Spotlight & Giveaway: A Lady In Disguise by Lynsay Sands

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Lynsay Sands to HJ!

Hi Lynsay and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, A Lady In Disguise!

 
Hi Sara…it’s great to be back!
 

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

This is a reissue of one of my older historicals published under the name The Reluctant Reformer. (My editor didn’t like the original name and cover, lol.)
Anyway, it’s about a young noble woman, Lady Margaret Wentworth, who after her brother’s death must find a way to support herself as well as a handful of servants she considers to be like family. She decides to take over where her brother left off, as the adventurous writer G.W.Clark, but has to disguise her real identity in order to pull it off. Her latest article was to be about a local brothel. She successfully infiltrates the establishment but things don’t go quite as planned. The only way she can get out of the brothel undetected is if she dresses up like the infamous Lady X, but she doesn’t quite make it out because of a certain Lord James Huttledon.
Margaret’s brother died saving James Huttledon’s life, and his dying request to the man he’d saved was for him to look out for his sister. Well, what else could James do when he finds the man’s sister in a local brothel and thinks she’s been reduced to selling her body to survive? He has to save her from herself and circumstances . . . and is it really kidnapping when it’s for the lady’s own good?
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

“Oh, now, Margaret,” Lord Ramsey began apologetically.
“You thought I was a prostitute?” Maggie repeated coldly as she stopped before him.
“Well, you were in a brothel,” he pointed out reasonably.
Maggie stiffened. She narrowed her eyes, then offered James a rather empty smile.
“Oh, of course. Perfect reasoning, my lord. And so were you. Are you a prostitute, too, then?” she asked caustically. Widening her eyes as if in surprise she cried, “But wait! I was in a men’s club last week. Does that make me a man? Oh! And I fell into the river once. Does that make me a fish? And what if I go into the stables, does that make me a horse? Or a stableboy?” She screwed up her mouth with displeasure. It was the only warning she gave before she yanked her skirts up and kicked him in the shin. Hard.

What inspired this book?

The idea for this story came to me as I was sitting around thinking that, while I love writing historicals, I don’t think I’d have been very happy in those times. There weren’t a lot of women writers back then, and they often had to publish under men’s names. Then I started wondering what it must have been like for women who enjoyed such pursuits.

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

Sometimes my characters walk into my head fully formed and with all their odd traits and quirks already intact. Sometimes they don’t, and then I have to follow them around through the story to get a clearer picture of who they are.
In this story, Margaret was fully formed on entry, but James was a little more of a mystery and I chased him a bit trying to figure him out. But whether they walk in fully formed or are a little harder to get to know, my characters are always doing things to surprise me. Sometimes, I’ll just be typing away and gasp, “Oh, no, you didn’t!” It’s actually the best part of writing when characters take on a life of their own and deviate from the script.

What was your favorite scene to write?

I thought this was pretty funny. Even I was surprised at what doofuses the men had been up to this point. And Maggie’s justified reaction to their ridiculous assumption was brilliant. Even James’ Aunt Vivian was perfect in this scene.

