Aimee assimilated that bit of information and came to one conclusion. If no ship was capable of catching up with them, then the Sea Emerald would just have to turn around. Reece would be furious, but she would have a day, maybe two, to not only calm him down but force him to see reason about their relationship—though at the moment, she could hardly even call it that.
Aimee was just about to tell Gus that he needed to take her to his captain, when another idea struck her. She might not know how long it took a ship to get to the Americas and back, but Aimee knew she needed far longer than two days to recover her current debacle of a plan. “If this is the Sea Emerald, then is Mr. Hamilton aboard?”
Petey’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Ya mean the cap’n? Is he aboard ’is own ship? Of course, miss. Where else would ’e be?”
Aimee smiled, relieved to hear at least one objective in her plan was still possible to achieve. She could and would speak with Reece. However, she hoped not to do so looking like a bedraggled mess. “Would it be possible to go somewhere more comfortable, so that I can clean my face and hands? And if possible, would you have something that I could use to wrap my wrists?” she asked, gritting her teeth to hide the pain.
Petey grabbed one arm and Gus the other as they helped her walk until her legs became accustomed to working again. They approached the stairs as the boat rocked one way and then the other. Aimee reached for the wall to steady herself.
“Careful there, miss. Are ya all right?” Petey asked, his voice full of concern. He had seen many cases of seasickness, and in his years of being on the water, only a rare few were naturally immune.
Aimee frowned, not understanding his question. “Yes, Peter, I am fine. I am just not accustomed to walking on a moving floor.”
Gus elbowed Petey and whispered, “Why does she keep calling ye Peter?”
Aimee stopped at the top of the stairs to answer the question. “Because that is his Christian name. And am I correct to believe that yours is—Octavius or Augustus?”
Gus grunted, refusing to answer, and marched around her before Petey could ask another question. “This way, miss,” Gus grunted. “Follow me and I’ll take ye back to Petey’s and mine’s quarters without anyone seein’ ye. Our place is cramped, but it’s a sight better than the hold.”
Anyplace is a sight better than the hold, Aimee thought to herself as she followed his large but surprisingly nimble body through a narrow hall and up another staircase. She was just about to ask if he was lost, when they went down a few steps and into a very small but livable room containing two bunks that consumed most of the space.
Gus lit a lantern and hung it on a nail protruding from the wall across from the beds. When he turned around, he saw Petey repeatedly making the sign of the cross. Gus glanced in the direction that was causing Petey such alarm and immediately joined him in prayer.
Below, in the hold, the room had been dark and barely lit. Gus could not deny that Petey had captured a girl and that she looked to be fairly pretty. It was hard to miss the long blond hair and large green eyes, but now, in the lamplight, they could truly see the damage they had inflicted two days ago.
Gus immediately thrust a small wooden stool, nestled in the corner, toward her. “Here, miss. Uh, please sit down.”
Aimee turned and smiled at him as if he had given her a throne and not the shiner radiating underneath her left eye.
Feeling left out, Petey wanted to give Aimee something as well. “Is there somethin’ else ya need, miss? Anythin’ at all, just name it and I’ll get it for ya.”
Aimee’s eyes lightened to the color of soft grass as she watched a familiar look of infatuation overtake their expressions. She almost thought to say something to dismiss any notions they may have, but decided against it. Instead, she would for once follow Millie’s suggestion and use their fascination to her advantage. She just wished she knew how.
Aimee took a deep breath. What would Jennelle tell me to do? she pondered. She would tell me to figure out what I wanted most and ask for that. “Peter, I know this is unlikely, but by chance are there any women’s clothes aboard—such as a dress, skirt—anything?”
Gus slapped his hands together and grinned, revealing a missing bottom tooth. “Aye, there is some female clothes in the chief mate’s cabin.” He poked his friend in the shoulder with his elbow. “Remember, Petey? Remember that old gal Collins brought on board a couple of runs back? She left in such a hurry she forgot a whole trunk of her stuff. I’ll go get it.”
Petey jumped in front of the small opening, blocking his friend’s path. “Eh, she asked me to get the clothes. Not ya. I’ll go get ’em.” Petey paused just as he was about to exit. “If ya don’t mind me asking, miss, what’s yer name?”
“You may call me Aimee.”
Petey’s face broke into a large grin that showcased his rotten teeth. “That’s a pretty name you have there, miss.”
Gus kicked him and threatened, “If ye don’t get the clothes, I’m gonna fetch ’em.”
An hour later, Aimee had fallen asleep on one of the beds, waiting on Petey and Gus to return with some clothes. The sound of heavy footsteps approaching, followed by two more sets of nervous clomps, returned her to consciousness. Peter and Gus had finally returned—but not alone.
Feigning sleep, she tried to assess the newcomer entering the room, through thin slits as she barely opened her eyes. The man was slightly taller than Gus and younger, with bulging shoulders and a chest that matched his muscular arms and thighs. He reminded her of a lion, with his thick brown eyebrows and mass of tawny hair unevenly pulled back into a ponytail. By the way Petey and Gus were standing, whoever the man was, he held at least some authority. Then he moved in closer, stared at her for a moment, and without warning, let go a stream of curses that almost caused Aimee to jump and give herself away.
The man pivoted to glare at Gus and Peter, opening and closing his mouth several times, obviously unable to find any more words to express his anger. Taking a deep breath, he pointed his finger in Aimee’s direction. “I don’t know how much of what you told me is true, but even if one morsel of it is a lie . . .”
Petey and Gus stood there gaping, neither of them able to find the words to assure the man that everything they had said was the gospel truth.
The man shook his head and started rubbing his temples. “I mean, do you realize what you two have done?” The large man paced for a second in front of the makeshift bed before pausing. “That woman,” he began in a hushed whisper behind clenched teeth, “is the One.”
