A Spy Mission...with Jillian Stone (+Giveaway)

A Spy Mission 
on Christmas Eve with Jillian Stone

About the Author:

Jillian Stone is the author of the Phaeton Black, Paranormal Investigator series, which includes The Seduction of Phaeton Black, and the just released, The Moonstone and Miss Jones. The third sequel, The Miss Education of Doctor Exeter, is scheduled to release in summer 2013. Jillian is also the author of The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard series. Watch for A Private Duel with Agent Gunn in late November!

Find Jillian Online: Website | Blog-O-Nauts | Facebook | Twitter

Detective Flynn Rhys is on duty Christmas Eve. Several months back, working a case with Detective Rafe Lewis, he was injured in a dynamite explosion. A rather serious compound leg fracture. Plastered up in a full leg cast, he’s been assigned to surveillance, day and night, weekends and holidays. Resigned to a lonely night ahead, he hunkers down with a pair of binoculars––until a pretty package in red and white arrives.

I am also happy to report that these next few pages, written for Dani and Rita’s Christmas Eve Blogfest, will eventually become the opening chapter of the next Gentlemen of Scotland Yard romantic suspense adventure: A Dragon Kiss from Detective Rhys.-Jillian

A Spy Mission on Christmas Eve

by Jillian Stone

Isle of Dogs, London 1887

Flynn Rhys adjusted the bi-ocular spyglass to afford the best possible view across Rabbit Row. A window had been left uncovered in the second floor of the boarding house––one that rented by the hour. The prostitute working her customer tugged at the pale yellow ribbon on her chemise. “Have a care Lizzy, and show us those rosy tips,” Flynn muttered to himself as an ample bosom sprang from its confines. 

He made an adjustment to his trousers, causing a downward tilt of his binoculars. A bustle of pedestrians traipsed up and down Nightingale Lane, last minute shoppers laden with packages. A dockworker hustled home with a doll under his arm. Flynn counted a half dozen oranges in an open weave sack flung over a sailor’s shoulder. 

The fact that it was Saturday night and Christmas Eve, appeared to double the merriment. The brass buttoned jacket of the local Custom-house officer caught his eye. Ham Brady was a bully of a man with plenty of cheek. Even Brady who never smiled, whistled a tune as he sauntered down the row. 

“Officer Brady up to his usual three penny upright, sir?” Charlie raised the window shade on a dusky twilight. The lamplighters were about. On most Saturday nights, Ham Brady would be sampling a bit street quim in the alley below. But not tonight. Presumably, the man made his way home to a family who found something to love about him.

“You should go home, Charlie––it’s Christmas Eve, for God’s sake.” A street hawker by trade, Charlie Doyle was a strapping lad. Yard men in need of an extra hand, hired him for off the books operations. He slipped a banknote into the young man’s jacket. “Stores will be closed in another hour. Take home a pretty bauble for your sister and mum.”

Reluctant to leave, Charlie hesitated at the door. “I don’t mind staying, sir. We could take turns on watch––between a bit of card play.”

Flynn, grabbed the hearth poker and itched a toe. “Not likely Grey de Ruthyn will be engaged in any gun smuggling tonight.” 

“I wager you’re looking forward to Tuesday, next.” Charlie nodded to the full leg cast. “About time those plaster bandages were off.” 

Flynn had been laid up for months nursing a compound fracture. To keep him from going barking mad, Zeno Kennedy, Chief Inspector, Special Branch, had arranged for something––unofficial. Flynn had been tasked with observing the comings and goings of a storehouse in Wapping, and now a shipping office on the Isle of Dogs.

The very idea of an arms trafficker setting up shop not four doors away from the Board of Trade Office––well, it was a wicked clever ruse. And Simon Grey de Ruthyn was as cunning and bold as they come.

“Out of my sight, lad.” Flynn softened his gaze. “Save me some Christmas dinner.”
“That I will, sir.” Charlie, donned his cap, backing out of the flat. “Roast goose and plum pudd––” Rattled by loud thumps on the door, his helper jumped away.
Another series of thuds and a muffled cries. Flynn separated two voices. One of them was the boarding house proprietress, Mrs. Hardwick.

He and Charlie exchanged looks. One could never be too careful when surveilling Grey de Ruthyn. Flynn tossed the fire poker to Charlie with a nod. “Let’s see who it is.” 
 
His apprentice Yard man had no sooner turned the lock––when the door burst open in a blur of red and white. 

“Young ladies are not allowed to call on gentlemen borders––it’s strictly against the house rules.” Mrs. Hardwick followed after a flurry white lace and red military-style coat. 

