Fortune's Folly – excerpt

Read Free on Kindle Unlimited! Fortune’s Folly — Historical Fiction. When Eden’s father is sent to prison, she plans his escape. Needing money, she becomes the legendary Giselle, a beautiful, daring thief. Soon the hunt is on for her: Crown agents, Montréal police, an infamous smuggler she cheated, a brother-in-law she robbed. And what about the man she almost loved, the man who betrayed her?   https://www.amzn.com/dp/B07SXBZBM2

 

Fog rose from the river and drifted through the streets. The night was cool and silent but for the muffled sonority of a fog horn and the occasional distant clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

 

The courier, clutching a package to his chest, crept along the walkway. He paused every few steps and cupped his ear.

 

So close she could smell his fear, Eden kept a steady pace behind him. Another corner and they would be alongside large buildings, empty at night. A corner streetlamp provided scant illumination in the thickening fog.

 

Four quick steps and she poked the pistol barrel into his back. “M’sieur, please turn.” He swung about, his face a pale blur, his mouth quivering. “Give me your package.”

 

“N—no,” he croaked. “Not this one, Ma’mselle.”

 

“Do not refuse.” Her voice was sharp. “Now, or it is the end of you.”

 

His heart thumped, fierce and loud. Or could that be footsteps?

 

“Oh, please, no, I beg you—”

 

She grasped the package and wrestled him for it. He seemed desperate; she was determined. When she struck him on the side of his head with the pistol butt, his breath came out in a rush and he dropped like a bundle of rags.

 

Oh God, what have I done? The package under her arm, she squatted beside him and felt his chest. She bit back a sob. He was unconscious, yes, but breathing well. And no blood. She straightened and whirled, only to stumble into another, taller figure.

 

He held her by the shoulders. “What is your hurry, Ma’mselle?”

She struggled against his unyielding grip. The pistol fell and vanished into the fog. Her heart drummed. She had walked into a trap!

 

“Little thief,” Laurent said. One fist clasping her upper arm, he yanked the package away and swept the hood off her head.

 

Frozen by dread, by his hard grip, she took slow, steady breaths. There had to be a way—

 

“And this.” He batted her hand away and untied her cloak, letting it slide to the ground. She flinched. “Your beauty dazzled Colchard.” A moment of silence. “Yes, you are fine to look at.” He reached for her mask, his fingertips brushing her cheek.

 

She’d throw herself into his arms. He’d have to catch her. And—

 

He lost his balance and took quick backward steps, dropping the package. Someone swung an arm around Laurent’s neck and dragged him away. They disappeared in the fog, emerging a moment later. Laurent looked in full combat with his attacker. Eden winced at each dull thud and growl.

 

She groped for the pistol, retrieved the package and wrapped it in her cloak. A jarring crack, a low groan, and all sounds of scuffle ceased.

 

If she slipped away it didn’t matter who had been victorious. She sidled toward faint light in the distance. The mists parted. A single figure emerged. It was not Laurent.

 

 

--Cat

Excerpt — The Queen of Paradise Valley

She expected to be surprised. But she was astonished. No longer the dun colored settlement she remembered, Rennieville had tripled in size, was now a sprawling town teeming with noisy transport rigs of all sizes and types. People, young and old, rough and refined, bustled from one place of enterprise to another. As she maneuvered the buggy along South Street she passed many saloons and bordellos, their business already brisk in early afternoon.

Main Street used to be a pathway that began on an empty prairie, passed nine or ten buildings and thirty or less homes, and ended between wooded hills rising to the Sangre de Cristo range. Now it boasted plank walkways on both sides that served a multitude of storefronts, their colorful business signs protruding above their doors.

For her venture into town Diana wore a high-necked, long-sleeved black serge gown, and despite the heat maintained a glacial facade. She was glad her simple hat sported a net veil, for she sensed curious stares from everyone she passed. No doubt they knew who she was with the silver Double R, the ranch brand, emblazoned on the sides of the buggy.

The hotel was more than twice its former size and displayed a decorative frieze below the roof line. The word pompous lodged in her mind as she stepped onto the boardwalk, her eyes drawn to a sign that proclaimed in flourishing letters, Rennieville Grand Hotel. Pompous and arrogant. She turned, collided with a solid body. She tottered and dropped her reticule.

"Sorry, ma'am." The man reached for her arms to steady her.

She pulled away, stepped back. Like a ranch hand after a sweltering day of work, he stank of sweat and horse; prairie dirt layered his clothes and the saddlebags slung over his shoulder. He stooped to retrieve her reticule and she lifted her veil.

He tipped his hat. “Here ma'am--"

Their eyes met and his polite half smile vanished. Her heart plummeted with dizzying speed, her feet lost contact with an earth no longer there. Breath hissing through her teeth, she snatched her reticule, turned and fled into the hotel.

She leaned on the door and fought to compose herself, to cast off fear that descended like a suffocating blanket. It could not be him.  He had died two years ago. She remembered the day Clem told her. A prison break. He'd been hunted down and killed. And she had wrestled with alternating waves of shock, dismay, guilt, and relief.

Relief had won.

With slow, deliberate steps she crossed the lobby to the desk. Her voice taut, she requested a room and asked if her brother was in his suite.

"He's out.” The clerk peered at her through round spectacles. “Did you say Randolph Rennie is your brother? Then you are--"

“Yes, I am." She managed to sign the register with a steady hand.

