Hart's Passion (Pirates & Petticoats Book 2) Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Dear Reader

  Disclaimer

  Blank Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Amazon

  Book 3&4 Previews

  Marcel's recipes

  Pirates & Petticoats Novel Two

  by Chloe Flowers

  Copyright © 2016 Chloe Flowers

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, translate or transmit in any form through any medium by any means.

  Published By: Flowers & Fullerton LLC

  www.flowersandfullerton.com

  Edited by: The Editing Hall

  Cover Design by Earthly Charms

  ISBN-10:1-63303-981-1

  ISBN-13:978-1-63303-981-0

  I wish to thank my friends and peers in the

  Romance Writers of America,

  the NorthEast Ohio Romance Association,

  the Sunshine Critique group:

  Miranda Liasson, Sheridan Jeane, Kate Pembroke, Wendy Larkin, Victoria Sheridan

  for their encouragement and support.

  I’m grateful for Indie pioneers such as

  Barbara Freethy, Bella Andre, Courtney Milan and Tina Folsom

  Who continue to forge the path for new writers.

  Without their efforts, I would not be a published author.

  Special thanks to my family and handsome husband

  for overlooking the dust bunnies, cold stove and empty pantry,

  so that I could follow my dream.

  I love you.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for purchasing my book! I’ve included some bonus material from the next two books in the series, as well as some recipes from Marcel, the ship’s cook on the Seeker. You’ll find them at the end of this book. I had fun making them, I hope you do too! I always enjoy reading your comments. Your opinion means a lot to me, and I appreciate any feedback you would like to share.

  You can contact me personally at [email protected], or via snail mail (and if you’d like a print book signed, send it here, along with your return address):

  Flowers & Fullerton Publishing

  3593 Medina Road

  Suite 165

  Medina, Ohio 44256

  If you have enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review and loaning it to your friends!

  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading!

  Fondly,

  Chloe Flowers

  Other Books on Amazon by Chloe Flowers:

  Author Page on Amazon: http://author.to/ChloeFlowers

  Pirates & Petticoats Novels:

  Hart’s Desire http://mybook.to/HartsDesire

  Harts Passion http://myBook.to/HartsPassion

  Hart’s Reward http://myBook.to/HartsReward

  Pirate Heiress (July 2016)

  Pirate King (September 2016)

  Coming Fall 2016!

  The Bridal Veil Falls Series

  A contemporary romance set in a small town in upstate New York that boasts it’s “The Town of Happily Ever Afters.”

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, (living or dead) events or places is entirely coincidental.

  Bonus material: Please enjoy the first few pages of the next book in the Pirates and Petticoats novels, Hart’s Reward, and Pirate Heiress inserted at the end of Hart’s Passion!

  I’ve also included some recipes prepared by Marcel, ship’s cook, one of the characters in Hart’s Passion. The dishes Marcel served were inspired by recipes from the day. Keelan’s recipes for Bannocks and Scones were inspired by an An Antebellum Household Journal Including the South Carolina Receipts and Remedies of Emily Warton Sinkler, by Anne Sinkler Whaley LeClercq. I purchased it in Charleston when touring a plantation home; it’s filled with wonderful information about life in the Low Country.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Charleston, South Carolina

  June 1811

  If they were going to steal it, tonight would be the perfect time.

  The moon was nothing more than a sliver in the sky, leaving the night almost as dark as pitch. A single sentry strolled along the street in front of the warehouse. He passed the main doors and continued until he reached the far corner. He yawned, stretching his arms out wide. Removing his floppy hat, he scratched his head vigorously and then jammed the hat back on. After a lazy glance up and down the street he pulled a bottle from his pocket and took a swig before he leaned against the wall and yawned again.

  A dog barked in the distance, provoking a shouted curse from one of the city’s sleepy residents. The sentry sank to his haunches, tipped the bottle to his mouth and then rested his head against the bricks behind him. Once more he looked around. Finally, with a bored sigh, he sat on the ground and placed his bottle within reach before resting his arms on his knees. Within minutes, his head slumped to his forearms. The gentle sea swayed against the pilings with the easy rhythm of a rocking chair. The street was quiet except for the gently breaking waves and the soft snoring of the sentry.

  Drago Viteri Gamponetti, Gampo to his men, leaned around the corner and gestured to a pair of wagons waiting behind him. A few men slipped down to lead the teams forward. A loud ‘clop’ on the cobblestones made everyone freeze in stunned silence.

  “One of the mufflings has fallen off,” whispered a driver.

  “Crowe, you’d best check them all before we head on,” he hissed. “And check all the wheels!”

  “Aye, Cap’n Gampo, sir.” Crowe muttered, as he scampered hastily about doing as he was told. All metal parts should still be wrapped in strips of dark cloth to keep them from jingling with the horses’ movements. He ran his hands over the strips of oiled leather covering each wheel. As soon as everything was secure, Crowe motioned for all to move out. The caravan stopped near the warehouse doors.