“You thought I was Lady X?” Maggie shrieked. Her pain of a moment before turned to outrage.
Ramsey’s eyes shot to her and widened, but Maggie started furiously forward, his outraged aunt on her heels. Apparently, Johnstone’s announcement had scattered James’s thoughts; he gave her a look as if he didn’t know who she was. Mr. Johnstone, of course, hadn’t known she was there. The man turned to gape at her in horror.
“Oh, now, Margaret,” Lord Ramsey began apologetically.
“You thought I was a prostitute?” Maggie repeated coldly as she stopped before him.
“Well, you were in a brothel,” he pointed out reasonably.
Maggie stiffened. She narrowed her eyes, then offered James a rather empty smile.
“Oh, of course. Perfect reasoning, my lord. And so were you. Are you a prostitute, too, then?” she asked caustically. Widening her eyes as if in surprise she cried, “But wait! I was in a men’s club last week. Does that make me a man? Oh! And I fell into the river once. Does that make me a fish? And what if I go into the stables, does that make me a horse? Or a stableboy?” She screwed up her mouth with displeasure. It was the only warning she gave before she yanked her skirts up and kicked him in the shin. Hard.
Cursing, Ramsey grabbed for the injured appendage with one hand and began hopping up and down even as he reached out toward her with the other. “I—”
“I do not wish to hear it, my lord. There is nothing to say. This explains everything.” Turning on her heel, she sailed angrily across the library, only to pause abruptly at the door when Webster appeared there. Lord Mullin was at his side. Ignoring the butler, Maggie turned abruptly on Ramsey’s unsuspecting neighbor.
“I suppose you thought I was Lady X, too?”
“Oh, well,” Robert stammered, then fell into silent bewilderment as he realized the meaning behind her question. When Maggie propped her hands on her hips and began to angrily tap one foot, he managed to shake himself out of his stupefied state and ask, “You mean, you aren’t?”
James could have told his friend that would be the wrong answer, but the other man learned soon enough; Maggie tugged up her skirts and kicked him in the shin. As she had done to him, she left Robert cursing and hopping about on one foot, then pushed past an amazed Webster to storm straight across the hall to the salon. She slammed its door behind her with a crack loud enough that James was sure it was heard in every corner of the manor.
He straightened slowly with a wince to stand on both legs again, and glanced at his aunt. She peered from him to the closed door across the hall, then back again, her expression one of gross disapproval.
“Now, Aunt Viv—” he began, determined to redeem himself in her eyes, but instead let out a curse as his relative, too, wrenched up her skirts and kicked him in the shin. Leaving him imitating a stork once more, the woman whooshed across the library to the door. Lord Mullin had learned his lesson by that point, and was quick to limp out of her way. She stormed out of the room.

What was the most difficult scene to write?

This scene was tricky to write because I needed them to talk about two completely different things while both of them thought they were talking about the same thing (Margaret thinks they’re talking about her writing as G. W. Clark, while James thinks they are discussing her career as the infamous prostitute Lady X). The only reason this misunderstanding could continue was because of their awkward beating around the bush type of conversation due to social politeness back then.

Feeling his sex harden at the thought, he straightened, his lips compressed. He forced out the words: “I realize that there is great pleasure to be found in such endeavors, but—”
“There, you see.” She turned from setting her gloves on his desktop to beam at him. Her delight in eliciting such a confession from him was obvious. “There is nothing to be ashamed of in admitting to it, my lord,” she went on gently, turning to move behind his desk.
“My brother enjoyed it a great deal, too. I begin to think there may be a bit of the adventurer in our family blood. He was quite taken with the entire thing. I know.”
James was shocked, and he asked carefully, “You mean with the brothel?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, he was quite well acquainted with Madame Dubarry,” she admitted. “It was through him, indirectly, that I met her.”
“Through him?” James repeated in horror as he followed her around the desk.
Maggie turned, startled when she found him standing directly behind her. She frowned. “Well, yes. Not directly, you understand. But she came to see me after he died. They had been friends and she—”
“Suggested you go to her brothel?”
“No.” Maggie’s expression grew distracted as her eyes focused on his mouth. He felt her gaze there as an almost physical touch. They were only inches apart, and James became aware that he was crowding her, that she was leaning back slightly because of it, but he couldn’t seem to move away. Her chest was rising and falling at an accelerated rate. Her mouth parted, and he nearly groaned when her tongue slid out to wet her lips. It appeared a wholly unconscious action, but knowing her career, James found that difficult to credit. She was a skilled seductress, and there was no question in his mind that he would be easily seduced.
“Uh . . .” Maggie cleared her throat suddenly, and gave a little shake of her head as if to clear it. Then she said, “Nay. She did not wish me to visit the brothel. She thought it was terribly risky.”
“The woman has more sense than I thought,” James muttered as the tension eased between them. Maggie rolled her eyes before rushing on, “But I assured her it would be fine, that I would wear a disguise. No one would ever find out.”
“But they did,” James argued.
“Yes, well, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” she admitted with obvious resignation.
Taking a deep breath, Maggie forced a smile, then shrugged philosophically and raised her hands to remove the silly little feathered hat that matched her gown.
Lord Ramsey still stood distressingly close, and showed no desire to move away as he asked, “And that is all you have to say? There is no shame?”
Maggie stiffened at the question, the hat half-off her head. “Why should I be ashamed? I realize that earning one’s way in the world is frowned on by the ton, but then few of them have to earn their livelihoods. And many of them don’t care what happens to their servants. Besides, I assure you my brother would not have been ashamed. I suspect the only reason he kept his own behavior secret was to protect me from any taint.”
Lord Ramsey waved away her comment impatiently as he removed his hat and reached around to set it on the desk behind her. “It is different for a man,” he said.
“Oh?” she asked archly. She drew her hands down between them, her hat clutched in her tense fingers.
“How so?” Lord Ramsey frowned, but she continued, “You disappoint me, my lord. I hoped you would be different. That you would not hold men up to one standard and women to another. I thought you an intelligent man.”
He squirmed at the rebuke, and Maggie was pleased to see indecision in his eyes, but then he gave a small shake of the head. “I am sorry, Margaret. I guess I find it hard to believe that you actually enjoyed your foray into the brothel.”
Maggie caught her breath in surprise. This was the first time that Lord Ramsey had called her by her given name and the tone he had used while addressing her was almost gentle. Biting her lip, she confessed what she would have refused to before. “I didn’t. Well, perhaps I did at first. But by the end, I just wanted to get out.”