"Miss Rennie, for you our best room." He snapped his fingers and a boy arrived to show her the way. She barely noticed climbing two flights of stairs and walking along a dim hallway. Inside the room her control began to crumble and her hand shook as she thrust a coin at the boy. The door closed behind him and she shot to the window.

The man was gone; a sturdy couple with a cavorting boy now stood on the spot. It must have been someone with a slight resemblance. Those eyes though, variegated slate and silver irises, inky pupils widening with--what? Suspicion? Curiosity? Not recognition. Not that!

But she remembered his eyes most of all, how he had looked at her with the smoky passion of a lover, then the crushing contempt of a criminal on his way to prison.
Deep breaths. Deep and steady. Panic ebbed; heartbeat steadied. She had important things to do today and couldn't afford to sit here revisiting her biggest mistake.



— Cat

Fortune's Folly – new excerpt

 From chapter 10

 

"Miss O'Rourke." He took off his hat, bowed, and showed her a charismatic smile. In his well-cut suit he was an aristocratic ideal, the prince of fairy tales, an idle hunter of foxes. And perhaps women?

She gave him a poised nod. A sudden burst of cool air swirled about her, and she shivered and rubbed her arms.

"Cold?" His smile thinned. "I'm not surprised, seeing you're only partially dressed."

She edged sideways. "I must go. People are waiting for me."

"You left items in the cove." He donned his hat and withdrew a bundle of white cambric from inside his coat. Heat surged across her face. "Such fine garments, Miss, a soft chemise and lace-trimmed drawers. The petticoat was too bulky to fit my pocket."

"Where did you get those?" She made a grab for them.

He held the bundle out of her reach. "We both know where. I'll return them if you show me a spot on the coast."

"I'll show you nothing. I can't be late today. My sister—"

"As you wish, Miss O'Rourke. I'll stop by your home later and return your undergarments. Perhaps your family will be interested in your escapade in the sea this morning."

The heat spread to her neck. Damnation. "What is it you want?"

He motioned the direction he had come. "We'll stroll above the cliffs and find a spot where a dory may come ashore. Then you can have your fine things back"

His face now seemed made of stone. Would he truly announce to her family she swam naked in the lagoon? She released an exasperated sigh and returned to the path, him following.

On the cliffs a sprightly breeze stirred the heat, and seabirds screamed as they soared into the sky. Eden pulled her braid forward. "You've been trespassing."

He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Guilty, I admit."

"And spying, too." She came to a stop. "I'll not be taking another step until you tell me a few things. Why are you here? And why must you know where a boat can pull in?"

He gazed at the sparkling water, then met her eyes. "I saw you by accident when you swam out to meet the dory."

"I did not swim out to meet—"

"You spoke to the oarsman."

She shook her head. "I did not speak to—"

"He is a smuggler." His brittle smile vanished. "Keep walking, show me where he might have come ashore. Let's get on with it or I'll tell your father you swim naked to entice men. And don't say no one would believe it. Isn't it true you enticed a group of sailors into a tavern brawl?"

"Who told you such a thing?" The breeze lifted her hat. She clamped a hand on it.

"The men arrested for the brawl were from my crew. I read the police report and spoke to the men. Now, will you keep moving or do you wish to face your family's horror?"

"May I have my clothes?” Frustration sharpened her voice. “I feel ill at ease, and I don't want you thinking I’m trying to entice you as well."

"You'll get your things when you've completed my request.” A condescending glance.  “Don't worry. A young thing such as you doesn't entice me in any way, clothed, half clothed, or unclothed."  

Young thing. Did he see her as a child? She was nineteen, not nine. With a proud lift of her head, she marched on.

Of course she knew where a rowboat may pull onto a pebbled strand, the one place besides her cove accessible from the sea. She also knew where a skimpy track descended to the strand. However, he needed to work for the information.

"The beach you seek is so private there’s but one way to get there.” She gestured at a cliff jutting several hundred yards into the sea. “We must climb down and walk around the point. The beach is on the other side."

Alex stared down the precipice, a sheer drop of twenty feet with jumbled boulders at the bottom. Was that a sly smirk on her face or an angel's innocent smile? The ebbing tide had exposed a flat expanse of mud, oozing water, studded with sea grass. At the end of the point waves besieged sea-worn rocks. 

"We must hurry, Captain. Tide will soon turn."

He bowed. "After you, Miss O'Rourke."

She removed her sandals, tied them together, and slung them over her shoulder. Nimble and quick, she seemed to find toeholds in the face of the cliff and moved down as if descending a ladder. Soon she stood on a flat rock, gazing  up at him. Alex pulled off his hat and boots, shrugged out of his coat, and stowed all among a cluster of rocks.

 He rolled up his trouser legs and shirt sleeves, and descended the cliff with much less agility than Eden. When he reached the bottom, his damp shirt clung to his chest. At one time he had clambered among a tall ship’s rigging. When last did physical exertion of any kind make him sweat? Too damned long ago. 

Eden stepped onto the mud flat, her braid swaying, a circlet of wilted flowers holding it together. He shook off thoughts that she wore nothing beneath her frock, that the fabric rubbed and caressed those sweet curves. Moisture forming on his brow happened less from the heat than from his physical reactions to Eden O'Rourke.

 

--Cat

 

 

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--Cat