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About MY ROGUE, MY RUIN“Smart and fast-paced with plenty of steam! This writing duo is a powerhouse of talent!” – New York Times bestselling author Sophie Jordan He stole their riches, she stole his heart The Marquess of Hawksfield’s lineage is impeccable and his title coveted, but Archer Croft is as far from his indulgent peers as he can get. His loathing for the beau monde has driven him to don a secret identity and risk everything in order to steal their riches and distribute them to the less fortunate. Lady Briannon Findlay embraces her encounter with the Masked Marauder, a gentleman thief waylaying carriages from London to Essex. The marauder has stirred Brynn’s craving for adventure, and she discovers an attraction deeper than the charming thief’s mask. Brynn is a revelation, matching Archer in intelligence, wit, and passion. Stubborn and sensuous in equal measure, she astonishes him at every turn, but when someone sinister impersonates Archer’s secret personality, and a murder is committed, Archer begins to think he doesn’t stand a fighting chance without her.
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Lady Briannon Findlay was going to die.
She sat back against the squabs inside her father’s coach, her eyes locked on the lethal nose of a polished pistol barrel, and half-wished she had worn a finer gown for the occasion. As it stood, her body would be found on the side of the road in the most atrocious gray velvet dress known to man. She might have had a fighting chance had she been wearing her breeches. And her pistol. Sadly, she had neither.
“No displays of heroism, please,” a voice behind the gun drawled.
All sense of time slowed to a dull stop, and Brynn’s breath lodged like a stone in her throat. Beckett, their coachman, stood within the open gap of the carriage door, his white curled wig gone from his head, exposing a mop of red hair. He was not alone. A man suited in black, with a black mask obscuring most of his face, stood beside the coachman, the barrel of a second pistol tucked into Beckett’s ribs. Her heart hammered a brutal staccato in her chest.
“Now that we have that out of the way, shall we begin?” the man said with a slow, breaking smile. His teeth caught the shine of the carriage lantern, and Brynn frowned. The highwayman that had just set upon their carriage on the darkened, private lane running between her family’s estate and the neighboring grounds of Worthington Abbey, possessed, quite possibly, the finest smile she had ever seen.
What sort of robber smiled at his victims? Despite the pistols he held and the fear that gripped her, it was his perplexing mouth she was staring at when her mother, seated on the bench opposite, let out with a bloodcurdling scream. Brynn clapped her gloved hands over her ears as Lady Dinsmore’s long-winded screech finally waned and croaked off.
The masked man hadn’t flinched. Instead he vaulted a mocking eyebrow to match the smirk on his lips. “My good woman, have a care for the eardrums of your fellow travelers and refrain from doing that again. I assure you, I do not intend for anyone to lose their hearing tonight—just their valuables.”