The Donet Trilogy by Regan Walker Book Tour and Giveaway :)
To
Tame the Wind
The
Donet Trilogy Book 1
by
Regan Walker
Genre:
Historical Romance
“A
sea adventure like no other, a riveting romance!” – SHIRLEE
BUSBEE, NY Times Bestselling author
Paris
1782…AN INNOCENT IS TAKEN
All
Claire Donet knew was the world inside the convent walls in
Saint-Denis. She had no idea her beloved papa was a pirate. But when
he seized Simon Powell's schooner, the English privateer decided to
take the thing his enemy held most dear...her.
A
BATTLE IS JOINED
The
waters between France and England roil with the clashes of Claire's
father and her captor as the last year of the American Revolution
rages on the sea, spies lurk in Paris and Claire’s passion for the
English captain rises.
The
door of the carriage swung open, a gown was tossed into her lap and a
broad shouldered man filled the opening. Claire’s
jaw went slack while her heart kicked into a gallop as if responding
of its own accord to the first man to stir it from slumber. “Bonjour,
Mademoiselle Donet,” he said in French. “Captain Simon Powell.”
He bowed in grand gesture. “Your humble servant with something for
you to wear.” The
golden one. It had been nearly two years since she had seen him,
but she had never forgotten the night of the masquerade. She had
never forgotten him. Though the linen shirt stretched tight across
his broad chest and the leather breeches and boots he wore now were a
far cry from the shimmering costume he’d worn then, his amber eyes
were the same. Impossibly, he was even more handsome that in her
faded memory. In the last two years, he had never been far from her
thoughts, for the night she’d first seen him—and imagined a man’s
pleasure—was the night Claire’s girlish dreams had ended forever. And
now he’d returned to France and abducted her. He
leaned into the carriage and untied her feet, then her wrists. The
touch of his rough man’s hands on her skin sent odd chills rippling
through her. She bit her lip, shamed by her body’s reaction to this
stranger. Her living temptation turned away for a moment, then faced
her, a cup in his outstretched hand. “’Tis only water,” he said
when she was reluctant to take it. Too
grateful to complain, she hastily brought the fresh water to her dry
lips and drank her fill. “I’ll
give you some time to dress,” he said not unkindly. His eyes
shifted to her blanket-covered nightclothes. “I wouldn’t want my
men to see you as you are.” Claire
felt her cheeks burn at the thought.
“The
gown is modest enough to please even your nuns,” he said. “Call
me if you need… ah, assistance. I will be just outside.” She
fumed at his insolence, at his actions that had placed her at his
mercy. Though she knew he was English and a privateer, she had no
idea why he had taken her, and she would wait no longer to learn the
truth of it. “Why did you bring me here? Why did you take me from
the convent?” Leaning
one arm against the frame of the carriage, he regarded her intently,
his eyes like chips of amber.
“You
have your father to thank for that, mademoiselle. As soon as he
returns what is mine you will have your freedom.” Claire
blinked. “My father?” Her voice sounded to her like the pleading
of a feeble schoolgirl. She would not be cowed! She lifted her chin,
confident in his error. “What has he to do with this… this
perfidy? Papa is a man of business and letters, a man of some wealth.
He has no need to steal!” His
mouth twitched up in a grin, drawing Claire’s gaze to his sensual
lips, reminding her of a night when she had seen him use those lips
to good effect. She scowled, angry with the rogue and with herself
for finding him so attractive. He
shut the door of the carriage and peered in through the open window.
“Your father, mademoiselle, is a pirate.”
TO TAME
THE WIND
Copyright
© 2015 Regan Walker
Echo
in the Wind
The
Donet Trilogy Book 2
"Regan
Walker sweeps you away to a time and place you'll NEVER want to
leave!" ~ Danelle Harmon, NY Times & USA Today Bestselling
Author
England
and France 1784
Cast
out by his noble father for marrying the woman he loved, Jean Donet
took to the sea, becoming a smuggler, delivering French brandy and
tea to the south coast of England. When his young wife died, he
nearly lost his sanity. In time, he became a pirate and then a
privateer, vowing to never again risk his heart.
As
Donet’s wealth grew, so grew his fame as a daring ship’s captain,
the terror of the English Channel in the American War. When his
father and older brother die in a carriage accident in France, Jean
becomes the comte de Saintonge, a title he never wanted.
Lady
Joanna West cares little for London Society, which considers her its
darling. Marriage in the ton is either dull or disastrous. She wants
no part of it. To help the poor in Sussex, she joins in their
smuggling. Now she is the master of the beach, risking her reputation
and her life. One night off the coast of Bognor, Joanna encounters
the menacing captain of a smuggling ship, never realizing he is the
mysterious comte de Saintonge.
