A Woman Made for Sin (32 page)

October 30, 1816

Millie came up to the bar and set three empty glasses down to be refilled. The night
was slowing down, but most of the men who remained would stay until Clive closed up
Six Belles for the night. Clive reached down to get the bottle of rum to refill the
glasses. He stood back up and sighed. “I need to go in the back tae get more. Stay
here.”

Millie nodded, but when she saw Clive go over to Devlin and ask him to help her out,
a shiver of vexation shot up her spine. “That’s right. Get a man to help the helpless
woman watch the bar,” she said mockingly and loud enough for Clive and Devlin to hear.
“As if women—
especially weak little ones
—are helpless when it comes to telling a man no.”

Clive rolled his eyes and muttered something about how men were doomed when it came
to understanding women. Devlin pushed himself up out of his chair and sauntered over
to where Millie was standing with her arms crossed. “Ye remind me of someone I once
knew.”

“The world is full of petite brunettes. I am far from unusual,” Millie retorted. She
was still annoyed and was not in the mood to be charmed out of her anger. She had
thought that with a little more time, the men would start opening up to her, but she
was beginning to realize that it was going to take a lot longer than she had anticipated
to gain their trust. More time than she had if she was to return to Chase with news
before he became aware of her absence.

“The lass I refer to is neither short nor dark haired. But like you, her tongue is
quite sharp when riled.”

“You are not the first to remark on my harridan-like nature. I have been called many
things . . . twig . . . sprite.” She whispered the last two words, reminded of how
much she missed Chase.

Devlin smiled. He liked the fact that she did not deny who she was. “Sprite. Aye,
that works.”

“You like sprites, do you, Mr. MacLeery?”

“Not usually. You are the exception.”

“But what about this other woman I remind you of? Do you still love her?”

Devlin started to cough. “
Love
her? Not at all! I cannot stand the vixen. For a while, the
bampot
was the bane of my existence.”

“
Bampot
?” Millie inquired, unfamiliar with the Scottish term.

Devlin frowned, somewhat embarrassed that he did often call the woman who wanted to
marry him “unhinged,” and usually to her face. “It matters not.”

Millie did not pursue the subject, mostly because she did not need to. Devlin’s expression
reminded her of her own just a few months ago when she and Chase denied their true
feelings, pretending they only felt irritated by the other. She still detested being
called Mildred and probably always would, but Charlie had become an endearment.

A sharp cry from across the room broke Millie’s train of thought. She turned around
and instantly realized just why Bessie had yelped in pain. A man had caught her arm
in a tight grasp.

He was neither tall nor short, but he looked strong and his unshaven face did not
hide the sneer on his lips and the intent in his deep-set eyes. This man was not just
randy—he was mean. And Bessie knew it too. Millie glanced at the three men still sitting
at his table and knew without question that they were not going to intervene.

“Mr. MacLeery, I think it would be wise to find Clive and ask him to return immediately.”

Devlin had been about to intervene but decided that with four men, it was best to
get Clive first.

Once Millie saw Devlin head toward the back room, she made her way to Bessie. The
man holding her arm looked to be from one of the ships that had just arrived. He was
wearing galligaskins—loose pantaloons designed to cover knee breeches. Most men wore
their “goin’ ashore” clothes, but not the four strangers. They were also carrying
cutlasses. The knife was typically used for cutting lines or tearing sails; sheathed
on the small of the back, it was accessible by either hand, and therefore a formidable
weapon.

Millie grew uneasy as she stopped just out of arm’s reach. “Let Bessie go,” she said
softly.

The man laughed triumphantly. “Not likely.”

Millie knew then that her normal method of dealing with men was not going to work.
No amount of talking, flattery, or smiles would work on him or his men. What they
enjoyed most was exerting power over others, especially in the form of physical pain.
That was the language they understood.

Without additional preamble, Millie stepped forward and let all the years of training
take over as she lunged for the man’s Adam’s apple. As a child, she had been small
and a target for others. Charlie had ensured she learned how to defend herself as
a child. Since the incident with Sir Edward, he had made certain that her fighting
skills included tactics many would consider not just unfair, but deadly.

