Ladies Prefer Adventure
Ladies Prefer Adventure
Fortune and Glory
book one
by
Sandra Sookoo
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author.
LADIES PREFER ADVENTURE © 2020 by Sandra Sookoo
Published by New Independence Books
ISBN-13: 9798609813572
Contact Information:
sandrasookoo@yahoo.com
newindependencebooks@gmail.com
Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com
Edited by: Michele Jensen
Book Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs
Publishing History:
First Digital Edition, 2020
First Print Edition, 2020
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Ladies Prefer Adventure (Fortune and Glory, #1)
Dedication
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Epilogue
Scoundrels Prefer Love | (Fortune and Glory #2)
Captivated by an Adventurous Lady | (Thieves of the Ton, book one.
Dressed in White | (Colors of Scandal #1)
Other Victorian-era books by Sandra Sookoo
Regency-era stories by Sandra Sookoo
Author Bio
Stay in Touch
Dear Readers,
I’m so excited to finally launch this brand-new Victorian series! It may be April 2020, but I conceived of and started writing this series in the fall of 2019. I’ve been not-so-patiently waiting for this moment ever since. And now, more than ever, I think it’s important that authors continue to release new books to give readers hope and an escape.
Due to the popularity of my Thieves of the Ton series, I wanted more freedom with inventions and technology (and a different style of dresses) that came with writing in the Victorian era. Thus, Fortune and Glory was born. Plus, traveling itself was more efficient and easier in the Victorian era versus the Regency era. The series title is a bit of a homage to Indiana Jones, which I’ve been a fan of since he first hit the big screen in the 1980s. Yikes, that means I’m old LOL
Anyway, I hope you love Charlotte and Everett as much as I did writing their story. Enjoy Rome! The great thing about traveling via books is there’s no packing involved, no passport needed, and best of all, no germs!
Bon voyage!
Sandra,
xoxo
Dedication
For Michele. Thanks for believing in me. Also, to the memory of Indiana Jones. May he forever continue to inspire creative adventuring.
Blurb
Fulfilling a lifetime mission is much more fun when romance is woven into the adventure.
The Honorable Charlotte Blakely is closing in on the actual location of the Veil of Veronica, carrying on her beloved late grandfather’s quest. Satisfying his last wish is all she’s ever wanted from life... until the possibility of a courtship with the handsome English ambassador to Rome made itself known. But does love mean giving up her hard-won independence?
Mr. Everett Desmond spends far too much time behind a desk and entertaining dignitaries. He thought that was what he wanted from life... until an intriguing lady gave him a taste of adventure. But treasure-hunting comes at a price and, thanks to a failed engagement, he’s leery of romance.
Balancing each leg of the quest with the heat and passion simmering between them keeps Charlotte and Everett on the razor’s edge. When danger and death collide with the joy of adventure, truths they’ve denied themselves come into sharp focus. But with a bit of faith, they may discover a treasure far more priceless than a religious relic in their hands.
.
Chapter One
September 15, 1885
Rome, Italy
The Honorable Charlotte Blakely sat at an outdoor table at one of her favorite cafes. A gentle breeze wafted across her flushed face and she lifted her head. The breeze snatched at a few tendrils of her hair from beneath her hat and the loosened tresses danced about her temples to tease her cheeks. She could feel the approaching autumn in the air, and she welcomed it, for the change of season would bring cooler temperatures, which would make walking the city that much more pleasant. Comforting scents of the Mediterranean wafted to her nose in that enchanting breeze: heady whiffs of oleanders, bougainvillea, and jasmine; pungent aromas of horse excrement in the street; the earthy smell of sun-heated ground; the elusive fragrance of perfume from her fellow diners.
Never in the whole of London could she find such contentment or vitality. Oh, but it is so good to have returned to the Eternal City!
She had been back all of four days, but it had seemed a lifetime since she was here in this land of sunshine and hope and clean air. Her research awaited finalization, as did the possibility of finding fortune and glory. How lovely such a thing might be, and how horrifying to think that her name might be bandied about the papers because of it, for that was not why she did this. She refused to think about that, not when the fun of the adventure stretched before her as well as grasping the satisfaction of fulfilling her grandfather’s last mission. And she would do all of that in good time, but for now, she intended to enjoy the late afternoon and be properly grateful for it. Since her father’s death and the whirlwind of being collected by her potential beau, the reality that time was indeed short had been driven into her.
I won’t waste this chance.
Rome was where she was best suited, where her heart truly was, and if all went well, where she would find the Veil of Veronica.
And what then? A knot formed in her stomach—the only thing that marred her enjoyment of the day and the contemplation of the future. However, there was no immediate answer.
