A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  Millie moistened her dry lips, uncomfortable that Aimee refused to consider the possibility of there being a real thief. “I said that it was the randomness that made Chase wonder if it really was a thief or Reece playing a practical joke.”

  “Ah, but you also said only Reece would be interested in the papers that were taken. So, it has to be him. And when I catch Reece in the act, he will have no choice but to speak to me. All I need is five minutes. Five minutes and I will know whether what happened between us at Christmas was real or a passing moment of passion,” Aimee countered, contemptuously gritting out Reece’s words that had haunted her for months.

  Millie again glanced out the window and tried to dismiss the ill feeling pressing on her chest. “I hope so, Aimee. I really hope so. Now, when the carriage stops, refrain from speaking unless absolutely necessary. Use the hand signals we discussed and stick to the shadows. I went with Chase to visit the Zephyr a couple of days ago, just after it arrived. They had a lot of cargo and there is a good chance Charles’s ship is still moored.” Millie began praying but stopped when she realized her prayers were in conflict. She did not know whether she wished for the Zephyr to be inaccessible, thereby ending this insane quest, or for Aimee to be happy.

  The carriage rolled to a dead stop. Once more, they agreed to follow the plan and then proceeded out of the hack. It was difficult to see, but dressed in male attire and wearing the dark cloaks Aimee had pilfered from some of the younger footmen, it would be just as difficult for a passerby to see them.

  Moving down one of the narrow alleys, they edged along until they could see Pennington Street. On the other side were the large warehouses of the north quay. The ground and lower floors stored mostly sugar in various forms, but it was the upper floors that filled the air with scents of coffee and cocoa.

  “This way,” Millie whispered and moved farther east before crossing the street in order to avoid the buildings on the western portion of the docks, where the ships’ officers often stayed.

  Aimee followed with Jennelle alongside, each watching out for the other as they returned to the relative safety of the shadows. Only a sliver of the moon peeked through amassing clouds to light the narrow alleys between the large buildings.

  The London Docks had been built to augment the river wharves with much-needed dock capacity. Two canal-like basins connected the River Thames to a body of water in the shape of a square, which was surrounded by warehouses and dock slips. Ships entered via the basins to load and unload their cargo, choosing a dock based on commodity type. Everything from tobacco, ivory, wines, and spices was stored and shipped from these docks. And right now, the Zephyr was moored at the north quay.

  Aimee fought the instinct to pinch her nose. She had heard about the strong odors around the docks, but nothing could have prepared her for the overpowering aromas coming from the buildings they were skirting. One smelled of tobacco, another of wine. There were the unmistakable scents of fish and brandy, and many more. On their own they could be endurable, even pleasant, but together, the stench overwhelmed the senses.

  Millie stopped short and Aimee and Jennelle very quickly saw why. Dock laborers, watermen, and others who made a living by the riverside were still roaming the network of docks where the ships were secured. “This has to be the craziest, most insane thing we have ever done,” Millie hissed, ignoring her own rule of complete silence. “I cannot believe that I actually let you talk me into it.”

  “I didn’t talk you into it,” Aimee scoffed. “I threatened you into coming with me. And I would have made good on my threat too��that’s why you are here. Besides, I thought you had done this before.”

  “I was with your brother, Aimee, and that makes all the difference. In case you have not noticed, this harbor is quite large and the number of docks that support all these ships is vast. Chase knows this area, not I,” Millie argued. “Scrambling around here in the dark, praying to God that we are not caught, is not what I call a well-thought-out plan. Aimee, I really think we should return.”

  Jennelle was about to voice her wholehearted agreement with Millie’s assessment of their precarious position when Aimee piped, “Look, isn’t that Charles’s ship, the Zephyr?”

  Millie followed the tip of Aimee’s finger and grimaced. Several hundred yards away, rocking against the wharf, was one of five ships her husband and Reece owned in a small but very profitable shipping company. While Chase preferred to remain in England to oversee the accounts and assist with cargo decisions, Reece elected to remain at sea primarily aboard the Sea Emerald, a unique ship he had built to move light cargo with exceptional speed.