From the corner of her eye, Millie could see that one of his companions was overcoming
his surprise and was about to act. She let go and spun low, causing the man to miss
his grasp when he came for her. Using his momentary lack of balance to her advantage,
she punched her heel into his knee, causing him to crumple.

The man whose Adam’s apple she had struck thrust Bessie away from him so hard that
she landed on her hip on a nearby empty table. He was enraged, and for a second, Millie
had no idea how to stop him. Then she remembered the one method she and Chase had
never been able to practice. Just in time, she shoved the bottom part of her palm
into his nose, pushing upward. She heard a crunch and he fell.

She was about to make sure she had not killed him, when she heard two chairs fall
abruptly backward as the final two companions decided to come after her. This time
Millie did not panic. One was coming from behind, the other from the front, both believing
their size and strength a benefit. Millie, however, decided to make them a handicap,
and just as they came at her, she did another low spin. Both being of similar height,
they clashed heads, momentarily stunning each other. As one reached up to rub his
forehead, Millie took his arm and used the momentum to twist it until the shoulder
popped out of the socket. Seeing the damage she alone had caused, the fourth man turned
and ran out of the joint, leaving his companions to follow as best they could.

Millie took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to slow the rapid beat of her
heart.
Oh, Chase, you would be so furious and proud of me right now,
she said to herself, wishing she could rush home and tell him just what had happened.
She would even enjoy enduring one of his lectures.

When she opened her eyes, Millie wiped her perspiring palms on her skirt and looked
around. Only then did she realize not only how quiet the place had become, but that
every set of eyes was on her.

Swallowing, Millie pasted on her sweetest smile and said as nonchalantly as she could
manage, “Just something I learned to do in my youth.” Then she winked at the table
of men closest to her and said, “Warn your sons, gentlemen, that this is what happens
when young boys mercilessly pick on little girls.”

The men took the cue and began to drink again, but Bessie, Devlin, and Clive, who
was still holding a case of rum, remained motionless, staring at her wide-eyed. “Clive,
do you need help with those?” Millie asked, but before he could answer, Bessie recovered
enough to grab her wrist and pull her to the corner of the room.

“Listen, little missy, I don’t know how you got so wise an’ all about that punchin’
when you know nothin’ about other things, but that man . . . he would’ve hurt me bad
if you hadn’t done what you did.”

Millie just blinked. Bessie’s tone was not one of gratitude, but neither did it contain
its usual venom.

“I don’t want any debts over my head,” Bessie continued. “Especially to you. So I’m
goin’ to tell you how to keep your tips safe. I notice you put ’em in your pocket
where anyone here can—and probably has tried to—swipe a coin or two without you knowin’.”

Millie licked her lips. Despite what she just did to four grown men, she did not want
Bessie thinking that she could be intimidated. “Putting them in your bodice is highly
uncomfortable and not much safer, in my mind.”

“You’re right,” Bessie said, surprising Millie. “You only swipe at your chest as if
you’re dropping the coins inside. Then you put them in your pocket.”

Millie was tempted to ridicule the value of Bessie’s secret, when the woman continued.
“Before tomorrow night, sew a long strip of cloth to the inside layer of your garment,
about so wide.” Millie watched as Bessie spread out her fingers to indicate between
one and two inches. “That way you can slide the coins down for safekeepin’.”

Millie’s brow creased in confusion. Bessie shifted a little to the left to ensure
no one could see her movement and picked up a piece of her gown for Millie to take
a closer look. As Millie traced the outline of several coins, her mouth opened with
understanding. The strip did not act as a standard pocket, which would allow money
to jingle and create noise. Instead, it stacked the coins on top of one another. Millie
watched as Bessie twisted from side to side. Her gown was well worn, but it moved
easily and no one would know that she had any money on her.

Seeing Millie’s appreciative expression, Bessie nodded. “I’ve got nearly three pounds
down there. So you know it works. Now, we’re even.”

