Corsair Cove Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Other Books By Angela Ashton

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Champagne Books Presents

  Corsair Cove

  By

  Angela Ashton

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Champagne Books

  www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright 2007 by Angela Abate

  ISBN 978-1-897445-20-4

  August 2008

  Second Edition May 2014

  Cover Art by Ellen

  Produced in Canada

  Champagne Book Group

  19-3 Avenue SE

  High River, AB T1V 1G3

  Canada

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Champagnebooks.com (or a retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Other Books By Angela Ashton

  Amulet Of Fate

  Once A Rebel

  Dedication

  As this book is about second chances, I thought it fitting to dedicate it to:

  My step dad Chuck, AKA ‘Pops’, for his love, loyalty and dedication to my mother, my sister, me and our families. Thanks for being who you are. And to my parents, Glenda and Joe, were it not for you...I wouldn’t be the person I am today. *VBEG* For Amanda and Bob—it’s never too late! XO

  Special mention goes out to Cherif Fortin...

  After writing this novel, I happened upon a website and saw a picture of a gorgeous man that was the spitting image of my hero, Jacque Cherif LaFleur...right down to the red and white ruffles! After a little investigating, I found out the model was none other than Cherif Fortin and, to make a long story short, he granted me permission to post his pics on my website and to adding the middle name to my hero in light of my ‘discovery’. I also found out Cherif is a talented painter...and French Canadian…just like Jacque! ...Merci-beaucoup monsieur!

  Prologue

  The Devil’s Triangle

  October 31, 1756

  The midnight moon spilled its spherical brilliance amongst the riled occupants of the long black schooner as it swayed in the heart of the angry sea. Former first mate Emmanuel Keats gaped menacingly at the soon-to-be-late Captain Jacque LaFleur standing atop the death plank, the crafty commander’s bruised hands safely secured behind his back.

  A victorious sneer twisted his scarred face as Keats stepped over the rigid carcasses of the king’s men to make one last jibe at the lethal swindler. “I’m sorry LaFleur, ‘twould appear you’ll not be seein’ the rewards of ye loyalty after all, as I have taken over command of the sweet Sainte-Anne.”

  He waved a rugged hand amidst the surrounding flock of men. “The King shall see ye for the yella-bellied traitor ye are!” He peered down his crooked nose and snorted in disgust, kicking one of the deceased with his ragged boot. “As well as a murderer,” he added with a devious snicker and stepping closer to his former comrade.

  The wind attempted to claim the tattered black hat fastened atop Keats’ willowy blond mane. His eyes became black beads peering through narrow slits. “Once a pirate, always a pirate. Ye don’t honestly believe a piece ‘a parchment kissed by His Kingship can change that?” He made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Privateer, indeed.”

  Shaking his head as though to dismiss a bad taste in

  his mouth, Keats paced a few steps before pausing, then slowly rounded to face his nemesis. “‘Tis a sad day indeed, Jacque. I had high hopes for ye, mate. You and I could’ve owned the sea.” His lip curled in disgust. “But sadly, ‘twas not to be. Your problems began when ye loyalties shifted. You lied to us—your crew. You lied to me. Now, look where ‘tis gotten ye!”

  “Release me ye mutinous scalawags! The treasure—” The cool sharp edge of the cutlass whooshed to Jacque’s bearded throat and severed his words.

  Eyes narrowed, Keats’ tone was chilling and deliberate. “‘Twill do ye no good to bargain shark-bait, as ye now be in Davy’s grip. My brother overheard you conspiring with your father. We have no use for ye hornswagglin’ command. We have the map, and once I extract what I need from your father, I’ll see to it he meets up with ye at the locker straight away.”

  The crew hackled along with their newly appointed captain, seemingly enjoying the private-turned-privateer’s unfortunate stroke of luck.

  “I told ye the triple twos were bad luck, matey. ‘Tis nothing personal Jacque, well, perhaps a smidgen…” He pinched thumb and forefinger together and threw LaFleur a wicked wink and twin grin. “What can I say? I’m a pirate to the bloody bone! I’ve a feeling the booty we’ll soon be meetin’ with must be worth far more than what the king shall be supplying if he wanted it badly enough to commission ye to retrieve it. And we simply can’t leave ye alive to, well…dead men tell no tales, aye mate?” Keats cackled, a mischievous gleam dancing behind cold black dots as he lowered the blade to his side.

  Jacque groaned, squinting his eyes against the sting of blustery wind as he stood atop the plank, the glares of his treacherous crew heating his blood.

  Merde! How could he have been so careless? So blinded by lust? The instant he’d laid gluttonous eyes on the voluptuous vixen he’d sealed his fate. Keats—the treasonous rat—had selected the perfect diversion, Jacque would give him that. Women had always been his superlative vice, his sole weakness. Keats knew it, and used it as ammunition to fuel a personal vendetta.