  “See, Millie! The ship is still at the dock! And there is hardly anyone near it! This is destiny. My plan just has to work. Reece intends to sail out tomorrow. He would find it irresistible to sneak aboard and pinch something before he left.”

  Jennelle glanced back and forth from Millie’s wan, uneasy expression to Aimee’s expectant and determined one. “She is going to do this, with or without us, Millie,” she whispered.

  “I know, I know. I also know that we could stop her if we really wanted to.”

  “True, but she would never forgive us, and then she would only try again with a plan even more dangerous. But next time she would not ask for our input, help, or even let us know.”

  “Jennelle, sometimes your reasoning leads to the most dreadful conclusions,” Millie grunted. She turned to Aimee and pointed to a newly emptied wagon. “I’m going to move toward the Zephyr. When I give the signal, follow my lead. And watch out for the laborers. There seem to be several out tonight.”

  Jennelle trailed Millie as they advanced around the wagon and slowly crept up to the Zephyr. A minute later, they verified the entry was clear and began to tread softly up the wooden planks. Aimee followed, stepping past an unconscious man posted as a guard. Charles would be angry if he knew the men were asleep, allowing any thief easy entry. She slipped by the sprawled figure and located the hiding spot Millie and Jennelle were crouching behind. Quietly, she hunkered down with them and waited for what she knew her friends hoped would never come.

  But it did.

  After a half hour of waiting, Jennelle snaked out her finger and pointed to a dark, lone figure crouching low. At first Aimee thought he might be a sailor, but his movements were those of someone unfamiliar with the ship as he moved in and out of view. Then he began peering into boxes and containers that had not yet been stowed below. Aimee elbowed Millie and pointed. Millie nodded to indicate that she and Jennelle were also witnessing what was happening in the shadows.

  The figure neared, hunched over as if trying to mask his height with a limp. Then, he leaned into the faint moonlight, unrolled the paper he was holding and briefly scanned the parchment before curling it back up and putting it in the bag he was carrying. Regrettably, in those few seconds, Aimee realized that the skulking man was not Reece playing a prank on her brother. Not only was Reece much bigger than the creeping thief, but unlike the dark, unruly strands she was seeing, Reece’s hair was the color of sand kissed by the sun. More than that, Reece was tall—incredibly tall—which was initially why Aimee had been drawn to him as a child. She had inherited her unusual height from her mother, and Reece had always made her feel petite and beautiful rather than tall and awkward. Now, at one and twenty, she possessed a slender figure, pale gold tresses, and large green eyes every Society matron wished her unwed daughter possessed. And yet, around most men, Aimee retained the uncomfortable feeling that she just did not quite belong.

  “That’s definitely not Reece,” Jennelle whispered. “As soon as he is gone and it is safe, we need to leave.” Aimee nodded, saddened to know her plan, which had been going so well up until now, was not going to work.

  They waited almost another half hour, watching the man as he hobbled in and out of the shadows. Then, hearing a noise that sounded as if it could be an approaching dinghy, he turned around swiftly, and in doing so was unaware that the paper he had looked at ear
lier fell out of the bag he was carrying. Millie was afraid he was going to lean over and pick it up, and in doing so, see them, but instead he quickly slinked away, finally enabling them to vacate their niche.

  “Follow me,” Millie murmured, indicating the direction to disembark, and exited their secluded hole.

  Leading the way, she slowly crept alongside the same containers the thief had hid behind in an effort not to capture any attention. She paused only to pick up the dropped document and glance back to verify her friends were not far behind. Jennelle trailed carefully, tracing her friend’s footsteps and quiet manner. But as soon as Millie was past the warehouse, she began to run. Jennelle cursed under her breath. Millie might possess the shortest legs of the three of them, but Jennelle tended to forget that she also possessed the fastest. “Come on, or we will lose her,” Jennelle hissed, and sprinted after Millie’s shadow.

