Corsair Cove

by Angela Ashton

  What the hell was that about? And why had he introduced her as his guest. She’d been his beloved fiancée before she crossed the threshold!

  He cleared his throat. “I believe Esa is about your size, go and see what ye have to loan her, please?”

  It was an order not a request…and Sara seemed to recognize it as such.

  A few hours later, Esa descended the stairs refreshed from a hot, rose-scented bath. The lemon colored dress Sara had loaned her was a tad snug through the bust, but the long sleeves and floor length hem exuded comforting warmth. After a minute of being trapped in the restricting corset, she ripped it off and refused to wear it. She couldn’t breathe in the contraption! Honestly, who in their right might would agree to traipse around with the bones of a whale squeezing the very life out of her?

  And the stomacher? Almost as frightening with its triangular shape that pressed a woman’s bosom over the top of her gown. It might be all the rage in the world of 18th century high fashion, but she didn’t need any assistance in that department…even without the punishing corset and stomacher, her bosoms peeked from the plunging neckline of the gown. She wished she had a sweater to cover herself, as the only time anyone got a peek at this much cleavage was when she was wearing her bikini.

  She did however keep the soft chemise and agreed to wear the petticoats and false hips…small separate side hoops. Sara informed her that had they been at Court, she wouldn’t be given a choice but would have to wear all the garments, plus a much larger fan hoop.

  As if the loan of her clothes weren’t hospitable enough, the young woman insisted on styling Esa’s hair. A simple coiffure, her hair was swept into a bun toward the back of her head and a few curls fell around her face.

  Sara added the finishing touches by loaning her a pair of blue worsted stockings and black backless slippers. White stockings would have complimented the soft yellow, but when she inquired, Sara informed her white and black stockings were reserved solely for the upper class. Apparently, those colors came in cotton or silk, and beyond the coin purse of the working class. She did find a blue ribbon that she creatively wove through Esa’s bun.

  And make-up? Huh, another advantage to being born into the upper class. Sara offered to grind some berries and brush them on her cheeks, but Esa graciously declined. She had grown accustomed to washing food off her face, not smearing it on. Ah well, not that it mattered, she doubted she’d be invited to any balls while she was here.

  An intimate longing filled her heart as she watched Jacque’s family interact. Love loomed like sweet incense in the air. It was dinnertime and there were many unfamiliar faces ambling about. Each member played a part in setting the table and laughter ricocheted off the walls as they set about their chores. Her eyes scoured the room for Jacque. Where was he?

  She meant to ask him about that generic introduction.

  “Have you seen Jacque?” she asked one of his sisters as the girl brushed passed.

  The young lady shrugged as if she hadn’t understood a word. Understandably so. She’d forgotten to switch over to French. How could the girl have any knowledge of the English language having never left the radius of a few miles of her home? Jacque was well versed in many languages, but that had come over years of traveling.

  “Jacque?” she repeated, raising her hand above her head in reference to his height.

  In a quick wind of French, the dark beauty smiled and gushed, “Cherif had some business to tend to. Not to worry, mademoiselle, I’m sure he won’t forget you’re here.” With a sly giggle, she disappeared up the row of wooden stairs.

  Cherif? Why—oh, that’s right, he’d mentioned his family had called him by his middle name so as not to confuse him with his live-in grandfather and namesake.

  “Come, lass, sit down and have a bite to eat,” Jamus insisted, pulling a chair out for her.

  She was starving, and whatever was cooking smelled divinely of peppered meat and heavily buttered vegetables. Things must have taken a turn for the better since Jacque—or should she refer to him as Cherif?—was a child. Perhaps he still sent them money from his share of his privateer profits. He definitely didn’t need a large income living aboard his ship.

  Once Jacque’s family had arrived at the table, she was formally introduced. Jacque, the grandfather, possessed the same dark eyes and set jaw as his wayward grandson, though the full pout couldn’t have come from anyone but the frail woman sitting beside him. Her body trembled constantly and Esa wondered if the woman suffered from the dreaded Parkinson’s disease.