“Certainly you can make allowances due to Mister Rhys condition? The smartly dressed intruder tossed the words over her shoulder.

Flynn sat up straight, as much as he could with the cumbersome leg cast. “Alice?” 

“Surprised to see me, cousin?” She made big eyes at him and rolled them toward his sputtering landlady.

He ignored Mrs. Crosby’s protests and took a very long moment to admire everything about Miss Alice Millicent Armistead. Rich, tawny and wheat colored waves of hair blown wild from a horse race through the city. She was even more breathtaking than he recalled––she was a force of nature. A sable fur hat haloed sparkling blue eyes framed by dark lashes. Her nose, as usual, was sprinkled with pale freckles. Cheeks flushed rosy pink from the crisp cold air added a touch of color to a smile that was as genuine and radiant as he remembered. Good Christ, she could arouse Saint Peter in his grave.

She carried a large basket, which she set beside his chair. “Please inform your landlady I am a relative.” She unbuttoned intricate braided closures. Looking up from her coat, she widened her eyes. “Please, Flynn.” 

Reluctantly, he confronted his landlord. “I take it you haven’t been introduced. Mrs. Crosby, it would be my pleasure––”

“Best not have anything to do with your pleasure, Mister Rhys––I hear any sound o’ pleasure coming through these walls, and y’er out on the street.”

“Mrs. Crosby––I’m shocked. A good Christian woman such as yourself, would toss me out on Christmas Eve?” Flynn tried for a stunned, bewildered expression. “The night our savior was born?” 

Mrs. Crosby eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “A warning, Mister Rhys––fornication is a sin against God.” Adding a grunt for emphasis, she eyeballed Alice on her way out the door.
“Charlie––head her off at the stairs and give her this.” Flynn slipped him a fiver. “For the Sisters of Mercy Night Home, on lower Seymour Street.”
 
Charlie tipped his hat and stole another fleeting glance at Alice. What red-blooded young bloke wouldn’t?  

“Tell her the donation came from Miss Armistead,” Flynn paused for emphasis, “…my cousin.” He detected a grin as she tossed her coat over a chair back.

“Yes, sir––very good, sir.” Flynn waited to hear the key turn the lock before he shifted his gaze from the closed door to the beauty standing before him. The dress was simplicity itself. White, virginal, a sheer slip of a dress with delicate cap sleeves and bare shoulders. And the plunging neckline was––most arresting. His eyes traveled down the slope of her breasts. Lovely globes jiggled ever so slightly when she moved, like now. 

She sat down on the edge of the chaise that served as his chair and his bed. “All those months last year, when you were assigned to watch over me? All I ever wanted was for you to look at me like you are doing now.” 

A smile tugged the edges of his mouth. “How am I looking at you?” 

She leaned closer. “Like I’m a present…to be unwrapped.” Her wily Alice charms were on the job, tonight. Flynn’s gaze dropped to her extraordinary mouth––a bit wide with full lips. Dear God, a man could loose control of himself.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He could feel the heat from her breath on his cheek. She moistened her lips and opened her mouth––just enough to be inviting.

So close, now…

She curled the tip of her tongue over the curve of her upper lip––and licked. “Happy Christmas, Detective Rhys.”

~*~*~*~
*Don't forget to stop by Ramblings From This Chick for Tracey Devlyn's Scene*

Just Released! A Private Duel with Agent Gunn:

Prima ballerina Catriona de Dovia lives the glamorous life of a starlet, filled with glittering jewels, sumptuous dinners, and admiring suitors. She’s grown up considerably since losing her heart to Hugh Curzon once upon a time, no longer wasting her emotions on the empty promises of charming gentlemen. On her own since the untimely death of her parents, she will do anything for the only family she has left: her brother, a notorious anarchist.

Scotland Yard Agent Phineas Gunn–sometimes known as Hugh Curzon–receives his new assignment reluctantly. He’s up for something a little more strenuous than playing nanny to a ballerina, until he sees who his charge is. Then, it’s a completely different story, because he’d been unable to forget the trusting, beautiful Cate since he had to leave her behind in Barcelona. And he suspects Cate is more than a ballet girl–in fact, she just might be a jewel thief, or even more arousing–a clever undercover operative.

Finn is determined to find out as the two race across the Continent–by land, by sea, even through the air by zephyr–it becomes uncertain who is keeping tabs on whom, and Finn and Cate must battle the sexual tension that snaps and sizzles between them every step of the way.

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Jillian is giving away a copy of her book, A Private Duel with Agent Gunn, to one lucky commenter (Open International)! Make sure to leave a meaningful comment below AND fill out the rafflecopter.

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