  Aimee was about to follow when she spied someone coming over the bow. The moonlight briefly caught a bright blue-and-gold scarf before it was hidden again behind a cloak in the shadows. Aimee recognized that scarf. It was the one she had given Reece at Christmas. Later she had overheard him telling her mother that he never wore such items and would give it to one of his men. And the lucky man who had received her scarf was currently weaving his way around the deck. He might not be Reece, but Aimee had no doubt that the man worked aboard his ship.

  Quickly, she improvised a new plan, wishing she had the opportunity to at least relay it to her friends, but by tomorrow they would have discovered it for themselves. Jennelle might not understand, but Aimee was positive Millie would support her decision to seize the opportunity to confront the man she loved.

  And with that last thought, Aimee did the unthinkable and deliberately got herself captured.

  Millie stopped suddenly, aware that something was amiss. She spun around and grabbed Jennelle’s shoulders. “Where is Aimee?”

  Jennelle’s blue eyes grew large at the alarm registered on her friend’s face. “Bloody hell,” she replied, using one of Millie’s standard phrases. “I don’t know. She was right behind me.”

  Millie whipped past her, heading back to the ship. “Come on, we have to find her. Some men were still on the ship, just on the other side. I thought we could sneak out without their noticing. Hopefully, Aimee is just hiding from them.”

  Jennelle heard the worry laced in Millie’s low voice and it frightened her. Millie rarely became flustered in tight situations. She was courageous and always had a plan. “What are we to do if they did see her?”

  Millie swallowed. “Stay here and hide. If anyone—and I mean anyone—comes near you, Jennelle, scream as loud as you can. I’ll whistle twice, just like we used to as kids, when I return.”

  Jennelle’s eyes grew wide when Millie pulled out a small pistol and checked it to make sure it was ready to fire. She adjusted the hood of her cloak, and two seconds later she was gone. Jennelle watched in awe as the petite figure moved silently with such speed, darting in and out of view as she moved around the ship. For twenty minutes, Jennelle waited, wondering what could have happened to her friends.

  Two low-pitched whistles came from nowhere and then Millie appeared, lines of fury and panic etched in her face. “She’s gone, Jennelle. They took her in a small boat and she is now far offshore, headed for one of the ships anchored in the Thames.”

  “But you said there are a hundred ships out there!”

  Millie looked down at the miniature gun still clutched in her hand and murmured, “I could have stopped them. But I was afraid. It was so hard to see. They were so close together. I was afraid I might hit her, but now I don’t know.” Looking back up, her large lavender eyes had grown dark with fear. “I’m to blame. I should never have agreed to come. She would not have if I had refused.”

  Jennelle shook her head vehemently and swallowed. “No, Millie, she was coming anyway. You and I both knew it. And deep in our hearts that is why we came.”

  Millie squeezed her eyes shut. “I led her straight into danger. I was the one who decided when to leave, and then I went first instead of watching out for you both. I was unprepared, and if anything happens to her I will never forgive myself, Jennelle. Never.”

  Jennelle took a deep breath and forced calm into her voice. “There must be something we can do.”

  “There is. I can tell the only person with the speed and the resources needed to find Aimee.” Tears began to fall down Millie’s cheeks. “Good God, Jennelle! What am I going to do? Charlie will never forgive me for putting his sister in danger. How could he?”

  Aimee heard the splash of oars and wondered again at the wisdom of her decision. No, this is the only way, she told herself for the umpteenth time and braced her legs as the pinnace cut through the choppy water. The man on her right passed gas and the smell was even worse than the stink of the sack over her head. She rested against the side of the small boat and tried to think about anything other than where she was.

  Her mind floated to Reece.

  If all went well, she would be standing in front of him within the hour. Oh, she would have to do some explaining. And of course, Millie would most likely get a stern lecture from Charles when he found out, but it would be worth it.

  If she could just talk with Reece—and if possible throw herself in his arms—he could not deny her. She had never told her friends just how serious a kiss Reece and she had shared last winter.