  With the stealth of a shadow, Gampo descended from the lead wagon. Producing a key, he placed it in the lock and turned it until it gave a dull ‘click.’ After a quick glance toward the end of the building and the sleeping sentry, he pulled a glass bottle from his pocket and squatted by the door hinges and removed the cork with his teeth. After the hinges had been fully doused with the oil, the man stepped back and gently pulled one of the doors open a bit and then closed it again, testing. He repeated this procedure several more times. Satisfied he’d eliminated any squeaks, he opened both doors wide.

  One of the men gestured toward the snoring sentry near the corner. Gampo studied the man, noted the whiskey bottle next to him and gave a slight shake of his head. The other shrugged, stepped down and grabbed the halter of one of the horses then led it inside. Gampo followed and slid the doors shut.

  Once inside the warehouse, the men remained motionless, barely breathing. Gampo struck a match to the candle wedged between the boards of the wagon seats.

  “Take the blankets and cover the windows facing the street," he directed in a harsh whispe
r. “Once they’re secure, light your lanterns and get to work.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  The men went about doing what he’d ordered done. They all were well aware there was no room for error. Failing to execute even one small detail could get them caught. Getting caught would get them hanged. It gave the men strong impetus to do the job correctly.

  An hour later the wagons were loaded with casks of brandy and whiskey, rolls of silk fabric, boxes of spices, ammunition and countless other treasures from across the sea. They snuffed out the lanterns and removed the blankets from the windows. Gampo was the last to exit. The sentry hadn’t moved. He chucked to himself. The poor tar would have a great deal of explaining to do when his employer arrived in the morning. Still smiling, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the key and locked the warehouse.

  That ought give ‘im something to think about.

  The sentry shifted slightly. Steel blue eyes glinted from under the rim of his hat, as he watched the wagons pull away. After giving a slight nod to the roof of the boarding house across the street, an oil lamp flared in answer. Landon Hart rose and headed in the direction taken by the wagons seconds before.

  “They turned east down the next street,” Landon whispered to Conal O’Brien, as they followed the path of the thieves, staying near the darker shadows. “They’re heading in the direction of those warehouses we scouted earlier.”

  Conal, who was half a head taller than Landon and two stones heavier, nodded. “Hopefully to the same one containing the rest of our cargo. It’ll be harder to find the first half if they put this load in a different place.”

  A couple weeks earlier, several wagonloads of goods from the hold of one of their damaged ships was stolen en route to a warehouse he’d rented. The worst part, was that thieves had severely injured a young galley boy in the process.

  It was a risky venture but the only way to find out where their goods were taken, was to leave the rest vulnerable. Conal had bragged at the pub near the docks they had rented the most secure warehouse in the city, and had complete confidence in the quality of the locks. They were so convinced, he’d boasted, only one man was needed to guard the lot.

  The thieves swallowed the bait and now Landon had his hook embedded deeply.

  An ugly image of Keelan in the brutal arms of a pirate or leering privateer nudged its way to the forefront of Landon’s daydreams. He couldn’t get the fiery-haired vixen out of his mind. This was no time to be preoccupied with thoughts of a woman, but this wasn’t just any woman, it was his heart, his love. It was difficult to avoid thinking about how sweet her mouth tasted or how she smelled of jasmine and sunshine, or how passionately her body curved into his…

  Stop it.

  It hadn’t been his intention to become entangled with her when they made port in Charleston. He and Conal O’Brien had suffered a major loss, Conal’s Uncle Fynn, at the hands of Gampo. Damned ruthless pirate.

  They’d intentionally planned a trade route to include a stopover in Charleston so Fynn could meet with a Commodore George Grey, Keelan’s father. Fynn had been very secretive about his reasons why he wanted to meet with the commodore. So, following the run-in with Gampo, they tucked their ships in dry dock for repairs. Landon and Conal decided to keep Fynn’s mysterious meeting out of curiosity more than anything.

  At Twin Pines plantation, he met Keelan, masquerading as a boy and dueling with swords with her father’s valet in a small meadow a short distance from the main house. It was only after he’d had given her a brief lesson in knife throwing he the learned the boy was actually a young lady. Conal had found it highly amusing and had retold the story several times at the Whistling Pig Tavern, where they’d rented rooms.

  What Conal hadn’t seen, occurred later the same morning. Landon had caught Keelan eavesdropping from the depths of the garden bushes. At the time, he didn’t know she was the commodore’s daughter. He saw her as a curiosity. Up close she was more than that. She was smooth and lithe with the quickness of a boy and the curves of a woman.

  Eyes wide like a startled doe and lush lips parted in surprise, she’d have bolted if her hair hadn’t been severely tangled in the branches. How could any normal man possibly resist the opportunity to kiss her?

