A Woman Made for Sin (11 page)

October 14, 1816

Lord Aldon’s heart seized as the enormous horse leaped over the obstacle. It seemed
impossible that such a huge animal could hurl itself so high in the air or that such
a small person could influence, let alone control it. But his Millie could. She had
been able to do so since the day she had brought Hercules home—a present he had unwittingly
purchased for her on her sixteenth birthday. That was nearly five years ago and they
were still inseparable. The large mammal seemed to understand not only how small and
vulnerable his daughter was but how much she adored him.

He watched as she slowed the black beast down and turned toward the stables. Each
day she rode longer than the day before in her daily search for some type of relief.
He recognized the pain etched in her face. It had been carved into his own the day
her mother passed away. Only his Millie and his love for horses seemed to keep part
of him anchored in the present. He did not want the same to happen to his daughter.

Lord Aldon sighed and dropped the curtains. It had been nearly a week since his daughter
arrived home unexpectedly and without explanation. Two days later Hercules was delivered
with a brief note from Chase stating that Millie should not be without her horse while
he remained in London. Lord Aldon never asked his daughter why or for how long she
was visiting. In many ways, he did not want to know.

He liked his son-in-law. Liked him a lot. And he suspected that if he became aware
of the particulars of Millie’s visit and accompanying distress, his estimation of
the highly regarded marquess would plummet to an irrecoverable level. Besides, it
was not a father’s place to interfere in a marriage, and when loved ones knew too
much, they oftentimes could not help but interfere.

It was that premise which had kept him silent for nearly seven days. But watching
his daughter fall deeper into despair, Lord Aldon had also come to the conclusion
that distance and time were not helping. A little parental prodding was needed.

Lord Aldon approached the stables and immediately one of the younger hands rushed
to open the doors. “Her ladyship has just returned, my lord. She insisted on brushing
down her horse,” the lad quickly added as a gentle reminder that Millie insisted on
doing a stable hand’s job when it came to Hercules.

“Hush, boy. I know my daughter and her peculiarities. Go off now and tend to your
other duties.” Lord Aldon moved around the numerous apparatuses and stalls, working
his way down to the one Millie had selected long ago to house her horse.

Her mother died when Millie was a small child. The three of them had been very close,
much closer than typical wealthy families, but then most marriages were for things
such as convenience, money, land, and power—not love. So when his wife had been taken
from this life, there was a time he had feared that he might never recover. He might
not have, if he had not had Millie.

As she grew and her love for horses became as strong as his, he had built himself
a matchless horse farm. The Derby, Ascot, and trips to Tattersalls became positive
ways to pass the time. But the pleasure of the stables, the horseflesh, and daily
rides would never give Millie the solace it gave him. Her problems resided with those
who were alive, not dead. Millie needed to face her emotions, and until she did so,
her misery would only grow.

“I saw you ride today. He’s a mighty fine stepper, your horse.”

Millie looked sideways at her father and continued the long, even brush strokes. “You
didn’t used to think so. In fact, I believe you thought him to be a monster.”

Aldon chuckled. “Ah, well, that is because he is one, darling. But when a horse loves
you, it makes all the difference.” He watched Millie’s brief smile retreat and her
face become expressionless once again. “Do you remember when he was first delivered
and how you begged and pleaded for weeks to ride him?”

“I distinctly remember each and every no.”

“I was positive he would kill you, the one precious thing I had left in the world.
Of course I said no. It was only later that I realized you would never cease hounding
me, that your dogged personality would eventually outlast my protective nature.”

Millie shot him a halfhearted smile. “Then I shall endeavor to acquiesce more often.”

“You will not. Your tenacity is one of your most endearing qualities and one that
too many lack. The more important something is to you, the more risks you are willing
to take. You approach challenges directly, becoming
involved
in the solution, not content to stand by and wait for someone else to solve life’s
difficulties. It is a gift you got from your mother. It can be a frustrating trait
for us . . . husbands and fathers, but in the end, such resolve is appreciated. Don’t
ever forget that,” he finished, congratulating himself. It would be difficult for
Millie to return to Chase and work out their problems, but based on the little nudge
he just gave her, he felt assured she would.

Millie felt her father bend over and kiss the back of her head before leaving the
way he came in. It was an unusual caring act, but one that touched her.