  No one else could possibly know about his secret. Or could they? No, this had to be something else. What exactly had Keats’ brother overheard?

  Bile burned Jacque’s throat. It sickened him to think truth dripped from Keats’ foul tongue. King Louis would undoubtedly keep to his promise and execute his entire family believing he’d dared to steal away with the coveted fortune.

  The disturbing vision of his father dangling from a noose until his last breath was strangled from him fisted his stomach. But what could he do with his hands literally tied behind his back? He’d go to his briny grave knowing his family would pay ultimately for his careless failure.

  And for what? Did these unpardonable sea dogs think to split the king’s treasure amongst themselves?

  It was difficult, but Jacque resisted the urge to throw his head back and laugh. Even if his father should cave under their torture and disclose h
is knowledge of the classified information, with Jacque gone, they’d never uncover the secret.

  The secret that held the key to the real fortune.

  He allowed the slyest of grins to slip into his expression, causing his mutinous crew to falter in their hackling and gape at him. Let them have the chest of silver and gold! It was but a mere decoy in comparison to the real treasure.

  Closing his eyes, Jacque tilted his rugged face toward the stars inhaling the salty musk that lingered in the crisp night air for the last time.

  Just one more chance? ‘Tis all I ask.

  If he could do it all over again, he’d not fail his family a second time. “Please Lord? If ye are listening, I beg ye to give me a chance, one chance to set things right.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. He clenched his teeth shut to stay the sting of tears. Men didn’t cry.

  If he had another chance, he’d not be foolish enough to let down his guard in trade for the erotic pleasures of a saucy wench. Not when there was so much at stake.

  When he opened his eyes again, the taunting moon resting lazily atop a plush cushion of gloomy clouds greeted him. He snorted, for it too appeared to be mocking his dire predicament. Looking over his treacherous crew one last time, a devilish grin spread his bloodstained cheeks. “Keats, there’s something you should know. If ye kill me—”

  “Avast LaFleur, there shall be no quarter. As long as ye father thinks you’re alive and in my custody, he’ll bark like a one legged dog pinin’ after a squirrel, to be sure.” Keats raised his cutlass to poke its shiny edge back and forth in Jacque’s midriff. “Now then ye blackguard, be off with ye!”

  As if on cue, thunder cracked fiercely overhead. The menacing sky opened up, unleashing its liquid wrath upon the rebellious occupants of the Sainte-Anne.

  “Blimey Cap’n! The sky was clear as a piece of eight just a second ago,” the one legged cook cried, scratching his balding head as he crouched behind Keats.

  The ship swayed and rocked violently causing Jacque to lose his footing on the slippery plank. The frigid water wasted no time attacking him as he plunged into the icy sea.

  Jacque lost his breath the instant he hit the frigid ocean. It felt as though a thousand tiny daggers were thrust into his body all at once and caused him to gasp and stiffen against the continual torture.

  He couldn’t think. Panic consumed him as he struggled violently against the ropes that bound his hands and feet, but to no avail. The chilling water was enough to numb his senses.

  The sea’s salty weapon stung his eyes and bit into his wounds as he descended deeper and deeper into the black cavity of the devil’s mouth, twisting and turning, desperate to escape Davy’s grasp.

  Until he was unable to battle the briny nectar of his enemy any longer.

  One

  Present Day

  It had to be a mistake, was her first thought. But sadly enough, it wasn’t. Esa Keats buried her feet in the warm milky sand and relaxed against the comfort of the deep Adirondack chair. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the energizing breeze of the ocean. The sound of the foaming surf as it crashed itself onto the sun-drenched coast helped soothe her weary nerves.

  She loved the ocean. Almost as much as she loved her father. Charles Keats had instilled that fondness deep into her soul before she could even speak. Her heart ached at his memory. She swiped at the tear teetering on the rim of her eye. Did he know how deeply he’d wounded her?

  She was tired of crying. Tired of worrying. But most of all, she was tired of hurting. The last few weeks had been sheer hell with a capital H.

  Her father had been dead but a few weeks and yet, to his twenty-three year old daughter, it seemed more like months. As the only child, Charles had taught Esa everything he knew about the shipping industry. “Esa could run the business with her eyes closed,” he used to brag.

  So why had he not left the family business to her when he died?

  His betrayal had shattered her. She still hadn’t managed to collect herself enough to reassemble the scattered pieces.

  Why? Didn’t he trust her? She’d always thought he did. Obviously, she’d thought wrong. Hell, he hadn’t even told her of his incurable illness!

  The hurt was compounded by the fact that he’d not even left the beloved company to be operated by her fiancé, Sid Cromwell. Perhaps he’d wanted a male figure in charge. So, why not Sid? He was perfectly capable of running things, at least in her opinion. In fact, he had worked for her father for almost four years now.

