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Michael Coulton-Jones — master of disguises and reluctant heir. |
If you enjoy heroes who grin at danger and bow over a lady’s hand as if the world were nothing more than a ballroom—you might like Mr. Michael Coulton-Jones.
At first glance, Michael is exactly the sort of Regency gentleman who should not be trusted.
He is broad-shouldered and deceptively relaxed. His coffee-brown hair falls longer than fashion dictates, often into glass-green eyes that seem to be laughing at a joke no one else has heard. He speaks French like a commoner from the countryside and Spanish like it is a childhood lullaby.
He is charming. Reckless. Quick with a blade. Quicker with a smile.
And he lies for a living.
A Spy in Disguise
As a younger son, Michael joined the army at seventeen, where his gift for languages and his ease with disguises drew the attention of men who worked quietly in the shadows. Before long, he was no longer simply a soldier. He was retrieving information, slipping through borders, trading false documents for real ones. He learned to become other men as easily as changing coats.
He cultivated a persona—the fool, the adventurer, the rogue who never appears worried. It made people underestimate him. It kept him alive.
But even then, he had somewhere to return to—his family’s estate only an hour from London, a steady older brother who handled responsibility, a charming younger sister, and a mother who believed him merely restless, not dangerous.
His anchor was his brother Richard.
And then Richard was murdered.
The Brother He Could Not Save
Michael could have prevented the tragedy. That’s what haunts him the most.
Richard had written to him after a friend had been killed and he suspected a man with strange facial scars was involved. But Michael was in the middle of a mission and didn’t take it seriously enough.
By the time he returned to England, Richard was dead—officially poisoned along with other club members in what was called an unfortunate incident.
But Michael knew otherwise. Richard’s papers regarding the strange man were missing.
His own unconcern gave evil time to strike.
He hasn’t forgiven himself, and he wonders if God has not forgiven him either.
The Archer He Should Not Want
Before all of that—before grief hardened him—Michael had met a woman who unsettled him.
He was drawn to Miss Phoebe Sauber from the first moment they were introduced—she was awkwardly tall but pragmatic, not impressed by his flirtations. He was intrigued because she did not seem to need him.
But a spy’s life is not kind to attachment, and he’d already learned to keep women at arm’s length. Better to remain unattached. Better to remain free.
So he left her alone.
And then Richard died.
Michael’s focus narrowed to one thing—finding the truth behind his brother’s murder.
A Dangerous Reunion
When Michael encounters Phoebe again, it is not in a ballroom.
It’s when she nearly uses him for target practice.
She found her arrow lodged, not in a victim, but knee-height in a tree trunk at a downward angle, and it had caught a strangely shaped leaf against the bark. As she yanked it out of the tree and the leaf fluttered to the ground, a snapping twig behind her made her tense. It did not sound like anyone from her party who may have been running into the trees after her—it was an isolated sound, made from a slow-moving foot, like someone sneaking up on her.
It had not occurred to her that it might be dangerous for a young woman to be alone on the Heath, where she and her friends often had social gatherings. But these trees extended back hundreds of yards, and anyone could be sneaking around within.
Phoebe clenched the arrow tightly, regretting that she had dropped her bow. She straightened, trying to appear relaxed, listening for sounds other than the leaves dancing in the wind. Then she whirled around, her right arm pulled back and brandishing the arrow overhand like a dagger. At the very least, if there was someone behind her, she could try to stab them.
“Whoa! Whoa!” A tall man stood about ten feet—no, twenty feet distant as he backed away from her, his hands raised in front of him. “I apologize, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The man’s voice had a strong country accent, but the timbre was familiar. At first glance, he didn’t look like anyone she knew. His plain colored clothes were made of rough-woven fabric, stained with dirt in places, and his shoes were old cracked leather. His coat was shabby and poorly sewn, and much too short for him. He had a large nose and deep chin, and his eyes, shadowed by heavy brows, were glass-green.
But then she recognized something about his limbs, the way he moved his hands, the general shape of his face—and those glass-green eyes. “Mr. Coulton-Jones?” she exclaimed in surprise.
She had seen him only rarely over her past several Seasons because he had been fighting on the Peninsula up until last year, when his older brother had died. They had been introduced at a ball in her second Season, and he had danced with her only that one time. While she had a good memory for names and faces, that wasn’t the reason she remembered him clearly—it was because he had made an impact upon her that she hadn’t wanted, but couldn’t erase.
Mr. Coulton-Jones controlled his face admirably, affecting a confused look. “I’m sorry, miss, but you’re mistaken.”
She was not. Like a woman deranged and obsessed (which she very well might be), she had covertly watched him at every gathering they attended together. This was most definitely him. “Mr. Coulton-Jones, why are you dressed like that? And your face … is that stage cosmetics? It’s quite realistic.”
He hesitated for several seconds, and she could tell he was debating between continuing to deny his identity or abandoning his act. The certainty in her gaze must have decided it for him, because he relaxed and his normal saucy smile quirked up the edge of his mouth. “You have me at a disadvantage, Miss Sauber.”
From there, they discover they’re both caught in a web of secrets that stretches farther than either of them expected. Michael discovers that Phoebe’s own uncle may have had ties to the very conspiracy that killed Richard.
Now the woman who unsettles his carefully constructed detachment is suddenly entangled in the same darkness he is hunting. The two of them are drawn together by questions neither can answer alone and a growing awareness that neither truly wants to be rootless.
Guilt, Forgiveness, and a Slow-Burn Love
The story has espionage and secret societies. But it also is about Michael’s guilt over failing his brother.
Phoebe sees what he hides—the grief he buries beneath humor, the daredevil courage that masks shame. And she, too, carries wounds of her own.
Their romance does not resolve quickly.
This series is a serial novel, and their love unfolds gradually across multiple volumes. Trust is earned. Wounds are revealed slowly. Faith is wrestled with honestly. Forgiveness—of others and of oneself—is not immediate.
Michael may be fearless in battle, but learning to hope again is far more dangerous.
If you enjoy:
- A master of disguises who can become anyone—except the man he wishes he were
- A heroine strong enough to face danger beside him
- An ensemble cast investigating a conspiracy threaded through Regency society
- And a slow-burn Christian romance rooted in redemption
… then you may enjoy meeting Michael and Phoebe.
Their story begins in Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 1, and the conspiracy that took Richard’s life has only just begun to unfold. Read the first 3 chapters here.