Can
Donet resist the English vixen who entices him as no other woman?
Will Lady Joanna risk all for an uncertain chance at love in the arms
of the dashing Jean Donet?
Bognor, West
Sussex, England, April 1784
Except
for the small waves rushing to shore, hissing as they raced over the
shingles, Bognor’s coast was eerily bereft of sound. Lady Joanna
West hated the disquiet she always experienced before a smuggling
run. Tonight, the blood
throbbed in her veins with the anxious pounding of her heart, for
this time, she would be dealing with a total stranger.
Would
he be fair, this new partner in free trade? Or might he be a feared
revenue agent in disguise, ready to cinch a hangman’s noose around
her slender neck? The
answer lay just offshore, silhouetted against a cobalt blue sky
streaked with gold from the setting sun: a black-sided ship, her
sails lifted like a lady gathering up her skirts, poised to flee,
waited for a signal. Crouched
behind a rock with her younger brother, Joanna hesitated, studying
the ship. Eight gun ports marched across the side of the brig, making
her wonder at the battles the captain anticipated that he should
carry sixteen guns. She
and her men were unarmed. They would be helpless should he decide to
cheat them, his barrels full of water instead of brandy, his tea no
more than dried weeds. It
had been tried before. “You
are certain Zack speaks for this captain?” she asked Freddie whose
dark auburn curls beneath his slouched hat made his boyish
face appear younger than his seventeen years. But to one who knew him
well, the set of his jaw hinted at the man he would one day become. “I’ll
fetch him,” Freddie said in a hushed tone, “and you can ask him
yourself.” He disappeared into the shadows where her men waited
among the trees. Zack
appeared, squatting beside her, a giant of a man with a scar on the
left side of his face from the war. Like the mastiffs that
guarded the grounds of her family’s estate, he was
big and ugly, fierce with enemies, but gentle with those he was
charged to protect. “Young
Frederick here says ye want to know about this ship, m’lady.” At
her nod, Zack gazed toward the brig. “He
used to come here regular with nary a con nor a cheat. He’s been
gone awhile now. I heard he might have worked up some other
business—royal business.” He rolled his massive shoulders in a
shrug. “In my experience, a tiger doesn’t change his stripes.
He’s a Frog, aye, but I trust the Frenchie’s one of us, a free
trader still.” She
took in a deep breath of the salted air blowing onshore and let it
out. “Good.” Zack’s assurance had been some comfort but not
enough to end her concerns. What royal business? For tonight, she
need not know. “Give the signal,” she directed her brother, “but
I intend to see for myself if the cargo is what we ordered.” Without
seeking the position, Joanna had become the smugglers’ master of
the beach, responsible for getting the cargo ashore and away to
inland routes and London markets with no revenue man the wiser. She
took seriously her role to assure the villagers got what they paid
for. Their survival depended upon it. “Zack,
will you row me to the ship?” “O’
course, if ’tis what ye want.” The frown over his hazel eyes
revealed his displeasure, but Zack knew an order when he heard one,
no matter how politely it had been phrased. He would never question
her authority in front of the men. Freddie
lifted the lantern from the pebbled beach and slid open the metal
cover on one side. A small flame flickered into the Channel, alerting
the ship the coast was clear of the Riding Officer. The dying rays of
the sun still danced on the rippling water, but the lantern’s light
would tell the ship’s captain all was well. Joanna
got to her feet, tugging her felt hat over her ears and tucking
strands of her long red hair beneath the brim. The hat and Freddie’s
borrowed shirt and breeches rendered her one of the men. Even though
his jacket was a bit short, she dare not borrow clothes belonging to
her older brother, Richard. He knew nothing of her nightly pursuits
and would not approve. “I’m
going with you,” said Freddie. “All
right, but stay in the boat.” When
she’d decided to help the villagers in smuggling goods that kept
brandy and tea flowing to England’s wealthy and food on the tables
of Chichester’s poor, her younger brother had insisted on becoming
her partner. Still, she tried to keep him from danger. Out
on the water, the ship’s crew lowered three longboats into the
water, then scurried down manropes slung over the side. Dropping into
the boats, they began to accept barrels and chests lowered from the
deck. With
a word to her men, Joanna climbed into the small rowing boat at the
water’s edge. Her two companions followed, and Zack pressed his
strength to the oars. With
the first of the longboats loaded, the French crew pulled away from
the ship, rowing hard toward the beach. Their boat passed her smaller
vessel and she gave them a studying perusal. Their
bright neck scarfs and knitted jerseys, coupled with the set of their
caps, rendered them decidedly French. To
a man, their hair was long and loose rather than plaited in pigtails
as an English sailor might wear. The knives at their belts, their
narrowed eyes and sneers made them appear cutthroats. Of course, to
them, she and her brother were no more than young English “rosbifs”
who had no understanding of a ship like the one on which the
Frenchmen served. In that, they would be right. She
shivered and turned away from their harsh glares to fix her eyes on
the ship and her mind on the task ahead. The
French brig loomed large as they drew close. A frisson of fear snaked
down her spine when she looked up to see an ominous figure standing
at the rail. Like
an apparition, he was dressed all in black, his features lost in the
shadows beneath his tricorne. Even his hair, tied back at his nape,
was black. One side of his coat was pulled back to reveal his hand
resting on a pistol. From his waist hung a sword with a golden hilt. She
could not see his eyes, but she felt his penetrating gaze and
shuddered. He appeared more pirate than merchant.