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

My writing style is pretty consistent regardless of what I’m writing. A Lady In Disguise is the reissue of one of my older historicals, The Reluctant Reformer, and not much has changed. There’s humour, mystery, action and of course a fair amount of romance.
I’m not big on plotting out stories. I tend to write by the seat of my pants and just try to keep up and follow my characters around, which is what I’ve done from the start.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

I want my readers to leave all their stress, anxiety or worries behind and get lost in the story.
I actually forgot how funny this story was so it was a nice surprise when I reread it and laughed a lot. I hope you do as well!

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

As for what I’m working on…
I’m working on the next Argeneau; however, I can’t say too much about it yet as I’ve just started it and I don’t want to jinx it. I will say though that this one feels like it’s going to be a bit of a lighter story compared to the last couple.

As for my upcoming releases…
Argeneau book #30, Immortal Born, comes out September 24th. This one involves Allie, a mortal woman trying to care for an immortal baby. All was well and fine initially, but as the child got older he required more blood than she could healthily give. In desperation, Allie turns to stealing from the local blood bank. Unfortunately, she’s caught red-handed, literally, and the incident catches the attention of the local enforcers. Oh, and did I mention that she’s on the run from immortals, rogue immortals specifically? Unfortunately, she doesn’t know the difference. To Allie, a vamp is a vamp, so when she first sees the Enforcer’s eyes, it sends her into a tailspin. To make things even more interesting, one of the enforcers, Magnus, can’t read her…

The next story in the Highland Brides series, Hunting For The Highlander, will be coming out on January 28th, 2020. Geordie’s story is H-O-T so his is a much sexier story than usual, but with the humor and chaos that the Buchanans tend to bring wherever they go. And we just got a peak of the cover and it’s very pretty. <WG>

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: Two signed paperback editions of A Lady In Disguise!

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: What would you do if you really liked someone, I mean really liked him/her but you found out they were under the mistaken impression that you were a prostitute?

 
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Excerpt from A Lady In Disguise:

