Undercover by Rebecca Crowley

Author:Rebecca Crowley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance
ISBN: 9781951190002
Publisher: Tule Publishing Group, LLC
Published: 2019-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Asher grinned automatically at Sir Richard’s lewd jibe, the reaction made instinctive by hours in the man’s company but now at least vaguely numbed by alcohol. Tonight’s dinner had been longer and boozier than its predecessor, the guests buoyed by the morning’s successful hunt and eager to soak up every minute of luxury before the party ended at midday on Sunday.

He had stayed close to Sir Richard, who in turn had been joined at an early hour by Lord Fenton. Asher worked hard to play his part as the turncoat journalist looking for a road into corporate communications, and as the night wore on—and the champagne flutes were repeatedly refilled—Lord Fenton’s attitude gradually moved from lingering skepticism to hearty friendship.

After dinner everyone retired to the two-story library for brandy. Asher was exhausted, irritated, and ready to whisk Ada upstairs to bed, but he pressed on, driven by a tenuous sense of triumph.

He’d gotten a seat at Lord Fenton’s table, just like his brothers wanted. All he had to do was wait for the sly old man to trip up and say something he shouldn’t.

The way the glass tumbler tilted dangerously in Lord Fenton’s hand suggested he wouldn’t have to wait long.

“Now, where is this legendary collection of first editions you keep boasting about?” Lord Fenton asked Lord Woodmore, who pressed his palms together in delight.

“On the upper level. Come along, I’ll show you.”

The two men hauled themselves up from their low, leather chairs.

Lord Woodmore gave him an inquiring glance. “Will you join us, Brody?”

Asher shook his head, desperate for a break. “I’ll check on Ada. Make sure she’s not getting into too much trouble.”

“Good idea.” Lord Woodmore smiled wolfishly, and as his aristocratic companions made their way over to the wheel-mounted ladder that led to the library’s terraced second level, he followed the line Woodmore’s gaze had drawn across the room.

Up and out from behind the shield of the dinner table, Ada stood facing a semicircle of admirers, male and female. He got the full effect of her dress for the hundredth time since he’d watched her put it on in their room, yet the hard-on he’d managed to tame returned so forcefully it knocked the air out of his lungs.

Black. Tight. Short. The fine contours of her collarbone, and the more rounded slopes of her breasts. The long, slender arch of her neck and the confident jut of her chin, accentuated by dark hair loosely pinned at the level of her jaw.

Then she turned around, and he nearly lost his mind.

The back of the dress—well, it didn’t really have a back. A deep V ended low on her spine, exposing a decadent stretch of bare, creamy skin. He watched the smooth play of her shoulder blades, studied the filament-soft hairs at the nape of her neck, wondered how much longer he could conceivably keep himself from touching her. An hour? Forty-five minutes?

She reached to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, the movement drawing her dress away from her body just enough for him to glimpse the shadowed curve where her breast met her ribs.

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