Not waiting for Millie’s agreement, Bessie immediately turned and left.

Even?
Millie thought.
Was there such a thing, after all that had transpired between them?

No, Millie decided. It was close, but they were not even. But she knew just how Bessie
could square things between them.

November 2, 1816

Devlin drummed his fingers on the arm of the worn hearth chair as he watched Ellie
clean up after the last of the patrons. In the past, he rarely stayed until closing,
and though a frequent patron of Six Belles, it was only after his conversation with
her that he had become a nightly customer—and a nightly stalker. At first, he had
just been curious, wanting to know where she lived and who she spent time with when
she was not at the tavern. Lately, however, he had become more protective. After yesterday
afternoon, those feelings had seriously grown.

He had just left his own business establishment when a man with a handheld portrait
of Ellie stopped him. He was slightly more muscular than most men of his height. Though
his brown hair was cut a little shorter than was fashionable, the style was better
suited for the thinning, wiry strands. It was his close-set eyes that had made Devlin
wary. They observed everything, but more than that, they detected what people did
not intend for him to see. The man was clearly a Bow Street runner.

Devlin had noticed him the day before, along with several others canvassing the streets.
Suspecting that he was the one in charge, Devlin had decided to purposely put himself
in the man’s path to discover which one of his more indebted gamblers they were looking
for. Never had he dreamed he would flash Ellie’s face at him.

Devlin had lied and done his best impersonation of boredom when informing the man
that he had no idea who the woman was, nor did he care. The runner had shrugged and
walked away, but this afternoon, the man had approached him again, asking once more
if Devlin knew the whereabouts of the woman in the portrait. Devlin gave him the same
answer, but it did not matter. The man did not believe him. He had seen something
in Devlin’s initial reaction—the split second of recognition that one cannot disguise
when unprepared.

Devlin had walked away, but immediately doubled back and followed the runner to learn
just who had hired him. They had reached the northern parts of Mayfair before the
man realized he was being tailed and cleverly got swallowed by a crowd. Devlin then
headed to Six Belles. Whoever was after Ellie came from a different world than the
docks. A wealthy one.

Devlin glanced over his shoulder at Ellie, smiling and laughing with a longshoreman
who made no attempt to hide his attraction. Even in a modest frock with her hair tied
back in a simple knot, she was unusually pretty, but no man hired numerous runners
just to hunt down a beauty. Ellie might claim she came to work at Six Belles because
she was looking for something, but that did not mean she was not also hiding from
someone. Realizing someone wealthy and most likely powerful was searching for her,
Devlin no longer doubted the appropriateness of his nightly habit of following her
home. Ellie may be able to fight drunk men, but that did not make her invulnerable.

“Ellie!” he called out.

A few seconds later, she arrived at his side. “Mr. MacLeery, what a surprise to see
you here this evening,” she said teasingly, her lavender eyes sparkling with humor.

For a second, Devlin was mesmerized by them but quickly recovered. “I do not want
you walking home alone at night anymore.”

Millie smiled. “Clive walks Bessie and me down Pell and ensures the linkmen have the
lights on. From there, it is only a short distance. I am perfectly safe.”

Not from people specifically looking for you,
Devlin wanted to say. However, he suspected such a disclosure might cause her to
go on the run and vanish from his life. “Then will you tell me why you are so curious
about ships with green and white pinnaces?”

Millie’s eyes grew large for a second. “I can assure you the reason does not put me
in any danger. And if you know nothing of the pinnace, then why do you care about
my interest?”

Because I think I am falling in love with you
, Devlin thought. But aloud, he only said, “Just don’t leave here tonight without
me.”

November 3, 1816

“I’d say we have two more days at sea and should anchor sometime Wednesday morning.”

Aimee heard Mr. Collins’s voice just in time to keep from opening the door to the
captain’s quarters. The chief mate was inside, and to her knowledge it was the first
time he and Reece had spoken privately. Until now, all their meetings since her accident
had been in public because Reece had been so furious that he had not trusted himself
to be alone with Collins. But as the days stretched into a week, an awkwardness had
grown between the two.