  On that fateful day, she had not even been looking for him when she found him alone, sleeping. They had just exchanged Christmas gifts. Aimee gave him a rich blue scarf, on which she had embroidered with gold floss a ship sailing on the windy seas. She thought he could wear it when aboard his ship, and possibly think of her. He accepted it graciously and then gave her and her mother matching pearl combs from some island he had visited. Aimee wished Reece well, knowing he would soon depart again, and excused herself to go and enjoy some time painting before dinner. Aimee was not yet out of earshot when she heard him mention the gift she’d given him. The next words she would never forget.

  “Aimee spent hours designing and sewing that for you, Reece,” her mother had explained, educating him on just how much energy was spent on a gift meant specifically for him.

  “I can tell. That is why I didn’t tell her that I don’t wear scarves. Never have. I find them a nuisance whipping at my neck, and I prefer my hat when wearing something on my head. But many of my men enjoy a nice scarf. Maybe I’ll give it to one of them.”

  Aimee had no idea how the conversation ended. She rushed up the stairs and into her room so that no one could witness her tears. After several hours, Aimee decided that Reece Hamilton was a silly little girl’s dream, and that dreams were seldom realized. She rose and donned a new dress, a simple light green frock that was not nearly heavy enough for the winter cold but made her feel pretty and confident. Whenever she wore it, men always turned and stared. Of course, she pretended not to notice—but she did. Aimee smoothed the silk, added some pearls, and gazed at the lovely woman in the mirror. “You can go back to your sea, Mr. Reece Hamilton. If you cannot appreciate me as a woman, then I shall no longer look at you as a man.”

  Realizing that she still had over an hour until dinner would be called, she had decided to adhere to the original plan and paint. Aimee entered one of the unused bedrooms that had large windows and captured the afternoon sun, but realized immediately that she would have to paint elsewhere. She had forgotten to ask one of the servants to light the fireplace, and the room was frigid. She decided to move her paints and canvas downstairs to what she had termed the “indigo” salon as a child.

  The room was decorated in various rich shades of blue, ranging from dark to the color of bright sapphires, including indigo—her favorite color. As a child, whenever she did not want to be found or interrupted, she would collect her things and closet herself in the back, out-of-the-way room in the house.

  As she descended the staircase, Aimee had heard her mother leave to visit
a friend. She had hoped Reece had departed at the same time and was on his way to Southampton, where the ship he owned and captained was anchored. She never dreamed she would find him asleep on the large settee in the indigo salon.

  Every night since finding him there, Aimee had relived the moments, from when she entered the salon until the moment Reece left. Unaware of his presence at first, she had strolled in, propped open her easel, and placed her paints on a nearby table. It was when she turned to go back and retrieve her brushes and canvas that she saw him.

  Reece was stretched out, sleeping. He had stripped off his coat and waistcoat, so that he wore just a white linen shirt, breeches, and boots. His arm was thrown casually above his head and the other lay comfortably across his stomach. His legs were crossed at the ankles, stretching the tan fabric of his breeches so that it outlined every muscle, every bulge, every part of his lean and powerful lower body.

  Aimee stood still and stared at Reece, letting her eyes slowly wander up his hard, rippled stomach to the dark hair poking out from the opening of his shirt. His face was perfect. Not the pretty bone structure of the men who flirted with her in Town or at the country dances, but rugged, bronzed by the wind and the sun. It spoke of strength and stamina and a passion that Aimee longed to experience. Her eyes reached his lips, pausing to remember his smile and how it reached his sky-blue eyes.

  It had not been a conscious decision to kiss him. It had been compulsion. A need to end her childhood fantasies. She had intended it to be brief, soft, and exploratory—to know what his mouth would feel like under hers. Never did Aimee dream that he would awake and kiss her back.

  At first, his lips had moved lightly across hers, urging her to do the same. They were warm and worked an instant magic as Reece cupped her cheek and whispered, “Ahh, Aimee. My beautiful Aimee, how you torment me. Open your lips and remind me what a fool I am for going back to sea.”