  But for whatever reason, Charles didn’t share her opinion and apparently found her future husband incapable of taking on such a responsibility.

  It was no secret her father hadn’t been especially fond of Sid…he’d certainly had a governing hand in postponing their marriage on more than one occasion. But if he’d left Sid in charge, they could have finally married, and she would have been able to keep her hands in the business she loved more than life itself.

  “Damn you Pops,” she hissed, guilt pricking her heart as she uttered the last syllable. She’d never cursed him before. Never had any reason to. But by God, she should have been the one delegated to run the family business—not some hedonistic recluse off the street!

  It didn’t make sense, none of it. Why would he do such a foolish thing as to choose a complete, total stranger to oversee things after his death?

  The baffling deed kept her already tattered nerves on edge. And poor Sid, he’d been absolutely devastated by the news. She’d never realized he’d come to care so much about her father. Even with the way Charles snubbed him at every turn, Sid remained loyal.

  He did it for her.

  Sid loved her so much he couldn’t bear to see her in pain. He’d advised her, hell, he’d done everything short of falling to his knees and begging her to counter her father’s ridiculous will. And been terribly upset with her when she’d refused.

  After yet another heated argument, Esa came to the conclusion that it might be best for their relationship to spend some time apart; at least until she could sort her thoughts. Just a few days, she’d promised him. She needed time alone…to lick her wounds.

  Taking an extended leave of absence from her day job of assistant curator of a small art museum near Naples, she escaped to Key West. Rarely did she ask for time off, and with the drastic and sudden alterations in her life of late, she quite honestly didn’t care if the museum fired her or not.

  The Florida Keys, a tropical paradise not far from her home in Fort Myers, was just what she needed to steal away from the deafening madness that threatened to suck the life out of her.

  It had been four days since her fight with Sid and not once had he tried to contact her.

  “If that’s what my father wanted, I’m not going to fight it. Keats Port & Shipping Industries was his business, not mine,” she’d tried to explain through jerking sobs. “I’m sure he had his reasons for choosing Mr. Rafeull.”

  But what could those reasons have been? Did he think she didn’t want the business because of her passion for the arts? No. Of all people, her father knew the secrets of her heart. Often better than she did herself. Her head throbbed as to rival any jackhammer with every venture she took into deciphering that riddle.

  Why had her father never mentioned the man’s name to her before? Rafeull. With a name like that, she had to wonder if she should hire a translator for their initial meeting.

  Couldn’t the man that had given her life have at least informed her that he didn’t plan to leave her in charge so she didn’t expect it, didn’t look forward to it?

  It should have been a comfort in this grievous time, not a thorn left to fester in her side. Why, was the only thing that came to mind. What was so special about this man in particular that her father would risk hurting his beloved daughter? Her lip curled into a frown.

  He’d often told her that the sharks would chew up a woman in this business and spit out her splintered bones. “Don’t be fooled Esa, not all sharks live in the water,” he’d warne
d.

  A huge part of her resented the mysterious stranger that would all too soon take over her lifelong dream, the person that had managed to bump her off her pedestal. It left a hollow inside her. A void she’d hope Sid’s love and understanding could fill, yet he’d let her down too. Guilt stabbed at her heart. Don’t be so hard on him, she berated herself. After all, he’s only trying to help.

  The unmistakable sound of thunder boomed overhead. Esa shaded her eyes from the sun and looked up into the clear blue sky only to catch a fleeting glimpse of light before it dissipated. Hmm, it didn’t look like rain. But then again, one never could tell what the fickle weather might decide to do in this particular day and age.

  Still, she didn’t want to get caught in a downpour. Better to be safe than soaked. Closing the novel she’d been unable to focus on, she slid it into the pale blue beach bag at her feet. Tying the sheer wrap around her waist, Esa gathered the rest of her belongs and began the stroll down the shore leading back to her hotel.

  She simply had to find a way to accept this devastating, unexpected turn of events and move on. “Oof!” she spurted when she tripped over something on the shore. She sprang to her knees, swirled around and met with the cause of her fall.

  Stunned beyond belief, she dropped back onto the sun-baked sand. A rather delicious looking specimen of the opposite sex was sprawled carelessly on the beach. With the exception of the scruffy dark beard, he was so perfect that he had to be a mirage.

  Esa ripped off her sunglasses. How had she not noticed him? Damn, the beefy man was striking enough to send any of the male models she’d ever seen scurrying in humiliation. She poked his side with the tip of her shades. Her breath caught. He was real. Lord help her, the man was real! Her every sense attuned to that fact; her body seemed to come alive.

  The earnest whitecaps caressed the lower half of his bulging body before retreating, only to dash back up to kiss his highly masculine frame once again. He just lay there as if he were a babe in a crib and perfectly natural for him to be here on the beach. Asleep. She leaned forward and peered at him from under the annoying curl dangling at her forehead.