the RFenaissance...a Romance....a Bit of Steampunk...
The Renaissance…Romance…and a Bit of Steampunk…
The second offering in the LOVERS OF LEONESSE series…available soon from Class ACT BOOKS.
When Andre duCleau’s Will leaves his entire estate to his runaway son, François, daughter Antoinette is forced to make a drastic choice: Find her brother or live in poverty. She chooses the later and travels to Leonesse disguised as a young nobleman. Antoinette doesn’t find François, but she does find a home with the city’s flying squadron, the Mothmen.
Once the guardians of Leonesse, these brash young men took to the air in flying machines created by King Georges’ Venitani inventor, but now, they and their brave deeds have been almost forgotten…until war again arises.
Secure in her disguise, Antoinette is ready to fight…until her feelings for Etienne, a fellow flyer, get in the way. What will happen if Etienne and the others discover her secret? Will they denounce her or will they accept as The Seventh Mothman?
EXCERPT:
Toinette had no trouble at all in finding the barracks. It was another gray building, but built of brick. It also looked slightly shabby as if evidence of the Mothmen’s decline into obscurity had to be borne by everything associated with them, including the place where they lived. High above it, perched on the edge of a cliff rising to become part of the mountain itself, was the home and workshop of the inventor of the flying machines, as well as many other contraptions employed daily by the army, the navy, and the city itself. From the little she could see from such a distance, Master Leonardo’s dwelling appeared well-kept compared to that of his pupils.
Dismounting, she tied Etoile to the hitching rail and removed the pannier from behind the saddle, then trudged to the door. There were three steps and a wide stoop, almost a veranda, surrounded by a mass of drooping plants with equally discouraged-looking dusty-pink blossoms. It ran a quarter the length of the building, which was a small single story with two very wide picture windows in front, and two smaller, one half-raised. The bricks were very dusty and silvered to an off-white by the dirt and grime ingrained in its surface. It looked to be at least a decade since anyone had bothered to wash either the outside of the building or its cloudy, stained windows. Attached to the single weather-beaten wooden door was a large oval ring.
Seizing it, Toinette brought it down against the metal plate as firmly as she could. Then, she waited.
Nothing happened. She listened. No footsteps approached from inside, but she could hear sounds. Music, someone playing a piano and quite well, too, and voices, laughter. Seizing the knocker, she brought it down, harder this time, the resultant clanging making Etoile raise his head and snort. A third time, she struck the metal plate, then let the ring fall from her hand.
Several seconds passed before she heard soft footfalls on bare flooring. A key jangled in the lock and the door swung open.
“All right. All right. Stop that noise! How many times do we have to tell you? Take deliveries to the rear…”
Toinette looked up. A young man stood there. A young man with very dark, very wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. His naked shoulders. He was slim, what one might call wiry, chest bare and well-muscled. Her startled gaze wandered down his body, over the flat plane of his belly to what lay nestled in the curling thatch at his thighs. She couldn’t move, just stood there, staring as if transfixed by something never before seen by her maidenly eyes…the blatant, and slightly rampant evidence of his manhood.
“When you get through inspecting my privates, you can tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.” The sarcastic amusement in his voice make her jerk her gaze upward. He was holding a towel in one hand but making no move to cover himself. Instead, he touched it to his chest, blotting away the moisture there. His eyes were laughing as he waited for her to answer. “Well?”
“I-I’m Antoine DuCleau.” He didn’t say anything to that. “I-I’m a Mothman.” His mouth quirked disbelievingly. “No, truly. I just signed up...” Her words died away under that dark blue gaze.
“So le Admiral finally snared another one?” He sighed as if relieved. “And here I thought I’d be the last. Come in, mon frère!” His free hand reached out, seized her arm and pulled her inside. “Welcome.”
The second offering in the LOVERS OF LEONESSE series…available soon from Class ACT BOOKS.
When Andre duCleau’s Will leaves his entire estate to his runaway son, François, daughter Antoinette is forced to make a drastic choice: Find her brother or live in poverty. She chooses the later and travels to Leonesse disguised as a young nobleman. Antoinette doesn’t find François, but she does find a home with the city’s flying squadron, the Mothmen.
Once the guardians of Leonesse, these brash young men took to the air in flying machines created by King Georges’ Venitani inventor, but now, they and their brave deeds have been almost forgotten…until war again arises.
Secure in her disguise, Antoinette is ready to fight…until her feelings for Etienne, a fellow flyer, get in the way. What will happen if Etienne and the others discover her secret? Will they denounce her or will they accept as The Seventh Mothman?
EXCERPT:
Toinette had no trouble at all in finding the barracks. It was another gray building, but built of brick. It also looked slightly shabby as if evidence of the Mothmen’s decline into obscurity had to be borne by everything associated with them, including the place where they lived. High above it, perched on the edge of a cliff rising to become part of the mountain itself, was the home and workshop of the inventor of the flying machines, as well as many other contraptions employed daily by the army, the navy, and the city itself. From the little she could see from such a distance, Master Leonardo’s dwelling appeared well-kept compared to that of his pupils.
Dismounting, she tied Etoile to the hitching rail and removed the pannier from behind the saddle, then trudged to the door. There were three steps and a wide stoop, almost a veranda, surrounded by a mass of drooping plants with equally discouraged-looking dusty-pink blossoms. It ran a quarter the length of the building, which was a small single story with two very wide picture windows in front, and two smaller, one half-raised. The bricks were very dusty and silvered to an off-white by the dirt and grime ingrained in its surface. It looked to be at least a decade since anyone had bothered to wash either the outside of the building or its cloudy, stained windows. Attached to the single weather-beaten wooden door was a large oval ring.
Seizing it, Toinette brought it down against the metal plate as firmly as she could. Then, she waited.
Nothing happened. She listened. No footsteps approached from inside, but she could hear sounds. Music, someone playing a piano and quite well, too, and voices, laughter. Seizing the knocker, she brought it down, harder this time, the resultant clanging making Etoile raise his head and snort. A third time, she struck the metal plate, then let the ring fall from her hand.
Several seconds passed before she heard soft footfalls on bare flooring. A key jangled in the lock and the door swung open.
“All right. All right. Stop that noise! How many times do we have to tell you? Take deliveries to the rear…”
Toinette looked up. A young man stood there. A young man with very dark, very wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. His naked shoulders. He was slim, what one might call wiry, chest bare and well-muscled. Her startled gaze wandered down his body, over the flat plane of his belly to what lay nestled in the curling thatch at his thighs. She couldn’t move, just stood there, staring as if transfixed by something never before seen by her maidenly eyes…the blatant, and slightly rampant evidence of his manhood.
“When you get through inspecting my privates, you can tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.” The sarcastic amusement in his voice make her jerk her gaze upward. He was holding a towel in one hand but making no move to cover himself. Instead, he touched it to his chest, blotting away the moisture there. His eyes were laughing as he waited for her to answer. “Well?”
“I-I’m Antoine DuCleau.” He didn’t say anything to that. “I-I’m a Mothman.” His mouth quirked disbelievingly. “No, truly. I just signed up...” Her words died away under that dark blue gaze.
“So le Admiral finally snared another one?” He sighed as if relieved. “And here I thought I’d be the last. Come in, mon frère!” His free hand reached out, seized her arm and pulled her inside. “Welcome.”
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