  Taking the offered seat at the right hand of Jamus, Esa was instantly bombarded with questions by young and old as they traveled up the lengthy table. Understanding only about half of what was being thrown at her, she wanted to clasp her hands over her ears and block out the noise.

  “Where did ye meet Cherif?”

  “How do ye know Cherif?”

  “Why were ye wearing Cherif’s clothes?”

  “Are ye Uncle Cherif’s mist—” The young, raven-haired girl with beautiful, flowing corkscrew curls was silenced by her mother’s stern glare before she was able to finish her sentence.

  “Avast!” Jamus bellowed coming to his feet and bringing an abrupt halt to the commotion. “Let the lady eat in peace, will ye? There’ll be plenty of time for talk later.” After a round of nods, he took his seat again and began to pass the mounding plates of food around the table.

  “Looks like Cherif’s got some explaining to do! Ow—” Sara dipped in her seat to kick a younger version of Jacque beneath the table.

  Esa felt the shift of nervous tension and was suddenly self-conscious. She felt like an intruder. Why did she feel like the joke was on her? Where in the world was Jacque? Surely he wouldn’t have gone looking for the diamond without her? Anger fueled her temper. A river of questions cascaded her thoughts as she pushed the mushy peas around her plate with her fork.

  She should leave. Just get up and go. Surely someone had seen Jacque and could point her in the right direction.

  “Come Cherie, ye must be hungry? Eat, eat!” Jamus encouraged with a warm smile.

  She buttered a chunk of bread and took a bite, though her appetite had waned. A loud rap at the front door saw everyone jumping like Mexican beans. Jacque! Her heart leapt. After she pummeled him for leaving without a word she’d chain herself to his side so he couldn’t slip away unnoticed again!

  Jamus rose to answer the door, but the intruder had let themself in. Esa stared around the table at the alarmed glares as an irritated, rather attractive blonde stormed into the dining room.

  Every eye darted between Esa and the apparently unexpected guest. What was going on?

  “Where is he?” she demanded, her French clipped and heavy. Elegant hands rested on a narrow waist and Esa witnessed firsthand the difference in the modest side hoops she wore and the wide set things protruding from this woman’s hips. She must have turned sideways to get through the front door! A generous bust-line that practically kissed a firmly set chin courtesy of the stomacher and tight corset rose and fell beneath the expensive looking chiffon with every heated breath.

  Jamus appeared at the woman’s side and with the patience of a cherub, took hold of her arm. “Now Sophia, don’t make a scene dear. Let’s go into the sitting room and talk.”

  Sophia? Where had she heard that name before? Sophia, Sophia…for the life of her the name evaded her.

  The woman ignored Jamus’ plea and stared at Esa as though she left a foul taste in her mouth. “You must be the treasure I’ve heard tale of.” The angry woman glared at her as though she wanted to rip her hair out, one shaft at a time.

  “I beg your pardon?” Esa felt the color drain from her face. Who else knew she was here except Jacque and the people sitting in this room? Her heart thundered in her ears. Who was this woman, and why was she so upset? Switching to her broken French, she asked, “Do I know you?”

  Of course she didn’t, couldn’t.

  Was she Jacque’s
girlfriend?

  The thought made her stomach knot. Good God…she was! That’s why Jacque had made such a bogus introduction! The reason his family looked upon her as though she had horns protruding from her head. The way the woman was looking at her, she expected daggers to fly from her eyes at any moment. The introvert in her wanted to crawl out the front door and never have to look at these people again. She felt like a trapped mouse.

  “Don’t play coy with me harlot! The two of you were seen groping each other on the dock.”

  Harlot? The sea must have gotten to her, for in that moment, Esa wanted to grab the nearest knife and bury it in the woman’s creamy throat. “Look, I don’t know what went on between you and Jacque in the past but—”

  “The past?” Sophia’s entire body shook in her wicked laughter. The next instant, the smile had left her cover girl face and she stepped closer and narrowed her eyes as if sizing Esa up. “Mademoiselle, I don’t know what the trollop hopper has told you, but I am Cherif’s past, present and future!”

