An Agent for Arielle: Pinkerton Matchmakers, #11

By Parker J. Cole

A mulatto heiress, a former slave, and the case that tests their resolve...

Mulatto heiress Arielle Bradford refuses to marry the politician her father has chosen for her. When she sees an advertisement that the Pinkerton agency in Denver, Colorado is looking for female recruits, it seems like the perfect escape plan. And then she discovers she has to marry her training agent.

Former slave and Union spy Caleb Smith is leery of his beautiful but fiery partner's ability to be a good agent, but when a prominent Negro politician receives a threat on his life, it's up to both of them to find the would-be killer.

Can a woman who has never known shackles of slavery and a man who has never taken his freedom lightly not only work together, but maybe even find love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barr26 Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Oct 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223629382

Book preview

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Arabette Grove, West Indies

March 1871

Arielle, put that vase down! Brutus Bradford shouted, pointing a long thick finger at his eldest daughter. You will do as I say at once.

Arielle shrieked. You can’t make me!

She hurled the vase to the floor, listening with intense satisfaction as it shattered into several pieces.

Arielle! How dare you resort to this childish behavior!

When you treat me like a child, Papa, I will act like one! She breathed noisily through her nose. Her eyes darted around the room, seeking something else she could send careening to the floor.

There, above the mantel behind her father, the marble figurine of a woman with ethereal features and an unrealistic long neck. If she destroyed it, then her father would have no choice but to renege on this…arrangement he had the audacity—the gall!—to spring upon her.

Don’t you dare, Brutus warned, his dark blue eyes narrowing. "I see that wild light in your eyes, ma fille. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it."

I’ll do what I please, she told him in a deadly tone. "Tu es sur mon chemin."

Brutus’s eyes narrowed at her flippant remark, You’re in my way. A remark many of the workers, and visitors to Arabette Grove, knew was Arielle’s preferred method of stating the obvious. Move or be moved.

You will not speak to me this way, Brutus warned with the drawing together of his black, bushy eyebrows.

Ignoring his words, she crossed her father’s study with long strides, her wavy, long hair flapping wildly against her back. Her jaw was clenched. With each step, her desire to do more destructive damage grew. That long-necked angel figurine was as sure as broken. As soon as she got her hands on it.

No, Arielle!

Brutus dashed in front of her, gripping her by the arms and shaking her. You will not—

She shrieked like a wildcat and fought against his superior hold, using her flailing arms and nimble body as a catalyst to tear herself away. I’ll do what I please. You can’t make me.

Breathing as if she’d run across the hundreds of acres of the sugar plantation her father owned, she seethed and hissed through her tight lips. "I will not give myself to a man I don’t know. I will not marry a man whom you have picked out for me."

You will do as I say, Brutus took a step to the right when she would have gone around. Do you understand me?

I will not. She darted to her left in an attempt to get around him but he blocked her, shifting his wide girth again.

You will. I have already made that decision.

Her head knifed to the side as if her father had slapped her. He might as well have, even though he’d never struck her, or her sisters, ever in their lifetimes.

You expect me to meekly go to America to be some politician’s bride? How can you ask me to do something like that? I have no wish to leave Arabette Grove.

Brutus took in a deep breath. Not just any politician. A Negro politician. His name is Matthias Blackburn.

I heard you the first time when you mentioned his name, Arielle retorted with a dismissive toss of her hair. I am not impressed.

You are the woman he asked for, Brutus reminded her. He remembered you from his visit two years ago and waited this long before asking for an arrangement. I’ve decided to give your hand to him.

Arielle darted to the right, faster than Brutus could move and yanked the marble figurine from its place on top of the mantel. She hovered it threateningly above her head, and eyed her father. I will break it, Papa.

Though he swallowed in a nervous manner, nonetheless he shook his head. "Ma fille, you can break every valuable piece in this entire mansion. You can hurl yourself into the walls and fall to the ground in one of your fits. But…you will be the wife of Matthias Blackburn."

Arielle held Brutus’s gaze. What she saw in his dark blue eyes made all the heat seep from her body. Her arms slowly fell to her sides, the long-necked figurine dangling from her fingers like a forgotten toy.

Papa? Surely you aren’t going to take me away from the only home I have ever known? She made sure to add that little girl whimper. It made her father succumb to her wishes in times past. She’d practiced enough in the mirror to know what kind of image she wanted to present.

For good measure, she made her eyes tear up in the corners. Not enough to trail down her cheeks, though. She had an appointment with Percy Willmington, the middle son of the neighboring plantation, Armoise Orchard. He wanted to give her one of his prized mares as a birthday gift. Percy liked the image of the helpless female she presented to him from time to time.

I’m not falling for your tricks, Arielle. I’m done being twisted about your finger.

Surely something had to work in her favor. He couldn’t do this to her.

She wasn’t going to accept this! Marriage to some man across the ocean. She had more than enough to choose from close to home.

Arielle Bradford, the eldest daughter of the very rich privateer—turned plantation owner—Brutus Bradford and his Haitian wife, Roseline, purported to have been a highly desirable woman, had no need to go across the ocean to seek a husband!

From the hard muscle leaping along his cheek, she knew, for the first time in her life, she knew, nothing would change her father’s mind. The tears dried up in the corners of her eyes but her mood was no less morose.

Papa, why are you doing this? I have no wish to go to America.

Nonetheless, you will go. You waste your life and your intelligence away here on the plantation, making every man of every race that has ever walked the Earth fall to your feet. I have overindulged you over the years. That is my fault.

Papa! Anguish filled her voice. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing.

You are the apple of my eye. He reached over and caressed her cheek with gentle fingers, his deep blue eyes tender. "Your mere, God rest her soul, was my life. You’re so much like her. Fierce. Proud."

The soft, loving look he gave melted away as he drew his hand away from her face. But it is time for you to be a woman. Time for you to stop these games. You do nothing more than seek the attention of men.

Her mouth fell open. Papa! I am not some harlot—

"Nor did I mean to imply that, ma fille, he responded in a soothing tone. Neither was your mother. But you do love the attention of men. You bask in their adoration."

And I shouldn’t? Arielle lifted her chin in the air. Should I apologize for the beauty that God gave me? Should I hide my light under a bushel and pretend to—

You are the daughter of a goddess, Brutus interrupted with a wry twist of his mouth. As all of my daughters are. It’s to be expected. He cleared his throat and said briskly. Matthias Blackburn seeks my daughter for his wife and my daughter he will have.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. How could he—

"I am not some…slave to be bought and sold."

Brutus smacked her cheek as soon as the words left her throat. Arielle’s hand covered her face. Not that he had hurt her but the shock of it rendered her still.

His pale skin grew mottled as he clenched out through his teeth. "You are my blood, Arielle. The very best parts of your mother and I. Don’t ever, as long as