Women lead boardrooms. We serve in Congress and in the Armed Forces. A woman can pursue any field of study she wishes.

It’s sometimes easy to forget it was not always so. In the 19th century, women were legally considered on a par with children or the mentally deficient. When a woman married, she gave up the rights to her own money, having to rely on the largess of her husband, even if she was the one who brought wealth in the form of a dowry or property to the union. (On the flip side, a woman wasn’t held responsible for her own debts either. They were regarded as her husband’s. As a result, some heavily indebted women agreed to marry inmates of Fleet Prison who would then assume their debts. Since the men were already incarcerated, nothing worse could happen to them!)

A woman took her standing in society from the men in her life. She was accorded respect if she was an important man’s daughter. Her husband’s rank determined her social circle. If she gave birth to the heir of an estate she was assured of lifelong support.

One of the first women to recognize the inequity of this situation was Mary Wollstonecraft (1759 – 1797). Women were not inferior to men, she argued. They were merely denied the education that would allow them to live as rational beings.

My heroine in Touch of a Rogue is a devotee of Wollstonecraft’s philosophy and is fully aware of her smaller place in the world because she was born female. That’s why my widowed Countess of Cambourne is in no hurry to surrender the freedoms of widowhood to another husband. Men are convenient at times, but she likes being in control of her own life.

And she likes the fact that Jacob Preston is in her employ, though she’s light enough in the pockets not to offer to pay him till after he helps her prove that her husband did not commit suicide and find the last in a set of six daggers with reputedly magical properties. In the following excerpt, the former actress-turned-countess convinces Jacob to take her case:

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“The manuscript hinted at magical properties in the blades, which my husband discounted, of course.”

“What sort of magical properties?” Jacob Preston asked

“Oh, the usual things one encounters in medieval texts. Special power over others, the ability to turn lead to gold, immortality to the bearer of the blades, that sort of fantastical claim,” Julianne said, waving it away as unimportant. “Algernon was adamant about finding the missing pieces of the set.”

“Let me guess,” Mr. Preston said. “Because the magical properties would only be expressed if one possessed all six daggers?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t my husband’s motivation. He was a serious collector, devoted to history and—”

“And power, wealth and immortality held no allure for him? What a paragon your late husband must have been,” Preston said with a wry grin. “Let us assume the earl’s motives were altruistic. Why do you wish to find the daggers?”

“My husband spent the last part of his life on this quest. He found and acquired five of them. I would like your help locating the final blade.”

“Again, why?”

“Because . . . it was my husband’s desire to see them reunited.”

“Not because you believe in magic?”

“Heavens, no!” Mr. Preston didn’t need to know what she intended to do with the full set once she had it. She lowered her gaze and let the tears gather once again. “Call it a widow’s way of dealing with her grief. Reuniting this set of arcane weapons was my husband’s life’s work. He was obsessive about it, particularly near the end. If I finish Algernon’s quest, it will help ease the pain of our parting.”

She was startled by the sound of soft applause.

“Brava, Mrs. True. Well played. Your thespian skills are as sharp as ever,” he said sardonically. “As believable a grieving wife as ever I’ve seen.”

She glared at him. “Why do you mock me?”

“Nonsense. I applauded, didn’t I?” He rose and deposited the dagger on the mantel. “I will keep this for a time, so that I may study it.”

Her irritation dissipated slightly. “Then you agree to help me?”

“Almost. There is a final requirement before I commit to this endeavor.”

“If it’s a question of payment for your services—”

“We’ll deal with that later, after I’ve been successful,” he said. “No, I need to know who I’m dealing with and you, madam, are an enigma.”

“But I’ve told you—”

“Only what you wish me to know.” He rubbed his chin as if pondering his predicament. “With most clients, a handshake enables me to get a sense of what’s driving them, who they really are.”

“All that from a handshake? And you claim to have no crystal ball,” she said with a snort.

He leaned down and rested his large hands on the armrests of her chair, pinning her to the tufted back. “But in your case, milady, a connection of a more . . . personal nature will be required.”

Of all the cheek! “You have an exaggerated sense of your own importance, Mr. Preston. I will not bed you simply to procure your services.”

This time, he was the one who snorted.

“Why, Lady Cambourne, what a charming idea! But I wasn’t suggesting a bedding at present. We hardly know each other. However, I must say I’m pleased with the direction in which your thoughts have turned. Believe me, you are not alone in your musings on the subject.”

He ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “But no, all that I require of you at the moment . . . is a kiss.”

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Hope you enjoyed that excerpt! Leave a comment or question for a chance to win an advance reading copy of Touch of a Rogue–one of Publishers Weekly’s Top Ten Romances for Spring 2012!

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