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Captain Reese Solbey, 4th Viscount of Trendon is a returning war agent who is reluctantly called home to claim his inherence after his father dies. Not only did his father leave him with a title and an estate but also a bride contract to a bride he has never seen, the cool perfection of Lady Catherine Traubal.
His father’s legacy is dull compare to the excitement of war and when Reese is pressed back into service to find the signet ring that has been stolen and capture the thief out to claim it for the French, the dullness of his father’s legacy becomes all the clearer.
The thief, the enchanting and exciting LaChat, is not only set on obtaining the ring for her own devises but she has set her wiles on stealing Reese’s restless heart as well.
Petworth House, Sussex
A branch sliced into the skin of his cheek making him hiss as he recklessly plunged into Petworth Park not giving a thought to his ball attire. The moon, to his dismay, decided to hide at that moment and, without its light, inside the canopy of trees was as pitch. Swallowing a curse, he slowed his pace. His ears strained to hear his quarry ahead. Not hearing anything but his own labored breathing, he paused by a thin laurel tree.
“Damn, I lost him.” He cursed as he leaned against the tree trunk, so much for catching this thief. He closed his eyes. He’d wait here until Philip caught up with him. Wearily, he slowly turned his head in the direction of the manor house some one-hundred feet from the park and opened his eyes. The lights of the manor house shone in the darkness. Catherine waited in the ballroom for their formal introduction. Sighing, he slumped down; he was out of practice, he thought, as he put a hand to his stinging cheek. During the war, he would have easily caught this scoundrel but, the war was over now and he... well, he was not same man. That last assignment in France... it changed him. He had walked into a trap and lost several of his best agents. He cringed at the memory. He had failed them and, even though he had captured the traitor, a man going by the code name of le Chat, he was still sent home--not in disgrace, he had been reassured, but because it was time to take over his father’s title and estates. So here he was about to meet his father’s choice for a bride, one with an impeccable lineage and poise. He slumped further down the tree trunk.
Shing. He heard the sound long before he felt the coldness of the blades through his navy blue frock coat and waistcoat. Several blades were at his chest and a sharp sting was at his throat.
“Pauvre, chéri,” a female voice purred from behind him close to his ear. He stiffened instinctively at the French accent. “Non, non, chérie. Do not move or le Chat will be forced to mar such a strong, manly throat. That would, indeed, be a dreadful sin.”
“Le Chat?” Reese felt a cold shiver go down his spine. This could not be the le Chat. He was dead. “Who the hell are you?”
“Ah, mais non, chéri. I will ask the questions as I have, how do say, the upper hand, no?” The velvet voice purred again with a trace of laughter in it. In order for his assailant to hold the blades at his chest and throat, she had her arms around the thin laurel tree. He was pinned against it, held by just the sharp blades. “So mon ami, to whom does le Chat owe the pleasure of caressing with her blade?” With that the blade at his throat brushed softly against his skin.
“I am Lord Trendon,” he said gruffly, willing himself not to swallow, hoping his name and reputation would scare this imposter. He turned escape plans quickly over in his mind. Philip should be stomping through the grove at any moment now. All he needed to do was stall for time. At this thought, he did swallow, and the blade at his throat moved up and down with his Adam’s apple. “You can not be le Chat. He was captured and hanged in France over a year ago.”
There was a soft chuckle. “So say the rumors, eh? I am very much the Cat, mon ami.” She brushed a light tattoo over his ribcage with the blades. “So tell me, Lord Trendon, why do you chase after the Cat like a hound?”
Katrina Farabaugh is a highly creative person who has been writing since a teenager and spinning tales much earlier than that if the stories her mother tells are true. While in college she thought to write poetry and had several published. But writing has always been her first love and it was enviable that the tales she spun to entertain herself would one day need to be put on paper. She lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband and five sons along with the usual assortment animals that come with having children. When not writing she can usually be found teaching her youngest boys, reading, researching on the internet, watching movies or tackling her never ending mound of laundry.
Book Publisher: Wings e Press
No. of Pages: 212
Paper Weight (lb): 9.1
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