Alyssa Alexander here, ready to shout to the world that the fourth book in the Spy In The Ton series has arrived!
THE LADY & MR. JONES is about, naturally, Jones, a spy who slipped in and out of the other books. Strong and silent, with shoulders ready to bear any responsibility and a strict sense of honor, I felt he more than deserved his own happy ever after–even if Jones himself didn’t believe he deserved one. Along came Cat Ashdown, and suddenly I had just the right woman for Jones. Unfortunately, while they might be perfect for each other, life has a tendency to get in the way…
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 …
Terror could steal breath and freeze muscle, while still setting the heart thundering.
Cat wanted to run, to slip back over the side of the ship and simply run. But Jones bent over, pulled a knife from his boot, and stood again—all in one movement, as if it were as natural as breathing.
Clearly, terror had not affected him.
His free hand was warm when he took hers, despite the chill of the rain. That heat stole through damp gloves to her numb fingers. He tugged gently, pulling her behind him as they moved across the deck. They crouched behind a stack of crates, but she knew it couldn’t possibly hide them.
Jones set his lips to her ear. “Stay close. We’re going to the captain’s quarters. There.” He nodded toward the stern of the ship.
Small mullioned windows stood sentinel on either side of a doorway, flanking it with glass diamonds glowing gold from the light within. Shadows moved beyond, voices little more than water lapping against the hull.
“If the watchman turns around, you run.”
“And you?” she whispered, trying to ignore the watchman happily guzzling ale from the tankard he’d just dunked into a barrel across the deck.
“I’ll use this.” The light from the captain’s quarters shone gold on the knife blade. Cat shuddered, but there was nothing to do but follow.
Only she didn’t follow. Jones pushed her forward, keeping himself between her and the watchman. She did not have to look to see if the knife was out, or if Jones was behind her. Both would be true.
They were out in the open now, though night was nearly upon them. Scrabbling across the decking, she led them to the cabin and crouched beneath the windows. Back against the wall, gasping, she looked out over the deck. The watchman picked his teeth with his knife between sips of ale, still oblivious to them.
“Idiot.” Disgust coated every consonant and vowel. Jones grappled in his coat for something. “Here, take this. Keep it trained on him. If he moves, shoot.”
A pistol was shoved into her hands.
“What?” She tried not to shout. As it was, the word was well above a whisper and sent her gaze toward the watchman. She fumbled the weapon, prayed she wouldn’t accidentally press the trigger, and finally held it steady.
“I need a few minutes. We’re too far for a knife throw to be deadly. At the least, the sound of a shot will give you time to get back to the docks.”
They were going to die.
“What are you doing?” Her hands were steady with the pistol and Cat counted that a boon.
“Cracking the door so we can hear.” He spun on the balls of his feet and reached for the handle. “Do you have my back?”
His eyes were dark, the planes of his face hard—but it was him. The core of Jones was here, as if someone had lit a candle to reveal his soul. Whatever and whoever he was, this man was in his element.
“I have your back, Jones.”