Her father clearly had been referring to her and Chase and the reasons behind her
unexpected arrival at Abileen Rose. Thankfully, her father had never asked why she
had come home or what was behind her growing depression. Yet he had recognized that
she needed some guidance and decided to remind her of who she was.

Millie placed the brush down and called over an astonished hand to complete the job
of cleaning Hercules. She wiped her hands on her short coat and exited the stables.

Her father was right. She had been waiting for others to take action, in the mistaken
belief that Aimee would be quickly delivered back to London. That event had not occurred.
From what Elda Mae said in her brief letter, a Bow Street runner had been a regular
visitor to the London residence. Chase, however, had yet to write a single word. Why,
Millie could only guess, but power and money were what was needed to find Aimee now.
Something Chase had, not she.

If she could just
know
for certain that Aimee was on board the
Sea Emerald
, she would be able to better handle the other issues between her and Chase. But even
those needed the affirmation that Aimee was safe and not in any danger if they were
to be resolved. Sitting around waiting for answers went against every element of Millie’s
being and it was something she was not going to continue doing. If Chase would not
or could not provide answers, then she would seek them herself.

As Millie walked back to the main house to change her clothes, she mulled over how
someone would go about investigating an abduction from the London Docks. The answers
that readily came to mind—interview dock owners, hire Bow Street runners, speak to
those working that night—were no doubt steps that Chase had already taken. And if
he had received no answers by now, there were either none to give or, more likely,
those who knew something were keeping silent. Unfortunately, only certain women were
accepted around the docks, and as a titled woman, Millie knew she would have little
chance of success if she tried to obtain information there.

Millie paused midstride as an idea began to crystallize. She was wrong. There was
a way to get the answers she was seeking. And it was something that Chase, his power,
his money, or even his Bow Street runners could not do. She would need assistance,
and her plan was not without risk, but at least she would be helping in the search
for her friend.

Picking up her skirts, she ran the rest of the way, feeling something other than powerless
for the first time since she saw Aimee being dragged away.

October 15, 1816

Chase slid open the connecting door and entered Millie’s empty bedchambers. After
having discovered nothing about the thief and with no return of the
Sea Emerald
and his sister, he yearned for solace. So he sought the one thing that gave him a
modicum of relief—the smells and comforts of his beloved wife.

Each night he opened the door and imagined Millie sitting at her dressing table, chattering
aimlessly about some odd piece of information she had found amusing. Then he would
walk over to the heavily padded leather wing chair she had placed by the hearth just
for him. As he dropped into the chair, he would revisit his favorite memories. They
were all of Millie.

He would recall her at twelve years of age, hopping around on one foot in her shift
with her dark hair draped down over her shoulders and her lavender eyes snapping with
fire. He had known then that Millie would become one of the most beautiful women he
was ever likely to encounter, but it was only after he kissed her eight years later
that he realized he was in danger. She had stirred passions in him he had not thought
possible—and he had pushed her away. He had led the life of a spy, and to be with
him would put her in danger. So he had struggled to keep her out of his life and away
from the complications of his world.

Those closest to him and Millie had discerned their love for each other before they
could even admit it to themselves. And the resulting ruse that had brought them together
had caused the Season’s largest stir, when in a jealous storm he decked Millie’s escort,
swung her, protesting vehemently, into his arms, and stomped out of a ballroom announcing
to everyone that Lady Mildred Aldon was his fiancée. And every night since had been
heaven, until six days ago when he had sent her away.

A week without the very person who made life worth living was a week in hell. Chase
had not foreseen how difficult it would be. Hourly, he contemplated whether or not
to send for her, but each time, he forced himself to shelve the idea. Millie was safer
with her father and hopefully happier, away from the constant reminder of Aimee’s
disappearance.

Chase wished he had some news confirming Aimee’s safety. It had been over a week since
his ship, the
Zephyr,
had left to chase down the
Sea Emerald
. If Captain Spalding had been able to meet up with Reece and secure his sister, they
would have returned by now. It had been a slim chance regardless, but Reece should
have turned back anyway upon discovering Aimee aboard. With no sign of either ship,
it might be another two months until Aimee was back home. That is,
if
she was aboard Reece’s ship.

And until he learned something that either proved or disproved his sister’s safety,
he could not write to Millie.