  The nerve of the witch! Esa shot from her chair. She wasn’t about to take this from one of Jacque’s former liaisons. Flashing a superior grin, she held her head high and proud. Trying hard to find the right French words, she collected herself and stated in a cool manner, “I’m afraid there must be some misunderstanding mademoiselle. Ja-Cherif and I are getting married.” It actually came out as Cherif and I are married, though she didn’t catch it in time and was too unnerved to correct herself now.

  A stifling hush fell over the room when the last word tumbled from her lips. The eerie silence made her blood curdle. Tears threatened to surface, but she fought them with everything that was in her.

  Sophia grinned like the Grinch that stole Christmas. The slow, wicked smile and the triumphant gleam in her venomous eyes seared Esa to the core.

  “Indeed? Is that legal?” Sophia scanned the room still wearing the haughty smile but not really seeking an answer.

  “Why wouldn’t it be legal?” How much did this woman know about her relationship with Jacque?

  “Because, you gullible little tart, Cherif already has a wife!”

  What? Had she heard correctly?

  “A-A wife?” Esa stammered, the blood draining from head to toe. “You?”

  Sophia crossed slinky arms beneath her bosom and smiled triumphantly as she thrust the generous stone decorating her left hand beneath Esa’s nose. “Moi mademoiselle, Cherif belongs to me!”

  For the second time in her life, Esa fainted.

  Twenty One

  Jacque hoped Esa wouldn’t be too angry with him for having left her behind. But this was one journey she couldn’t accompany him on. With any luck, he could kill two birds with one stone.

  He made his way through the narrow alley, pulling the hood of the long dark mantle around his neck against the drizzling rain. It was colder than an icehouse out here and he was glad for the coat’s added warmth. He’d missed the benefits of having sisters, especially when it came to mending. He’d never taken to doing any of his own, but gladly gave Thomas an evening’s biscuit ration when the need presented itself.

  He hesitated when he reached the end of the alley. His heart fell into the hollow of his stomach. Unpleasant memories flooded his mind as he stared at the small house on the opposite side of the street. The house that had once filled him with hope and made him think he could be happy, that he might hear the pitter patter of tiny feet pounding the wood floors, but now left him with a dark void inside.

  It was within view off the peer, where he could remain close to the sea. Borrow its immortal solace whenever the need arose. The house had been the first step in fulfilling the dying wish of his mother. She’d almost had him convinced he could be happy on land.

  He should have known better, should have listened to his instincts.

  Dread loomed in the air as he took a step toward the bothersome dwelling. Would anyone be home? His stomach slammed against his ribs. Good lord, seeing Keats again was one thing…but Sophia was an entirely different story.

  She’d used them: first his mother, making her believe she’d be a good wife to her rebellious son, that she could make him happy. Vulgar wench! Had she been a man, he’d have called her out, and only one of them would have walked away from the bloody fight.

  Once the wedding vows were exchanged, she’d changed. No longer did she purr over him, but took every last coin to purchase a new bonnet, or fabric for a new dress. And while a privateer made a decent living, it didn’t come a nose hair to the spoils he and his crew had shared in his pirating days. As a privateer, the king claimed the better part of the booty.

  Stopping at the foot of the iron gate he looked the house over once more and sighed. Rain droplets fell from his nose, and he burrowed deeper into the cloak in seek of warmth…and strength to take the next step.

  His hand sought and found the security of the pistol at his waist through the heavy fabric. How was it he never wavered in the face of death whenever he ordered the pillage of a ship, yet he shrunk away like some yellow bellied coward at the thought of seeing her again?

  It was because she’d humiliated him. Made a laughingstock of him when he was out trying to earn a descent living. He’d hated her then. He loathed her now. He should have carried through with the divorce before he left on the king’s favor.

  Yet, with the threat of death riding the heels of his return for his treasonous acts, it hadn’t made much difference. The bitch already had everything he owned. Except for the Sainte-Anne. And he’d sink her himself if he thought for a second Sophia would get her gluttonous hands on her!

