about a bygone era filled with romance, espionage, and one dangerously seductive diamond…
Mr. Henry Lake spent the past twelve years uncovering the most scandalous secrets of Europe’s wealthy and powerful, serving as one of His Majesty’s most decorated spies. But when a mission to find the legendary French Blue diamond brings him back to London, and face to face with a beautiful noblewoman he once loved, it’s his own hidden passions that are uncovered…
Lady Caroline, dowager Duchess of Berry, knows better than to lose her head over a man. After an embarrassing romantic entanglement forced her into a loveless marriage and early widowhood, she learned to never trust in desire, especially when it comes to the man who once broke her heart. Only, despite her good sense, she finds Henry impossible to resist—even when he once again places her in deathly danger…
Jessica Peterson Bio:
Jessica Peterson began reading romance to escape the decidedly unromantic awkwardness of her teenage years. Having found solace in the likes of Rhett Butler and Mr. Darcy, it wasn’t long before she began creating tall, dark, and handsome heroes of her own.
A graduate of Duke University, Jessica worked at an investment bank before leaving to pursue her writerly dreams. She lives with her husband, the tall, dark, and handsome Mr. Peterson, in Charlotte, North Carolina.
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Excerpt
“I am sorry,” Henry said. His voice was low and rough.
She started. “Sorry?”
“I promised to let you be. You never wanted to see me again
after last night, remember?”
Caroline looked up at him. He glanced sideways at her. His
temples were damp with sweat.
“I remember,” she said slowly. “But this is hardly your
fault. I volunteered to chaperone, and William—well, he can hardly keep his
pants on when it comes to Lady Violet.”
Henry’s shoulders lifted with a scoff. “Your brother can’t
keep his pants on, period.”
“I know. He claims he’s getting better. But there’s
something different about this one.” Together they stepped around an enormous
Irish wolfhound tugging a poor footman about by a thick leather leash. “The way
he looks at her, and how attentive he is—I haven’t been with him much these
past years, but I can tell he likes her.”
Henry turned to her. “He treats you well, your brother?”
“Yes. As best he can, anyway. He can be annoying, a bit
patronizing. I wish he’d realize that I am close to thirty and far too tired to
get into any sort of trouble.”
A beat of silence passed between them as they walked; this
one wasn’t companionable, not by a long ways, but it felt less painful than the
last few.
When Henry spoke, his voice was low. “Does he know about
us?”
“No.” Caroline trained her gaze on the ground. “You
remember, he was away at Eton when we . . . when it happened. I
haven’t told him. Besides, by the time anything—I was married to Osbourne that
August. No one knew anything.”
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