A long sigh escaped her, and despite the joy the thought of finding such a relic gave her, a black humor fell over her. Dratted emotions that shifted as if they were like the fickle breeze. And all because of the currently sitting leader of the Catholic church. Charlotte narrowed her eyes on the letter she was attempting to write to her friend Jocelyn. The words temporarily blurred together. It seemed while she’d been in England attending to her dying father, the Pope in all his wisdom had commemorated into sainthood St. Veronica on July 12th. After waffling for years about whether the Devotion of the Holy Face—which was another way of describing the Veil of Veronica—was real or not, he’d finally gone forward with that dedication.
Damn the man’s eyes. That decision might ruin everything she’d worked for.
Now his bloody interest in the Veil’s existence had sent Catholic devotees into a frenzy, if the real relic was indeed at St. Peter’s as
he claimed. That would make a visit to the Vatican all that more difficult with the curious throngs, but she would manage.
Just like she always did.
A small smile tugged at the corners of Charlotte’s lips, for there wasn’t a doubt in her mind the relic purportedly contained within the hallowed halls of St. Peter’s Basilica was not the real Veil of Veronica. All the evidence she’d managed to dig up during her research pointed in a different direction, and one she would keep to herself for the time being. No sense having half the country go haring off after the relic right along with her.
But then, I am merely a female, prone to silly flights of fancy when faced with the superior intelligence of men. What do I know?
What utter poppycock! Half the men she knew were first-rate idiots. An unladylike snort escaped her, and she once more took up her pen, intending to finish this latest missive in a series of letters to friends and family, for it didn’t seem her companions would join her for tea anytime soon.
“Where the devil are they?” In some agitation, she pushed her silver spectacles up the bridge of her nose.
For that matter, where were her friends? The four of them had become so far-flung over the world, it had made it difficult to keep track. Those years in finishing school seemed a veritable lifetime ago.
Distracted once more, she took a sip of her cup of the fragrant tea, and then Charlotte impatiently checked her timepiece, a gorgeous bauble of golden jewelry that hung from a chain around her neck. A gift from her suitor when he’d asked her to consider a courtship with him. Her smile widened. Dearest Everett. She never failed to think of him every time she regarded the personal clock.
He was never far from her mind anyway. So why hadn’t he attended her here? Perhaps his duties as the English ambassador to Rome kept him away. Of course, there was every possibility that her brother, Matthew, had played a part in Everett’s delay; he certainly had interfered in their plans to come away from England. As the knot in her stomach tightened, she dropped the timepiece back beneath her ruffled blouse. It thudded heavily between her breasts, and still her pen hovered over the paper as her mind dwelled on him.
Mr. Everett Desmond, the man who’d sent her world sideways three months prior. They’d met by accident one street over from her present location, and then consuming passion swept them both away during one moonlit night nearly a week following that meeting. Afterward, she’d left for London to see her dying father without explanation to her lover, and Everett had chased her to England, where he’d summoned her from her house in the most romantic of ways, with his violin and the music he made.
A tremor moved down her spine, for hearing him play his instrument was nearly akin to sexual need, but she couldn’t enjoy the most delicious sensation, for a black-clad waiter arrived at her table.
“Would you like a fresh pot, Miss Blakely?” The young man with his black hair parted down the middle just so gave her a tremulous smile.
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Miss Blakely.” He softly cleared his throat as he lifted the teapot. “Shall I take away the other two settings?”
Obviously, he assumed her companions had deserted her. She ignored his blatant interest. Perhaps another time in her life she might have flirted. “Not just yet. They will arrive eventually, and I shall make certain their tardiness is noted and unappreciated.” Then she considered her unfinished letter, effectively dismissing the man. An unfinished letter was just as annoying as failing to meet at a prearranged time.
“Hello, Charlotte, or rather, Miss Blakely, since we are in public.”
Her heartbeat skittered into a faster rhythm as Everett joined her at the table. She gave him a smile as she put her letter into the stationery box and shoved the whole thing into the attaché case resting at her feet. Gathering clues along her quest had assured she always carried the case in addition to her reticule. “I’m glad you have finally decided to grace me with your presence, Ambassador.”
“Ah, none of that.” He winked, and a shock of his raven hair fell over his brow. Her fingers fairly itched to smooth it back, but then, such a gesture wouldn’t be enough once she’d touched him; it never was. “Nothing has changed between us, you know.”
“Only that I now have a watch dog.”
“Agreed.” Amusement danced in his brown eyes. “My tardiness couldn’t be helped. Business delayed me.” He took her hand. “And, your brother was belated in his arrival.”
“How so?”
His shrug was as eloquent as an Italian’s. “I gather Matthew is having trouble settling into his new surroundings.”
“That is not an excuse, for it was his idea to play companion. It is not my fault he’s sleeping on my sofa.”