“Yoo-hoo! Hello? Are you in some distress?”
Maggie scowled and pushed a bothersome branch away from her face as she listened to the man’s calls from her cramped hiding space. Wonderful! A knight errant thinking to aid a damsel in distress. If only I could be sure that was all he is, she thought with a sigh, then wrinkled her nose. An unpleasant smell was wafting up to her. She wondered briefly at its source, but was then distracted by the sound of snapping branches and the crunch of dead leaves as her “rescuer” moved nearer.
“Yoo-hoo! Can I be of some assistance?”
The racket the man was making as he pushed his way through the bushes drew alongside her, then continued past. Maggie sagged in relief and released the breath she had been holding. It was when she inhaled again that she recalled the odor she’d noticed earlier. It appeared to be growing stronger. Dear God, what is it? she wondered and raised a hand to wave the smell away. The stink increased tenfold, and it was then that she noticed the muck on her hand. She stared at it, slowly coming to a realization.
Horror rushing over her, she set her one hand back to hold her weight as she lifted the other. It, too, bore the stuff. Dear God, she had crawled right into, or through, a pile of animal droppings! Shudders rolled through her, and she suffered a sort of squirmy fit, her body twitching and jerking with disgust as she began frantically wiping first one hand, then the other, on the ground and surrounding branches and leaves in an effort to remove the squishy substance.
“Er . . . excuse me. Hello?” The words, spoken directly behind her, made Maggie pause and turn her head. She peered back through the foliage, only then realizing that the bush wasn’t wide enough to hide her. It ended at her hips. Her derriere—covered by the yellow gown she wore—was sticking out. No doubt it had been thrashing around like some ridiculously huge canary just now. Which must have been a sight for this man to come upon, Maggie thought wearily. This simply wasn’t her day.
“Are you in some distress?”
Maggie almost laughed at his tentative question. Reassuring herself that the reaction wasn’t one of hysteria but amusement, and that surely it was a good sign that her sense of humor was still intact, she answered politely. “Not at all, but thank you for asking.”
“I see. Might I ask what are you doing in there, then?”
This had to be the most humiliating conversation she’d ever had, Maggie decided as she wracked her brain for an explanation that would both satisfy as well as get rid of the man. It was becoming unbearable to have him talk to her behind like this, trapped in the bush as she was.
“Only you, Maggie!” Her brother’s amused voice echoed in her memory, and she silently cursed. She did not deliberately get herself into these messes. They just sort of . . . happened.
“I am bird-watching, and I fear your presence is scaring the birds away,” she blurted.
“Er . . . might you not have more success with your bird-watching by looking up?” he asked.
Maggie promptly wished she could kick herself. It was obvious she did not think well under pressure. “Yes, of course. And I was. However, I . . .” She searched her mind for an acceptable excuse for her position, and was quite pleased when she came up with: “Dropped something.
My . . . er . . . a hairpin!” she announced with triumph. “Ah, there it is. Thank you. Everything is fine now. You may go.” She waited hopefully but was disappointed by the silence that followed. He wasn’t leaving.
“I should be happy to assist you back to your feet now that you have found your hairpin.”
Maggie sighed and considered her options. She didn’t think he believed a word she’d said, and he obviously wasn’t going to simply go away. Crawling backward out of the bush and facing the man was her only option. The very idea made her cringe, but taking a deep breath, she began to scramble out . . . only to stop as her hair caught on a branch.
“Is there something wrong?” came the man’s concerned voice when she paused and gave an exclamation of pain. “Are you caught?”
“Yes, I fear I am,” she answered, leaning on one hand and using the other to try to untangle herself.
“Perhaps I can help.” She heard the words, then felt him grasp her hips. Maggie barely managed a startled gasp before he seemed to realize the impropriety of such a choice, and clasped her by the ankles instead. Which was not a better option, in her opinion. Her feet were pulled out from beneath her as he attempted to drag her out of the bush. She screeched in pain as her hair pulled free of the branch—or perhaps was yanked out of her head, she wasn’t sure which. Then she was traveling backward, her skirt—apparently also caught on a branch—staying in place so that she came out of the foliage flat on her belly with her gown forming a sort of tent over her head.
“Oh, dear!” Her feet were dropped and the man rushed to her side, pulling the material free for her as she struggled to get off her stomach. Dear God, it would be just her luck to have been dragged through the animal droppings! Maggie scrambled to her feet.
Once upright, she raised her hand, intending to push her now wild hair out of her face. The sight made her pause.
“Oh! You’ve mud on your hands.” Retrieving a handkerchief, her “rescuer” began to clean her fingers.
Maggie’s mouth opened, then closed. What could she say? It was too late to stop his ruining the bit of cloth, so she remained silent as he tidied her hands. Her gaze moved over him. She had only caught a glimpse of him earlier, so really wasn’t prepared for his attractiveness. Tall and lean with sandy-colored hair and a charming—if, at the moment, somewhat alarmed—smile. She would place him at the same age Gerald would have been were he still alive. Which was, perhaps, two or three years younger than the man who had kidnapped her.
“I fear that is the best I can do,” he announced apologetically, releasing her streaked hands and tucking the cloth back into his pocket. “Is there something wrong?”
Tearing her alarmed gaze from his pocket, she tried not to feel guilty about his waistcoat now needing cleaning. She was rather amazed that the man wasn’t aware of what he had just wiped off of her, but then she couldn’t smell it now so supposed he couldn’t either. Likely, she had scraped the worst off so that what remained merely looked like mud.
Realizing that he was awaiting an answer to his question, Maggie shook her head. A clump of snarled hair immediately dropped into her eyes and reminded her of her ruined state. Having little choice, she pushed the tangled mess back from her face, then straightened with all the dignity she could muster.
“Thank you,” she offered, then turned on her heel and pushed back through the bushes and out of the trees.
“Just a moment,” he called, hurrying after her as she started up the road.

