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    The Highwayman Wore A Corset
    The Highwayman Wore A Corset
    The Highwayman Wore A Corset
    Ebook68 pages57 minutes

    The Highwayman Wore A Corset

    By Patricia Catacalos

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    About this ebook

    England 1862 – Morgan St. Martin, Viscount Breckenridge, wants to catch the highwaymen who had waylaid his carriage, killed his driver and left Morgan for dead six weeks earlier. But in setting a trap for the culprits, he encounters feisty Lady Samantha Pierce posing as a highwayman to catch the very same thieves who murdered her father. They reluctantly join forces.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPatricia Catacalos
    Release dateMar 12, 2013
    ISBN9781301163434
    The Highwayman Wore A Corset
    Author

    Patricia Catacalos

    I hold a BA in Theatre from Seton Hill University and a MA in Theatre from the University of Denver. Years ago, when still single, I acted in and directed plays in the Philadelphia area but suffered the fate of many artists, struggling financially. So I entered a career in sales. But, my creative spirit needed to express itself and several years, ago, I started writing historical romances. I discovered that writing historical romances is my passion. I love weaving historical personalities into my plot, interacting with my fictional characters. Recently, I began writing historical mysteries/intrigue and again, love the aspect of interspersing historical fact and personalities into my story line.I am married to a loving and supportive man with a Greek heritage (which influenced a couple of my novels) and we live in southern New Jersey.

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      Book preview

      The Highwayman Wore A Corset - Patricia Catacalos

      THE HIGHWAYMAN WORE A CORSET

      Patricia Catacalos

      Copyright © 2013 by Patricia Catacalos

      Smashwords edition

      License notice: All rights reserved.

      Copyright © 2013 by Patricia Catacalos

      Cover photo by Adam Wasilewski

      All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

      CHAPTER ONE

      England 1862

      He waited impatiently astride his black stallion, leaning on the pommel of his saddle and hidden in the darkness cloaking a copse of trees. The light of a full moon filtered through the canopy of leaves, but it did not betray his position. Rather, the moonlight cooperated in fully lighting the rutted road, offering clear visibility of the carriage traversing the dirt passageway as it traveled two miles in one direction, turned around and traveled back from whence it came. This seemingly ludicrous route had been repeated several times throughout the night as a lure but unfortunately, was proving ineffectual.

      His horse sensed the rider’s impatient annoyance and the large beast periodically fidgeted but his master maintained control of the jittery steed.

      The dawn was fast approaching, and the man shifted in his saddle, now doubting that the three men for whom he keenly awaited would arrive. This was the third night he had hidden anxiously watching, expecting the highwaymen to make their appearances by swooping down upon the seemingly unsuspecting carriage driver and his passengers. But he had been wholly disappointed.

      It had been six weeks since the incident occurred, and only recently had he thought of this devious plan to capture the culprits. On that night, in the blackness just before dawn, he had been waylaid in his carriage as he was returning to London after a frolicking night with a country widow. He had been dozing when the coach abruptly halted in response to a gravelly voice demanding that the driver stop.

      The carriage door was jerked open and a masked man ordered the passenger to disembark.

      Morgan St. Martin, Viscount Breckenridge, did as he was commanded and jumped to the ground without the assistance of the carriage steps. He stood, defiantly, with booted feet braced widely apart and gloved hands leaning on his silver-handled walking stick. He stared intently up at the second masked man astride his horse and brandishing a pistol in one hand and a lantern in the other.

      "Get the bloke’s purse!" the gravelly voice ordered as he leaned forward on an old mare better left to pasture than utilized in a robbery.

      The man, standing in near proximity to Morgan, hesitated with an anxious look in his beady eyes beneath a furrowed brow. A kerchief tied over his nose and mouth hid his pursed lips.

      "What is the matter with ye? Search him! He has the look of a lord and surely has a purse filled with coins."

      Morgan nearly guffawed at the mention of a heavy purse. How he wished he possessed copious coins but alas, his finances were presently a mite dire. So very sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but my purse is empty, and your marauding efforts are for naught.

      "Get his purse!" another voice shouted from his high perch on the driver’s seat seconds before striking the head of the carriage driver with the butt of his flintlock pistol.

      "Barnabas…!" Morgan gasped as he saw his driver and long-time friend slump sideways, unconscious, on the high seat.

      The hesitant and somewhat scrawny man, with the furrowed brow, overcame his trepidation and pulled Morgan’s jacket open, quickly retrieving the purse from its customary pocket. Eagerly, he opened the enclosure and peered into the cloth sack. He groaned with disappointment before declaring, Ain’t no coins in this here purse.

      "Then his money must be hidden on his person. Search him!" The mare grew skittish beneath the man with the bellowing voice.

      Morgan drew his eyes away from Barnabas and glared at the man looming over his elderly friend. He vowed menacingly, I have no coins for the stealing on my person. But mark my words, I shall discover your identity, find you and administer a blow which will render you unconscious.

      The man jumped down from the high driver’s seat and landed heavily onto both booted feet. He wore a kerchief across the lower portion of his face in similar fashion to his two comrades. But

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