Chase heard someone come up the staircase. The light footsteps definitely belonged
to a woman. The housekeeper always retired early, and with Millie gone, none of the
maids had a reason to come up here at night. He listened as whoever it was made their
way down the empty hall, only to stop outside Millie’s bedchambers—not his. It had
to be Millie. His heart began to pound and his palms trembled with the need to touch
her. How had she arrived without him knowing? How had she known to ignore his orders
and come home, that he needed her desperately? Did she need him just as much? And
suddenly he didn’t care and rose from the chair the moment the door eased open and
a candle flame lit the room.

Elda Mae entered and Chase immediately went still. He watched as she stole over to
the bed, bent down, and opened a large travel trunk. Had the chest been there the
whole time? Could it have just arrived? After placing a note on top of the folded
items, Elda Mae stood back up, but before she could close the lid, she spied him standing
there, watching her. The cold bleakness in her eyes gave him his answer. The chest
was intended for Abileen Rose, and from the volume of its contents, it contained the
rest of Millie’s wardrobe. His wife thought to remain away, and for some time.

“I did not realize you were here, my lord. I shall leave immediately,” Elda Mae said
in a clipped voice.

Chase was well aware that Millie had asked her old nursemaid to remain at Hembree
Grove. Millie trusted the woman implicitly and had undoubtedly asked her to apply
her eavesdropping skills and relay any news of Aimee. Elda Mae was an excellent choice
for a cohort, mostly because, while she respected Chase and his rank, she did not
fear him in the least because they both knew he would not terminate her employment
without Millie’s consent.

“What is in that chest, Elda Mae?” Chase choked out.

“Exactly what it looks like, my lord. The rest of her ladyship’s things.”

This time Chase did not miss the coldness in the maid’s tone. “And the note?” he asked,
pointing at the folded item, waving at her to give it to him.

Elda Mae hesitated. His request was a demand, and they both knew that he was going
to read her letter. She leaned over and snatched up the piece of paper. “I have nothing
to hide and neither does her ladyship.”

Chase took the letter and began to read.

Just below the signature, within the small amount of room remaining, was Elda Mae’s
reply.

Chase held the short message tightly in his grip as a never-ending emptiness threatened
to swallow him whole. He watched his hand outstretch as Elda Mae took the letter and
returned it to the chest. “I was unaware you know how to write.”

Elda Mae grunted. “Most of us servants do. Now, if you will excuse me, my lord.”

“Why does her ladyship wish you to stay here?”

Elda Mae stood still, thinking for several seconds before she answered. “I suspect
with me around it won’t look to the other servants as if you’ve abandoned your wife
like you did.”

“That’s what you think?” Chase growled. “I didn’t
abandon
my wife, Elda Mae. If anything, I am the one who should be pitied. I sent her home
to be away from constant reminders. To keep her safe and away from danger. Trust me,
Lady Chaselton is much happier at Abileen Rose.”

“I don’t doubt that she’s happier not bein’ lectured and held accountable for every
thought and action of Lady Aimee’s. But I don’t think she’s seein’ your demand for
her to leave her home as a compassionate move to keep her safe. I certainly know that
I don’t see it that way. Now, if you will excuse me, my lord. I have to speak to the
footman and make sure this chest is delivered to her ladyship right away.” Elda Mae
gave a short, perfunctory curtsy and then picked up the candle and headed to the door.

“I’m not going to explain myself to you, old woman . . .”

Elda Mae stopped by the door and pivoted to look Chase directly in the eye. “I didn’t
suppose you would, as you couldn’t even give that small amount of kindness to your
wife.” Chase glared at her, but Elda Mae’s hazel eyes held firm. “You say you acted
out of concern for her ladyship’s welfare. But have you once looked at the things
that happened that night from her ladyship’s point of view, my lord? Have you thought
about what’s going to happen because you didn’t?” Elda Mae huffed and turned back
around, but before she left the room, she added, “For your sake, I hope you do so
soon.”

Chase’s jaw tightened and he forced himself to relax. Elda Mae had only been protecting
Millie. And if it had been anyone else who had hurt his wife, he would have supported
the old woman coming to his wife’s defense. He wished he could have offered a smooth,
simple explanation for his behavior, but he could not chance her telling Millie. For
without a doubt, she would.

Chase returned to the chest and retrieved the note. Going back to his room, he sat
by the small writing desk and read it again.

It shall not be long before this terrible wrong is righted.