Maggie had taken several steps in her chosen direction before she realized that she should have gone the other way. She was now heading in the same direction that the carriage was traveling. This man was likely too polite not to offer her a ride.
“Might I assist you to where you are going? I should not like to be unchivalrous,” he added as if he had somehow read her thoughts.
“I thank you for the offer, kind sir. However, that is not necessary.” Maggie didn’t slow her step, but she did roll her eyes. Why were people so predictable? He would have done her a great favor had he been a rude boor and simply returned to his carriage and his journey. It would have been an even greater favor had he not stopped at all, she thought, glancing down at her hands with disgust. She really needed to find some water to clean up. A glance down showed that she had truly crawled right through the muck. The knees of her skirt were brown.
Her mother—were she alive—would have been horrified. Maggie was horrified. Creeping about brothels, and crawling on her knees through the woods!
She sighed miserably as she considered how low she had allowed herself to fall. I used to be such a proper lady, doing and saying the proper things—she mourned, then admitted—well, not always. She hadn’t earned the refrain “Only you, Maggie!” by never setting a single step wrong. Still, she’d managed only mild mishaps in the past, and most of them due to clumsiness or inattention. Since Gerald’s death, she had taken risks she knew she shouldn’t have and—
“You wouldn’t be headed for the village, would you?”
“Yes,” Maggie answered distractedly, then clucked her tongue in irritation. She was sure she should have kept that to herself. She had no idea who this man was. He could be a bounder, or a—
“Then, I fear you are headed in the wrong direction.”
That made her pause. She turned to face him.
“It is back this way,” he continued, gesturing in the direction from which he had come.
Maggie peered up the lane, then sighed. She started in this new direction.
He fell into step beside her. “I should probably introduce myself. Lord Mullin, at your service.”
She stopped again and faced him sharply. “Robert?” His eyebrows raised at the familiar address and Maggie flushed. “I apologize for the familiarity, my lord, but Gerald usually referred to you as Robert in his letters.”
“Gerald?”
“My brother. Gerald Wentworth,” she explained with reluctance.
It was his turn to pause. “Maggie?” he finally gasped, then shook his head and corrected himself. “I mean Lady Margaret?” He grinned. “Gerald often spoke of you. He . . .” Lord Mullin paused and frowned up at the sky as it again began to rain. “Come.”
Before she quite knew what was happening, he had taken her arm and hustled her to his carriage. Ignoring her protests, he ushered her inside, then went to have a word with his driver. Extremely self-conscious about her less-than- pristine state, Maggie folded the sides of her skirt over the front, tucking just a bit of each side panel between her knees to keep the cloth there. The action hid a good deal of her soiled skirt, but did little to hide the smell.
Groaning inwardly, she offered a nervous smile to Lord Mullin as he entered the carriage and pulled the door closed behind him. Settling on the opposite bench seat, he didn’t seem to notice the smell. He was busy grinning. “Gerald’s sister. I can hardly fathom it.”
Maggie offered him a pained smile. She wasn’t surprised he could “hardly fathom it.” She wasn’t exactly at her best. That thought decided her to make an effort to repair at least some of the damage, and she set to work trying to return some semblance of normalcy to her hair. Unfortunately, it appeared that her lie of having lost a hairpin had become a reality. Several of her hairpins had been lost during her sojourn into the bushes.
“Gerald, James, and I were in the same unit. Lord Ramsey,” he added after a moment. “He is my neighbor. In fact, those were his woods you were mucking about in.”
Maggie stilled under his speculative gaze. This man and Lord Ramsey were neighbors? He had been on his way home from the village when he’d come across her, and from his reaction, he had not yet conferred with her abductor . . . Which meant her host’s claims were likely true. Her kidnapper was indeed James Huttledon, Mullin’s neighbor, and the Lord Ramsey her brother had mentioned so frequently. Recalling her brother’s adulation of the man in his letters, she also supposed that Ramsey had been telling the truth regarding his reasons for kidnapping her. He probably had had the best of intentions.
Not that any of them mattered, Maggie decided grimly. She had escaped those good intentions and intended to stay escaped. Banks and the rest of her staff must be quite upset by now. She had to get home and let them know she was all right. Besides, there was surely nothing Lord Ramsey could do. She had been over and over her situation. Carrying on with her journalistic career was the only acceptable way to make the money she needed.