“How I have missed bantering with you.” The ambassador rubbed his gloved thumb over her kid-covered knuckles. Butterfly wings tickled the inside of her stomach. The one week they’d spent together hadn’t been enough, for there’d been no time to properly enjoy the newness of their relationship on the passage between London and Rome. “But take heart. I believe he’s had his head turned by one of the housemaids. Perhaps he will find a new interest other than you soon.”
“Good Lord. That boy will be trouble. Thank goodness Father is dead. Two scandalous children would tax anyone.” She tamped down on the urge to roll her eyes, for as soon as she’d spoken, her brother entered the patio and approached their table. “Did you forget our arrangement for tea, Matthew? Even here in Rome there are manners to follow.”
“Lay off, sister dear. I have my own life in addition to looking after yours.” The growl in his tenor didn’t endear him to her.
“No one asked you to come to Italy, remember,” Charlotte said as she nodded at the returning waiter when he laid the new teapot on the table. She turned her head and studied her sibling while Everett poured tea for him and her brother.
Matthew Charles Blakely was her younger sibling by two years. At thirty, his sandy-blond hair was going a little thin, but his blue eyes, so much like hers, remained bright, and he was handsome after a fashion. In and out of a string of relationships, none of them had stuck, and to all accounts, he was enjoying his bachelor life.
Beyond all that, he had magnanimously put his career in shipping on hold in order to escort her about the world on the excuse of making certain she wasn’t “ruined” while in the ambassador’s company. It had been decided between her brothers when she’d announced she would return to Rome with Everett following their father’s death. Anthony, the eldest, and now the Viscount Hadleigh, had demanded Charlotte have some sort of companion or else she wouldn’t be allowed to go.
As if I’d never traveled on my own before.
But, no matter. Charlotte’s mother had agreed with Anthony’s plan, and that had delayed everyone’s departure by at least a week.
“Well, no one asked me not to come,” Matthew replied as he dropped two sugar cubes into his cup.
Charlotte snorted. “Then you must have fallen deaf, for I remember voicing my protests rather loudly.”
Everett stifled a laugh behind a cough.
“Did you? Must have escaped my notice.” Matthew glanced at her. “We don’t rub along well, I know, but don’t forget I’m your favorite brother.”
In her heart, she suspected Matthew merely wanted the adventure as well as the probable money securing the genuine Veil would bring, but until she had proof, she would say nothing of his intentions. She’d managed to rout him all her life; doing so while in Rome wouldn’t be a hardship.
“At the moment, I don’t have a favorite. You have both fallen out of favor with me on the grounds of your ridiculous plans.” She helped herself to a delicate cucumber sandwich. “And we could rub along well if you’d allow yourself to unbend enough to enjoy this city.”
“It is not London,” he said with a frown.
“Yes, thank goodness for that. No choking smog, no stodgy Society rules. Barring that, you could give me a lead on the leas
h you think you hold.”
“I cannot. That’s not negotiable.”
“Very well. Don’t blame me for what happens.” Charlotte turned her attention to Everett, who watched her with the same amusement he always held. Since the advent of Matthew, they hadn’t been afforded a moment alone. “Do we still have dinner plans tonight?”
“Absolutely.” Everett sipped his tea and she couldn’t help but stare at his well-shaped lips. What she wouldn’t give for a kiss from him. “Perhaps a stroll in the gardens at the ambassador’s residence should follow.”
Matthew shook his head as he helped himself to a few sandwiches. “Flowers make me sneeze. Can’t fancy myself lollygagging about a garden.”
Everett’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask you, Mr. Blakely.”
“No, you didn’t,” Matthew said, not the least concerned he was very much a third wheel. “I’m being paid to save dear Charlotte’s reputation, so where she goes, I go.”
“I beg your pardon. You’re being paid?” she asked as shock slid through her. “By whom?” Then the answer came to her. “Bloody hell. Anthony is paying you to act as little more than a spy.”
“Do you blame him? You’re a viscount’s daughter. You cannot expect consequences won’t follow your decisions. Beyond that, you have responsibilities.” Matthew lifted his teacup as if in salute. “And if you intend to marry this chap, you’ll fall in line.”
She glanced at Everett, who shrugged. “We are not that far advanced.” Charlotte sighed. “Oh, I’m a lucky, lucky girl to have you as my keeper.” Sarcasm ran rampant in her tone.
“Don’t be like that, Char. It’ll all come out right,” Matthew said, tucking into his sandwiches with gusto. “And if it doesn’t, you can come home and marry that chap Father wanted you to, all right and proper.”
I would rather die. “I loathe that nickname,” she muttered and then took refuge behind her teacup.
Everett didn’t bother to tame his mirth now. “It is rather unflattering.” His eyes darkened slightly. “I vastly prefer Charlotte. Rolls off the tongue all the easier.”