"A historic treat filled with swashbuckling danger, adventure, and romance."
Reviewed by Viki Ferrell
Posted January 30, 2011
Romance Historical
At last, Raeven Russell finds Captain Cutlass in a tavern in
France so that she can kill him. She's been looking for him
and seeking revenge for several months now. Disguised as a
young man, she challenges him to a dual of swords. He isn't
interested until he pulls off her cap and her raven black
hair tumbles down her back. He can't believe he
didn't realize from the beginning she was a female. Captain Cutlass, calling himself a privateer, allegedly
killed her fiance in a battle on the high seas. When
he sunk the ship, he did not realize he had killed its
captain, Raeven's fiance. The British Navy captain attacked
Cutlass' ship first and in very bad weather. He was only
retaliating to save his ship and his men. An instant attraction blossoms between Cutlass and Raeven.
It really irks her that she finds him so attractive and
compelling when she only wants him dead. She also finds
herself on his ship being held captive in his cabin. But
locked doors are never a problem for her. She is a master at
picking them and a master at escaping. She's had plenty of
practice on her daddy's naval ship where she has spent most
of her life. As their adventures push them together and draw
them apart, she finds herself falling in love with him. But
she knows a pirate and a rogue when she sees one, and she's
not sure about Bastien. Little does she know, Bastien is
falling for her as well. THE ROGUE PIRATE'S BRIDE is an early 1800's historical
romantic
suspense set on the high seas. It's a fast-paced,
swashbuckling tale of piracy, dangerous scheming, and
intrigue. You'll love the predicaments Raeven gets into and
her inventive ways of getting out of them. Don't miss this
historic treat. It's one you can't put down.
SUMMARY
Revenge should be sweet, but it may cost him
everything... The Marquis de Valére escaped certain death in the
French
Revolution and is now an infamous privateer. Out to avenge
the death of his mentor, Bastien discovers himself
astonishingly out of his depth when confronted with a
beautiful, daring young woman who has landed herself in a
mess of trouble... Forgiveness is unthinkable, but it may be her only
hope... British Admiral's daughter Raeven Russell believes Bastien
responsible for her fiancé's death. But then the
fiery
beauty crosses swords directly with Bastien, and now she's
not so sure she really wants him to change his wicked
ways... With her father and a set of ruthless killers hot on their
trail, amidst swashbuckling adventure and constant danger,
suddenly Bastien and Raeven's steamy entanglement seems to
be the only thing they care about.
ExcerptBastien stood in the companionway outside his cabin and
frowned. It was quiet. Too quiet.
He was tempted to search out Mr. Maine to see whether the
quartermaster had put the black-haired hellion in his cabin
as instructed. But Bastien knew Maine too well. The girl was
in there.
He glanced down at his coat, at the ripped sleeve. Ah,
yes. His cabin girl was going to work off the damage, even
if it made both of them miserable. He’d guarantee she was
the more miserable.
Best he instruct her on her duties so she could begin.
He opened his cabin door, noted a lamp had been lit, and
glanced about. For a great cabin, it was small, but he
didn’t see the woman. His gaze scanned the neat, trim
room—berth, trunks, desk...
Where the hell was she? Could she be hiding? Where? In
the trunk?
He stepped inside and realized too late his mistake. He
turned quickly enough to avoid the worst of the blow, but he
still felt the force of the object slam into the side of his
head. For a moment, bright white dots danced before a sea of
black, and then he reached out and grabbed the hellion.
She had the object raised! Damn him if she wasn’t going
to strike again!
But he had his hand wrapped around her wrist now, and he
twisted it violently. She cried out, and he muttered, "Drop
it."
"No."
The black sea was fading now, and he was able to focus on
her face. It was set in a stubborn expression, those green
eyes flashing like the ocean during a tempest. He tightened
his grip and saw her jaw clench, but she didn’t drop the
candlestick she held.
Merde. The thing was brass and had to weight two pounds.
She really did want to kill him. Anger shot through him as
his head throbbed again, and he wrenched her arm. The little
hellion held on, so he pushed her up against the door,
slamming it closed in the process.
Her eyes were watering with pain now, but she still held
the candlestick. "Drop it."
"No!" The word was barely a breath.
He shook his head. "Mon Dieu! Are you always this
stubborn?"
"Some might call it persistence," she grit out.
He had her pinned to the door, one hand restraining her
wrist and the candlestick she held aloft, and the opposite
hand trapping her shoulder. In one quick motion, he released
her shoulder, plucked the candlestick from her grasp, and
tossed it over his shoulder. It thudded on the floor just as
her fist came up. But he caught that too, grinned, and
forced it back against the wood. Now he had both hands
pinned to the door. "I can be persistent as well."
He was looking directly into her eyes and realized,
slowly, their bodies were flush against one another.
"Don’t get any ideas," she said.
He raised a brow. "What kind of ideas?" But his body had
a mind of its own. He was more than aware of the warmth of
her skin, the feel of her soft curves against his muscles,
and the sweet, cherry smell of her hair. But something
wasn’t quite right...
He couldn’t feel the swell of her breasts. He glanced
down, noted her white shirt was all but flat. He looked into
her eyes again. "Bound them, did you? Clever disguise."
"It fooled you, pirate."
He sighed. "Are we back to that again? I told you, I’m
not a pirate. I have a letter of marque from—"
"I don’t care what country’s flag you fly under. I know
what you are. And what you did. Now get off me!" She shoved
back hard, taking him by surprise. But he was a good deal
larger than she and much stronger. He held her in place,
rather liking this position and the view it afforded him of
her eyes. They were undoubtedly her best feature—well, the
best of the ones he could see at the moment. Her nose was a
bit too snub, her lips too small—or perhaps that was because
she had them firmly compressed—and her chin jutted too
sharply. But those eyes were amazing. He’d never seen anyone
with such vividly green eyes. They reminded him of a lush
pasture or of a shower of emeralds.
And now he was reminding himself of some god awful poet.
He shook his head and hopefully rid himself of all poetic
urges.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
"What?" She blinked at him. "No."
"And you say I’m the bastard. Very well then, I shall
call you Cabin Girl."
She snorted. "You can try it."
"You need some sort of name. How else will you come
running when I call?"
Her mouth dropped open, and she let out a short,
incredulous laugh. "Oh, you’re just full of delusions."
"We’ll see." He glanced about the cabin. "And your first
task, Cabin Girl...is to empty my chamber pot."
She smiled sweetly. At least he supposed that was her
version of a sweet smile. "Of course," she cooed. "Release
me, and I’ll empty it."
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