Of course, it didn’t bode well for her escape that she had ended in the carriage of a friend of the man who had kidnapped her. That was rather deucedly bad luck. She was just beginning to ponder what it could mean to her plans when Lord Mullin spoke again.
“What were you doing—”
“You said Gerald spoke of me?” Maggie interrupted to distract him. It worked.
“Spoke of you?” Robert chuckled. “Yes. He spoke of you often. He, James, and I were thick as thieves, and he used to read your letters aloud to us around the fire at night. In fact, between his talking about you and our sharing your letters, I feel as if I already know you. Gerald was very proud of you,” he added with a sad smile.
Maggie returned the expression. Her brother had always liked to talk. She had no doubt that he had regaled his friends with tales of their youth, and that he’d related them as vibrantly as he’d penned the articles for the Express. Gerald had always had a way with words. She hadn’t been at all surprised to learn of his secret occupation; it had suited him.
Her gaze returned to Lord Mullin, and she stiffened. There was a perplexed look on his face, and he was turning his head slowly, sniffing as if seeking the source of some smell.
She flushed with embarrassment.
“I apologize for taking you out of your way,” she said, hoping to divert him.
“Oh.” He turned a distracted smile her way and shook his head. “Not at all. I am glad to have met you. I always hoped to. In fact, I have kept an eye out at the balls and routs, hoping to come across you.”
“I haven’t been attending many balls of late,” Maggie said quietly.
“Ah, yes, of course. I should have realized.” Mullin pulled his sullied kerchief from his pocket and raised it toward his face.
“Oh—” Maggie began, but it was too late. She knew that it had probably been a pleasantly scented kerchief when he’d left home that day, and that he’d likely hoped to use it to filter the stink presently invading his carriage. Instead, he got a noseful of the very scent he was trying to escape.
“Agh!”
She watched in alarm as he began gagging violently and tore the kerchief away. His horrified gaze shot to her hands, then to her innocent expression, then back to her hands. “Your . . . you . . . eh . . .”
“Yes, my lord?” Maggie wasn’t surprised when he sank helplessly back in his seat without comment. It simply wasn’t polite to tell a lady that her hands were covered with animal excrement. Which was rather silly. If such rules were made to prevent embarrassment, they didn’t at all work, Maggie thought; they simply made it so that people suffered their embarrassment in shared silence.
She peered at Lord Mullin’s face. At first alarmed at the growing ruddiness of it, she quickly realized that he was turning red because he was holding his breath.
It is a terribly unpleasant stench, she thought and she promptly began to fan herself. “Is it growing warm in here?”
Lord Mullin was not slow-witted. Looking relieved, he sprang up on his seat and quickly set to work opening the carriage window, inhaling deeply of the fresh air that swept in when he succeeded.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

It’s a case of mistaken identities and unmistakable attraction in New York Times bestselling author Lynsay Sands’ classic historical romance, previously published as The Reluctant Reformer!
Lady Maggie Wentworth must support herself as an investigative reporter. Writing under another name, she’s been exposing the notorious scandals of the ton—this time it’s the “working girls” of London. While interviewing the women, a client enters, and Maggie is shocked to see her beau. She changes clothes with one of the girls and flees out the window, only to be whisked away by a stranger.
Lord James is honoring a deathbed promise: watch over his late friend’s sister. Following Maggie to a house of ill repute, he’s stunned to see her emerge dressed as the notorious Lady X! Hard times must have driven her to such a desperate act, and he is intent on reforming the wanton chit. No amount of protest will stop him from saving her reputation. Now if only he can hold his own desires in check—and keep himself from falling in love.

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Meet the Author:

My name is Lynsay Sands and I’m the author of the Argeneau series and many hysterical historicals (as my readers tend to call them). I have written over fifty-seven books and twelve anthologies, which probably tells you I really enjoy writing. I consider myself very lucky to have been able to make a career out of it.
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