Copyright
© 2017 Regan Walker
A
Fierce Wind
The
Donet Trilogy Book 3
"Simply
Magnificent!" – Stew Ross, author of Where Did They Put the
Guillotine?
France
1794.
Zoé Ariane Donet was in love with love until she met the young
commander of the royalist army fighting the revolutionaries tearing
apart France. When the dashing young general is killed, she joins the
royalist cause, rescuing émigrés fleeing Robespierre’s Reign of
Terror.
One
man watches over her: Frederick West, the brother of an English earl,
who has known Zoé since she was a precocious ten-year-old child. At
sixteen, she promised great beauty, the flower of French womanhood
about to bloom. Now, four years later, as the Terror seizes France by
the throat, Zoé has become a beautiful temptress Freddie vows to
protect with his life.
But
English spies don’t live long in Revolutionary France.
The
skiff shoved off, disappearing into the fog that had settled in wisps
on the dark waters of Granville Harbor. Zoé and her uncle began to
walk down the wharf toward the quay when a small boat carrying three
men emerged out of the fog and pulled up alongside them. She
recognized the two men at the oars as crew from la
Reine Noire. Behind them in the stern knelt Freddie,
beckoning to her. “’Tis
Freddie!” she said, her spirits lifting at the sight of her friend. “Get
in!” he implored. “Be
quick,” said her uncle, directing her to the wooden steps built
into the side of the wharf that ran down to the water. She
climbed down to the rowing boat and her uncle followed. He was nearly
to the end of the steps when shouts from the wharf drew their
attention. “Vous,
là! Halt in the name of the
Republic!” The musket-bearing soldier strode toward them, his boots
loud on the wooden planks. A short distance away, a half-dozen
soldiers hurried to join him.
Her
uncle ascended the stairs, pulling a pistol from his coat, and fired.
The soldier stumbled and fell to the wharf. Racing
down the stairs, her uncle leapt into the boat. “Vite,
away!” The
two crewmen pulled hard at the oars. Freddie
drew his pistol. The
cluster of republican soldiers knelt at the edge of the wharf, took
aim and commenced spewing shot toward their small boat. Zoé crouched
low as the balls whizzed over her head and the loud crack of pistols
and musket fire exploded around her. Freddie
and her uncle returned fire. The
crew pressed into the oars and the boat slipped into the fog. Her
uncle subsided onto the bench in the bow, stuffing his pistols into
his coat pockets. Zoé
cast a long look toward the lights on the receding quay. The sound of
muskets still firing echoed in the mist. One
of the soldiers shouted, “I told you he was the one! That was le
porc who cut Pierre.” Her
uncle shook his head. “I should have killed him when I had the
chance.” Zoé
turned her gaze away from the shore. Finally, the shots died, leaving
only the rhythmic sound of the oars pulling through the water. “Dieu
merci, at least ’tis over.” “Oui, for now,” said her uncle. “We have West to thank
for our lives.” One
of the crew pulling at the oars glanced over his shoulder. “The
Englishman has been shot, I think.” Zoé
looked behind the seamen. In the darkness, it was difficult to see
but she could just make out Freddie’s form slumped in the stern.
“Freddie!”
A
FIERCE WIND, Copyright © 2018 Regan Walker
Regan Walker is an award-winning, #1 Amazon bestselling author of Regency, Georgian and Medieval romances. She writes historically authentic novels with real historical figures along with her fictional characters. Among the awards she has won are the International Book Award for Romance Fiction, the San Diego Book Award for Best Historical Romance, the RONE Award for her medievals and the Gold Medal Illumination Award.
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