Quotes:
"Warm, witty, and wonderfully sexy."
--Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author

Under the covers:
"The kernel of To Wed A Scandalous Spy grew from the second book I wrote but never published--a story I called An Uncommon Fancy. There is very little of that story left in TWASS, except for the character of Willa. I just love her. I've always been the one to stop and watch the ants, so I really related to her fascination with all things wild. Nathaniel has been waiting for three books to find some peace from his fate as scapegoat for all the things that went on in The Impostor, so I was really glad to give him a love of his own. Ah, so many men, so little time..."

Excerpt:
Another day, another suitor carried off in pieces.

Willa Trent sighed as she bent to pluck a stone from the country lane. Poor Timothy, so young to be scarred for life. He’d been so brave about it all.

"Don't fret, Miss Willa," he’d said. "I’m sure to be up and walking in no time." And he’d smiled at her even while his leg was being splinted and his bleeding head was wrapped.

Well, no more. From now on, the affliction would be hers to bear alone. Not that it had ever harmed her directly, but then, if a future of lonely spinsterhood wasn’t harm, what was?

She drew a deep breath. That was the past--this morning counted as past, didn't it?--and she had never been one to waste today on yesterday. Just as her dream of seeing something of the world had never come true, so her dream of belonging in a family of her own seemed as though it would never come true. She was sure that in time, she would adjust.

Not that she was disheartened or anything of the sort, but she had decided to spend the rest of the day on her own, away from both the sympathy and the smirks of the villagers. With a sigh, Willa left the lane and returned to the field beyond the hedge. As usual, she was cheered by the hues of the evening sky and the green of the rolling Northamptonshire fields.

Which hid the despicable small secrets she was determined to uncover today. It was not yet hunting and trapping season, and she had just found another nasty saw-toothed trap near a clear-running beck. All she needed to do was to trigger it before doing her best to smash it with a rock.

Willa closed one eye, just as she had been instructed to by the young boy who had lent her the slingshot. Unfortunately, little Seth wasn’t here now, so she couldn’t ask him which eye. She shrugged. One eye was no doubt as good as another. Aiming for the precise center of the round flat trigger of the rusted poacher’s trap, she pulled back the strap of the slingshot as far as possible and let go.

###

Grim anticipation rose from deep within Nathaniel Stonewell, Earl of Reardon, as he urged his gelding to an ever increasing pace. He was close behind his quarry now. On Blunt he'd been able to make one stride for every two of the traitorous Sir Foster's lesser mount, ruthlessly eating up the distance between them.

This afternoon Nathaniel had paused to water Blunt at a coaching inn, only to learn that a man matching Foster's description had passed through mere hours before. Since then, Nathaniel had kept Blunt to a punishing pace that only the great-hearted thoroughbred could match. Night would fall soon, and Nathaniel had great hopes of catching up to Foster when the traitor took his rest in the village that Nathaniel had been informed lay shortly ahead.

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed against the wind created by Blunt's gallop and he rose in the stirrups, riding as lightly as a jockey, or at least as lightly as a man of his size could ride. So close.…