  She froze in shock at first of course, but after a moment her lips softened and she began to move her tongue with his. His boyish prank soon became something over which he nearly lost control, especially when he pressed his hips against hers and instead of pushing him away, she slid her hands over his forearms and pulled him closer. The only thing between his erection and her was…

  Enough!

  Focus on the task at hand; retrieve the stolen cargo without getting killed.

  Then, he’d locate Keelan and find out why she had not yet arrived. She’d promised to sail away with him on the Desire. He’d fallen in love with her. They were to be married.

  Unless…she’d changed her mind.

  He couldn’t think about that now. There was work to be done.

  Landon pulled a bottle from his pocket and took a mouthful of the amber liquid. He sloshed it around then spit it into his hands and rubbed it on his face and shirt. He handed the bottle to his friend.

  “Seems a shame to waste such good whiskey,” Conal muttered sadly, as he repeated the same procedure.

  Landon grinned. “Leave it to an Irishman to mourn the loss of a mouthful of whiskey.”

  “Look who’s talkin’.”

  Landon threw his arm over Conal’s shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  The two men staggered down the alley.

  Conal broke into song:

  Oh, my wee lass is a fine, young lass if ever a lass there be…

  Her tits as big as a bowl of figs

  Hips broader than a wil…(burp)…low tree…

  Oh my wee lass is a fine young lass held in high regard,

  She makes her bannocks with flour ’n lard…

  Big as me cock…and just as hard!

  They burst into bawdy laughter and stumbled past the first warehouse with no incident. However, as they passed the entrance to the second building, a wide bulk blocked their path.

  “Hey there, mates. Where’re ye headin’?”

  Landon and Conal halted, each swaying slightly.

  “Why, we be headin’ to Miz LeBlanc’s housh, my big man,” Conal slurred. “Gonna bed me a strong Irish lash wi’ the biggest tits in Charson. Char-lesson.” He shook his head numbly. “Town,” he finally stated firmly.

  Landon thrust the bottle at the burly guard. “Ha’ yersef a slosh and join us, man.” He jiggled the bottle enticingly. “But we git firs’ choice of the wenches, since it’s our idea.”

  The man frowned and shook his head. “Ye couple of drunken sots can’t find yer way to a tit if ye was locked in a room full of nanny goats. Madame LeBlanc’s be two blocks west of here.”

  “Two more blocks, ye say? Wish way is west?” Landon scowled and squinted over the tar’s shoulder. The windows were covered but a sliver of light shone through the side of one of them and a bright red bolt of silk. His silk, he’d wager.

  Conal made an exaggerated turn toward his friend. “Did not the wench say three streets north and two streets east?” he said with arms crossed and fingers jutting into the air.

  “Aye. She said two streets east and three streets south,” Landon bobbed his head then staggered a couple dizzy steps sideways.

  “Ha’ we been goin’ east or wes’?”

  The warehouse guard rolled his eyes. “Listen lads," he said impatiently, pointing back up the alley. “Turn yer arses around and go two blocks that way and turn left.” He waved his left arm and pointed. “Madam LeBlanc’s be the white house with the red front door. Ye can’t miss it.”

  “Two up then left ye say?” Landon repeated, blinking.

  “Yes, man. LEFT. Turn LEFT.” The sentry confirmed in an exasperated tone as he batted his hand to the left yet again.

  Conal brightened. “Oh, well then. It’s
not sa far from here. We thank ye verra mush, me good man.” He clapped the man on the back and nearly fell down.

  Landon made a show of helping Conal regain his balance then wrapped his arm over his friend’s shoulders and spun him around. “Let’s be off then. Ahead and to the lef’!”

  “The left!”

  Conal thumped Landon on the back and pointed up the street. “To the wenches!”

  “The wenches!”

  They staggered a few steps before pivoting around again to face the surly guard.

  “Ye sure ye won’t join us for a romp?” Conal shouted, although he was barely ten feet away.

  The man gave a wave and shook his head. “Nay lads, I’m workin’ this night. Have a warehouse to guard.” He pulled aside his vest to show the handle of a pistol sticking out of his waistband. “Ye go on.”

  “Suit yershelf,” Landon slurred. They swung back around and shuffled away.

  The guard chuckled as the drunkards staggered down the alley and paused a moment before making a right turn. Leaning against the warehouse door he gave a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Ye’ll not lay a lass this night, lads.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Keelan Grey stood at the foot of the grave, gazing at the sharply chiseled marks on the stone without really seeing them. This afternoon, they’d buried Papa in the Circular Congregational Church cemetery on Meeting Street. The strange illness which had consumed him over the past year took him the night of her cousin’s ball…the night Landon had professed his love…the night he asked her to marry him. Strange how one evening could be both the best night and worst night of one’s life.

  Before he died, he’d made a confession to her. He’d planted the seed of a question in her mind and then demanded of her a promise she’d vowed to keep. After all, she was a diligent daughter, so she would, of course, keep her promise. Still, she had to wonder, what would Landon think of it all?