Millie still loved him, believed in him. She was waiting for him to send her good
news. Putting the note aside, he dipped the quill in ink and began to write. He explained
what he had learned about Aimee and that he truly believed her safe. He wrote about
the thief and how he had yet to be seen again, but that Chase suspected he was not
yet done. He told her he was still trying to determine just what the thief was after
and that he was doing all he could to resolve the situation so he could bring her
safely back home. Mostly, he wrote about how much he loved and missed her and that
she would only have to wait a little longer. He signed it and returned the quill to
its holder.

Standing up, he picked up the sheet, uncaring that the wet ink stained his hands,
crumpled the paper, and then tossed it into the fire. The letter was not a kindness.
Upon receiving such news—of Aimee’s probable well-being, of the thief and the possibility
that he would steal again—no threat or entreaty could prevent Millie from coming home.

Chase watched as the white sheet crackled and turned black in the flames. He suspected
he would write to her several more times in the days to come, and vowed to put them
all into the fire.

Aimee picked up her empty plate and headed to the kitchen. She knocked on the door,
and after no response the second time, she walked in, affirming that JP was not inside.
Based on the steam rising from one of the pots, he had not been gone long and was
most likely on his way to Reece and Mr. Collins with their evening meals.

With a sigh, she placed her plate onto the stack of the other dirty dishes waiting
to be washed. She was so bored, she would have cleaned them, but the last time she
had volunteered to do so, she had received an emphatic no.

The cook was a complex man. Upon first being introduced, she thought him gruff in
manner. Now she realized that compared to the hostility JP showed most of the crew,
he was practically fawning over her. It explained why she got a plate when so many
others ate from a handkerchief or whatever they could carry. It also explained why
the meals were apparently a little more varied than normal. But Aimee suspected that
their menu would soon become monotonous. The fruits and vegetables were almost gone.
And if Reece had not been in the navy, where canning was first tried and proven a
viable way to preserve food, her diet would soon be just meat and hard bread.

Aimee was not deluded to think that she would relish such simple meals, but like the
rest of the Daring Three, she was glad that dietary variety was not a requirement
for happiness.

Deciding to sneak out rather than risk JP finding her there, Aimee left the kitchen
and headed back to the cabin that the men had finally decided would be permanently
hers. She took one step inside and plopped down onto the bed. The room was very small,
but that was not what bothered her. It was the having nothing to do.

She sat up and looked out the porthole to confirm what she suspected. The sun was
nearly down and soon she would hear the whistle for the second dogwatch. Her body
was getting attuned to the three- to four-hour watch cycles, and she was now sleeping
as the nightshift crew did—in the morning.

Sighing, she lay back down and studied the grain on the wood slat above her. Remaining
hidden was now her choice. In another week her wrists would be healed, but it was
clear that she would have scars. And because of that, she suspected Collins would
let her remain hidden for as long as she wanted, knowing every day brought them closer
to the Americas and delayed Reece’s wrath. While she wanted to remain hidden for at
least another week, which would ensure they were closer to America than to England,
she was unsure she could do it.

Every cabin was now clean. She had even managed to convince the men to let her wash
their clothes. She had never done such labor, but then she thought the men probably
had never had their clothes cleaned before and would not know if she had done a poor
job.

She had tried to convince Jean-Pierre to let her help in the kitchen some more, but
it was not long before he began to treat her like the main cook did at home. If she
insisted, her presence would be allowed, but her help was absolutely not wanted. And
truth was, cooking was fun only if you had more ingredients to use than were available
on board.

Over the past few days, the men had snuck by to give her gifts. One had brought her
some dyes to use as water paints, another some pencils and paper, and even one crewman
called Red Legs Solomon had whittled her a paintbrush as they sat out singing and
talking one night. And she had painted, but there were only so many times she could
recreate the sea using her porthole as a reference.

The piercing sound of the second mate’s whistle calling the next shift broke her self-pitying
train of thought. Time was her enemy. At home, she would have painted. Part of her
longed to be able to do so again, but what she really needed was to be useful. If
Millie were here, she would look around and decide for herself what she could do,
and then make it happen. And if Mildred Aldon Wentworth could do it—so could she.

Swinging her legs around so that they hung off the bed, Aimee leaned over and picked
up the broken piece of mirror one of the men had given her. Her appearance was nothing
close to what her lady’s maid could do, but all things considered, she looked quite
presentable. It helped that she had convinced Collins to let her bathe again yesterday,
so she also smelled better than she had. And tonight she needed to use what few assets
she had.