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Catherine Meade swiftly sensed that she could not trust the stranger who rudely thrust himself into her life. He was roughly dressed, but spoke in the accents of an aristocrat. He knew all there was to know of a woman's weaknesses, yet claimed to know nothing of his own past. If Catherine did not think well of the mysterious Mr. Smith from the outset, her opinion only grew worse. It becomes clear that his secrets are scandalous and his nightly trips to London questionable indeed. But even as she exposes one infamy after another about this man who lies as smoothly as he kisses, she comes to find that it is not only his tongue she cannot not trust, but her heart as well.