The Lady and Mr. Jones
by Alyssa Alexander
Series: Spy in the Ton, #4
Genre: Historical Romantic Suspense
Publisher: Entangled Publishing
Publisher: Entangled Publishing
Release Date: November 27, 2017
She can never be his…
Born in the rookeries, the hard life is something Jones is all too familiar with. Saved as a young boy, he was trained to be a spy, one of the best--elite, in fact. He now spends his days serving His Majesty in espionage, hunting rogue spies. His latest assignment, though, has him tracking a fellow spy…
Cat Ashdown is a baroness. Nothing is more important than protecting five hundred years of heritage. She knows every detail of every estate that commands the largest income in Britain— yet her father placed her inheritance in trust to her uncle who is forcing her to marry a man she has no desire for. The baroness’s battle against law and convention leads her to Jones and results that are surprising … and possibly unwanted.
“Are we finished under the desk? I would like to stand, please. My legs are aching.”
There was a dry humor to her words, and he wondered if she were amused by their situation.
Certainly the two of them hiding beneath a desk, one after the other in order to avoid discovery, would be comical to witness.
“It’s probably safe.” Etiquette warred with protection in his mind, as he debated allowing her to leave the cubbyhole in advance as a lady should, or leaving before to ensure her safety.
She did not wait for his direction. She solved the dilemma by shifting to her hands and knees amid the swish of linen.
“This is so odd,” the baroness muttered as she crawled from beneath the desk. Her nightshift caught beneath her knees and she wrestled to free the fabric. He was treated to the most delightful pulling and stretching of thin linen over her bottom. “It’s also embarrassing,” she finished.
“I’m finding the view enjoyable.” The words fell from his lips before he could stop them. It was the most ungentlemanly comment he could make. Surely she would see, with a single statement, that he was nothing but a boy from the streets.
“I beg your pardon?” On her hands and knees, the baroness turned to look over her shoulder at him. She narrowed her eyes, but did not move. That lovely bottom stayed in front of him. Taunting him.
“My apologies, my lady.”
She scooted out from beneath the desk, movements quick and sharp.
“My words were inexcusable.” He did not look anywhere but into her eyes as he crawled from beneath the desk, refusing to allow his gaze to stray to any other part of her anatomy. He hoped it would put her at ease and make him feel less like a clod.
“It was.” But she did not sound panicked or prudish, only drew in a long breath and let it out again. “You should not say such things.”
“No, my lady.” But time mattered, so he unfolded himself to his full standing height, leaving her sitting on the study floor and looking up at him. She hesitated, then began to struggle to her feet.
“Please, allow me.” He spoke softly, holding out a hand and hoping she would not be so disappointed by his lack of finesse as to refuse his offer of assistance.
She stared at his hand with an expression he could not read. He looked down, expecting to see something frightening or strange attached to him, but he saw only his hand, gloveless to ease his search. It was not smooth or elegant as a man of her station’s would be, but wide, with blunt fingers and calluses.
Still, she set her hand in his and let him assist her to stand. Soft and smooth skin moved against his hand with none of the roughness marking his own flesh.
He wondered if she could feel his base birth through his very skin.
There was a dry humor to her words, and he wondered if she were amused by their situation.
Certainly the two of them hiding beneath a desk, one after the other in order to avoid discovery, would be comical to witness.
“It’s probably safe.” Etiquette warred with protection in his mind, as he debated allowing her to leave the cubbyhole in advance as a lady should, or leaving before to ensure her safety.
She did not wait for his direction. She solved the dilemma by shifting to her hands and knees amid the swish of linen.
“This is so odd,” the baroness muttered as she crawled from beneath the desk. Her nightshift caught beneath her knees and she wrestled to free the fabric. He was treated to the most delightful pulling and stretching of thin linen over her bottom. “It’s also embarrassing,” she finished.
“I’m finding the view enjoyable.” The words fell from his lips before he could stop them. It was the most ungentlemanly comment he could make. Surely she would see, with a single statement, that he was nothing but a boy from the streets.
“I beg your pardon?” On her hands and knees, the baroness turned to look over her shoulder at him. She narrowed her eyes, but did not move. That lovely bottom stayed in front of him. Taunting him.
“My apologies, my lady.”
She scooted out from beneath the desk, movements quick and sharp.
“My words were inexcusable.” He did not look anywhere but into her eyes as he crawled from beneath the desk, refusing to allow his gaze to stray to any other part of her anatomy. He hoped it would put her at ease and make him feel less like a clod.
“It was.” But she did not sound panicked or prudish, only drew in a long breath and let it out again. “You should not say such things.”
“No, my lady.” But time mattered, so he unfolded himself to his full standing height, leaving her sitting on the study floor and looking up at him. She hesitated, then began to struggle to her feet.
“Please, allow me.” He spoke softly, holding out a hand and hoping she would not be so disappointed by his lack of finesse as to refuse his offer of assistance.
She stared at his hand with an expression he could not read. He looked down, expecting to see something frightening or strange attached to him, but he saw only his hand, gloveless to ease his search. It was not smooth or elegant as a man of her station’s would be, but wide, with blunt fingers and calluses.
Still, she set her hand in his and let him assist her to stand. Soft and smooth skin moved against his hand with none of the roughness marking his own flesh.
He wondered if she could feel his base birth through his very skin.
Also in the Series
Book 1: The Smuggler Wore Silk
Book 2: In Bed With A Spy
Book 3: A Dance With Seduction
a Rafflecopter giveaway
No comments:
Post a Comment