Knowing she was the cause, Aimee had decided she had a responsibility in repairing
the relationship. Confronting Reece had been more than a little unpleasant. Enduring
several harsh, and not totally inaccurate, accusations about her being the reason
behind the tension between the two men had been hard, but not nearly as challenging
as keeping quiet. For too many times during his nearly hour-long diatribe had counterpoints
to his barbs come to mind.

Yes, she had disrupted the way of life aboard ship, but unlike the way Reece made
it sound, her disturbances had not resulted in catastrophe. From what she could see,
all the men were happy. They had been friendly and cooperative while she had been
avoiding Reece, but at the same time there had been a weighted veil of secrecy that
hung over them. With it gone, their spirits were free and merry. Even Reece had felt
the effects and had started to join the men singing sea songs—a pastime, according
to JP, Reece had abandoned since last December.

When Reece had brought up loyalty again, a surge of resentment had gone through her
and Aimee had almost interjected in her defense. She might not have been able to stop
herself if Reece had continued to assert how he had lost the crew’s trust—because
he had not. Instead, he had made it very clear how it
could
have been lost and the problems that would have caused.

Through it all, Aimee had only listened, staying silent when she could have argued
and corrected several of his claims. To do so would have defeated the real purpose
of the lecture—the chance for Reece to release all the emotions and thoughts that
had been festering inside him.

It was her mother who had taught her the importance of letting a man offload his thoughts
and feelings. It was rare her parents quarreled, but more often than not, her mother
would just sit and listen to her father rant about something or someone. One time,
after her father expressed several fairly harsh opinions to his wife about being manipulated
into activities he expressly disliked, Aimee had sought to comfort her mother. But
when she went into her room, Aimee had been surprised to find her mother completely
untroubled. Instead, she was in the process of deciding which gown she was going to
wear to the event her father had just made clear that he was not going to attend.

It was years ago, but when Reece first started spouting all of his frustrations, it
was the memory of what her mother told her that day that had enabled her to remain
quiet. “Aimee, never forget that men can be just as emotional as women. Now those
who are strong in mind and conviction like your father will never weep about what
is troubling them. Nor will they plead or whine about their problems. However, at
some point, men—like all human beings—are compelled to express their vexations. So
you see? That is all your father was doing. In a way, it was the highest of compliments
he paid me. Of all those he knows, your father chose me to release the inner thoughts
that had been burdening him. It’s a form of trust, much like the one you have with
Millie and Jennelle.”

Aimee had kissed her mother and was about to run and play, happy once again that she
really was the luckiest of all girls to have her mother and father as her parents,
when her mother stopped her. “Aimee, before you go, I would like to clarify something
important.” Aimee had shuffled back, unsure because the tone in her mother’s voice
had gone from relaxed to quite serious. “A person can be frustrated and a good friend
lets them release those frustrations, but it is never tolerable to belittle or cause
another person harm, either physically or through words. And
never
let a man, even one you love, do so to you.”

Not until Reece started detailing all of his frustrations did Aimee truly comprehend
what her mother had been advising her about. For the first few minutes, Aimee had
held herself still, listening, waiting for the personal attack, because she had given
Reece many reasons to take that route, but he had not. He had just detailed every
single aggravation he had experienced, beginning with how he thought he would go crazy
hearing her sing all the time. In the end, his speech had just further convinced Aimee
that she and Reece were right for each other. It also seemed to enable Reece to move
past his anger and mend things with his chief mate.

Smiling to herself, Aimee pivoted and was about to give Reece and Collins more time
alone when she heard Collins ask, “So, the crew believes you and Lady Wentworth are
going to marry when we reach Savannah.”

Aimee could not help herself and grinned at the thought.

“Don’t have much of a choice,” Reece replied brusquely. “From the moment we left London
and she was on board, marriage was inevitable.”

Collins cleared his throat. Aimee could not see him, but the muffled sound was one
of distress. “You are a lucky man, Captain. The men and I know that, we just hope
you do as well.”