  The house looked dark, even in the light of day. Perhaps the occupants were out. No matter, he would search every last crevice until he found what he was looking for. The gate creaked as he made his way to the four steps leading to the porch. He unfastened his mantel, leaving him easier access to the gun. Reluctantly, he lifted his hand and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked harder. Still, no one came to greet him.

  For heaven’s sake, this was his house! Why should he even bother himself with knocking? He reached into his pocket and withdrew a dull key before shoving it into the hole. Hearing the soft click, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. Once again, his skin crawled with the tainted memories that bombarded his thoughts as he entered the cozy parlor. It was quiet. Good. With any luck he’d be in and out without a heated confrontation.

  Where would Leon have hidden it? The bedroom? That seemed as good a place as any to begin his search. Taking the stairs two at a time, Jacque made a left and headed to the master’s quarters at the top. He swallowed down the sting of sour bile when he arrived the door, the image of Sophia’s long legs wrapped about the bilge rat’s bare back formed fist at his side. The woman’s image transformed and it was Esa’s shapely legs he saw hugging the man’s waist in the throes of passion! He picked up a small flower arrangement and sent it crashing into the full-length oval mirror next to the bed.

  The sound of shattered glass as it hit the wood floor provided only a little release. He pushed all thought aside to focus on his reason for being here.

  The king’s diamond.

  He strode to the bureau and rummaged through Sophia’s baubles. It wasn’t there, not that he’d expected it to be. Nor was his mother’s ring. Damn, he was hoping to give it to Esa. For it was her gentle hand that was meant to wear the cherished heirloom.

  He pulled out drawers, looked through the lofty wardrobe and checked under the bed but came up empty handed at every turn. Where the bloody hell would he have hidden it? Surely he wouldn’t be foolish enough to carry it on his person for any brigade to confiscate?

  Jacque ransacked the guest room, the kitchen, the parlor, to no avail. One thing was for sure, he hadn’t sold it, else it wouldn’t have been in Esa’s family. However, if the landlubber had indeed cut the stone, perhaps it was being sectioned now. He snorted. Surely the rat wouldn’t be foolish enough to make deals with the king’s diamond under
His Royal nose?

  Jacque would just have to bide his time and wait for the dungby to return. Searching once more through the bedroom, the slam of the front door saw Jacque pulling his pistol free and creeping to the bedroom door. He pressed himself against the wall, heart thundering in his ears, and waited for the treacherous louse to make his presence known.

  Irritated footsteps pounded the stairs causing the drum in his head to grow louder. His throat went dry. The shoes clattered their way down the hall in his direction.

  As soon as the intruder stepped into the room, Jacque slid from his hiding place and slammed the person flat against the wall and shoved the gun against her cheek.

  “Sophia!” he breathed, unable to keep the shock from his tone.

  “Cherif?” A slight crease wrinkled her nose and his heart fell. God help him, it was the same irritated crease that adorned his beloved Esa’s face, the same mouth shape that he’d grown to love.

  Terror gripped his throat.

  His mind floated back to Esa’s century, her cousin’s words rose up to taunt his wayward thoughts. Leon Keats was their grandfather. His wife’s name was Sophia.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Sophia was Esa’s grandmother, however many times removed.

  If he killed her, Esa would never come to be.

  Hellfire! Which left him in the same dilemma regarding Leon Keats. Esa’s grandfather.

  He hadn’t considered that in his planning. In his daze, he almost lost his hold on the gun. Sophia’s snide remark brought him out of his stupor. “I heard you’d returned. Grow tired of the cattle aboard the ship and come home to savor a sweet delicacy?” She licked her lips in a seductive manner.

  He growled, wanted nothing more at the moment than to slap the smugness from her lovely face. “Where’s the diamond, Sophia?”

  Her brows shot up. “Diamond?” She blinked.

  Jacque cocked the pistol and pressed it harder into her cheek. “If ye value your worthless life, you’ll tell me where your macaroni lover has hidden it.”