“Lucky? Any man
but
me would be lucky to marry Lady Wentworth, Collins. My biggest fear is regret.”

Aimee heard shuffling feet, but before they reached the door, they stopped. “The crew
will want to be there.”

Reece immediately replied, “No. The men should not be wasting the little bit of shore
leave they have watching me resolve a personal problem.”

Collins snorted. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Captain.”

“I did not recall asking for your opinion,” came Reece’s quick, clipped retort.

Collins said nothing further as he knew it would be a waste of time. When it came
to most things, there was not a man he admired more than his captain, but when it
came to love, the man could not see clearly. On one hand, Reece was opening himself
up to a chance for happiness, but in the other, he was shoving it away. Collins feared
the latter was going to win. He did not want Reece to be unhappy, but then if he was
not wise enough to thank the heavens for finding someone who truly loved him, then
maybe misery was what he deserved.

Collins turned and opened the door. What he saw wrenched his heart. Aimee was slouched
down on the wall, crying. He knew without asking that she had overheard the captain.
And while Collins knew deep down the captain did not mean what he said, it was clear
Aimee did not have that same conviction.

Kneeling down, Collins whispered, “Can you stand, my lady? Perhaps you should go somewhere
private.”

Aimee nodded, but when he was about to push open the door to the chief mate’s cabin,
which had been given to her for the rest of the voyage, she refused. “I need air,”
she whispered and moved up on the deck and into the night air.

Collins was unsure what to do and decided to follow her, for his gut said she should
not be alone. “He didn’t mean it, my lady. The captain’s just scared. All men are
when it comes to getting married.”

Aimee wiped one eye and then the other. “Is that why you are not? Married, I mean.”

Collins scoffed and leaned his elbows on the rail, looking out at the moonlit waves.
“You tell me where there’s another lady like you in the world and I’ll snatch her
up in a heartbeat.”

Aimee knew that Collins was just being kind. She appreciated it, but that did not
change what she had heard. “Your captain does not feel that way.”

Collins shook his head. “You’re wrong. I doubt the captain even knows just how much
he wants to marry you. He just doesn’t want his crew—or even me—to know it. He’s afraid
that love will make him look weak or foolish, or in his case both, because he loves
you so much it frightens him. You will see in time.”

Aimee swallowed and jutted out her chin. “No, I won’t.”

Since the age of six, she had dreamed of marrying Reece Hamilton, and as a girl she
had vowed to say yes only to him. But that pledge had been based on the belief that
love—not a damaged reputation—would be the foundation of their marriage. The idea
that she and Reece would marry as a result of her sneaking aboard the
Sea Emerald
had definitely been in the back of her mind, but not that he would feel forced into
it. Marriage under these circumstances was inconceivable.

Despite her firm belief in what she and Reece felt for each other, love was
not
the only ingredient needed for a happy marriage. One also needed to have integrity.

It did not matter how much Reece actually loved her or if she knew it without his
ever admitting it aloud. If he refused to acknowledge his feelings, at least to himself,
then it did not matter whether he actually loved her or not. Reece would always believe
that circumstances—not love—forced them to marry. And that was unacceptable. Reece
might believe they had to marry, but Aimee knew otherwise. Shredded reputation or
not, she would always have the support of her family and friends.

The simple tone of resolve in Aimee’s voice was one that Collins had become familiar
with in the past few weeks and his mind searched for an appropriate response. But
before he could furnish one, Aimee reached over and touched his arm to get his attention.

“Mr. Collins, when we reach Savannah, I may have need for some assistance. Would it
be too much to ask for more of your help?”

Collins listened as she quickly detailed what she wanted and why. His mind searched
for a valid argument against her reasoning, but, in the end, he heard himself agreeing
to aid her in the simple request. He would not have been able to live with himself
as a man or as a friend otherwise.

At a loss, Collins stood and watched Aimee as she turned to disappear down the companionway.
Once they reached Savannah, the past few days of peace would be over. And if the crew
thought their captain a surly man before, they had not seen anything yet.