Watching Petey and Gus look at her suspiciously, Aimee could no longer hold her curiosity. She slowly rose to a sitting position. “Who, pray tell, is the One?” she asked. “And who are you?”
The man jumped just a bit before resting his brown gaze unflinchingly upon her. He was even bigger than she had first thought. His brown skin and sun-bleached hair indicated that he had been at sea most of his life. “I am Frank Collins, the chief mate on this ship. And heaven help us, you are the One.”
Collins shook his head several times again, wondering what he was going to do. The captain was going to explode . . . no, he was going to do more than just explode. Every man aboard was going to die a miserable death as soon as he found out that his own men had not only kidnapped, beaten, and dragged the woman he loved aboard his ship in the middle of the night but also left her to starve for two days. “Good Lord, of all the females in England, why you?” he asked in a croaking voice.
Aimee watched curiously as the large man tried again to pace in the small space. Taking one step, he pivoted and took another in the opposite direction. After about five pointless turns, he stopped and stared at her as she attempted to sit serenely on the bed. He licked his lips and pointed at the left side of her face. It had been painful to lie down on that side, and based on Collins’s expression, it must look as swollen and bruised as it felt. Her tongue swiped the nasty cut on her bottom lip and Collins let out a groan. The poor man was at a loss.
Aimee watched patiently as he mumbled to himself the few options he had in dealing with her. Unable to sit and watch the man’s anxiety continue to grow, she decided to intervene. “Mr. Collins, perhaps if you could tell me the difficulties you are trying to sort through, I could help. I am quite quick on my feet despite my appearance to the contrary.”
Collins snorted. “Have you any idea what you look like, my lady?”
Behind him, Petey elbowed Gus. “Did the chief just say my lady?”
Collins whipped around. “You’re damn right I did. Neither of you has a clue who is sitting on your bunk, do you? You really don’t know the trouble you have brought on us all.” He paused, put his hands on his hips, and hissed, “That is Lady Aimee Wentworth, little sister of our captain’s best friend and co-owner of this ship, mind you. But more than that—she is the One. You should not be worried about if you are going to die, but how. Hell, I’m worried about joining you because I didn’t throw you overboard myself. Pretty soon I’m guessing we all three will wish I had.”
Aimee, tired of the threats being bandied about, decided to intervene. “Good lord, Mr. Collins, do you not think that you are exaggerating just a bit? I mean, as soon as I speak with Mr. Hamilton I am sure I can smooth over all of this mess with some far better alternative than death. I must own some blame for the current situation as I intended to be captured. I assure you these men could not have detained me otherwise.”
Collins gaped at the daft woman. “Are you trying to tell me you let Gus right-hook you across the jaw, my lady?”
“Well, no. That unwelcome experience was not in my plan per se . . .” As soon as she said the words she saw an even greater fear rise in the stout man’s eyes, and quickly added, “but I was struggling at the time, and he did believe me to be a man as well as a thief.”
Collins raked his eyes over her slender figure. Yes, she was in men’s clothes, but only a fool would think she was anything other than a woman.
Aimee fluidly rose and went over to place a placating hand on his bulky arm. “Mr. Collins, I am sure my appearance looks to be much worse than it is.”
“I doubt it,” Collins grumbled. “And if you could see what Gus did to your lovely face, you would not be so agreeable right now.”
“You do not know me all that well, Mr. Collins. I suspect I might surprise you.”
Collins swallowed and his brown eyes grew round with appeal. “My lady, my heart can’t suffer any more surprises at the moment.”
“Well then, let us overcome just one problem at a time. I wager that once I am able to clean up a little and dress into something . . . without an odor, the circumstances that brought about my presence here will not seem as bad.”
Collins scowled and mulled over her comment. Cleaning up would not hide the bruises, but at least some of the evidence of what she had endured would not be staring the captain straight in the face. “Perhaps you’re right, my lady. Come with me to my quarters. I’ll see if I can pinch the captain’s tub for you to bathe in,” Collins added, suspecting she was like the captain, who preferred to bathe en route to their destination and not just upon their arrival. “You probably want the water at least somewhat warm, too.”
Aimee blinked a couple of times at the strange comment. Didn’t all the men on the ship prefer to bathe in warm water? She decided not to pursue the subject and nodded that she agreed to his plan.
Three hours later, Aimee felt like a new person. After consuming a delicious platter of cheeses, meats, and bread, she had been able to bathe and clean her hair. Now, with the exception of her wrists, which were still raw and angry, she felt wonderful. The chief mate’s cabin was not very large, but in comparison to the hold and Gus and Peter’s small cabin, Aimee thought it spacious.
In addition, Collins had placed a trunkful of lady’s odds and ends on the end of his narrow bed. All of the garments were too large around the bustline, but the extra material made it almost long enough for her tall frame. She had found some dark thread and did a quick seam along the sides of a pale yellow frock so that it hugged her slender figure. It was far from stylish and the inconsistent stitching made it obvious she lacked the skills of a seamstress. However, she did feel at least somewhat feminine once again.
Her hair was still slightly damp, so instead of arranging it she decided to let the waves of blond curls remain free. Aimee was just placing the second comb she found in the trunk to pull the tresses away from her face when she heard a sharp rap at the door.
Collins rapped on the door and waited. He could not ever remember his gut being wound in such tight knots. He would rather face nonstop storms all the way from London to the Americas than have to deal with the problem Gus and Petey had just handed him.
Though she had been covered with filth, her hair matted, and dirt and bruises were smearing her face, any man could have seen that Lady Aimee Wentworth would be a rather pretty woman, once clean. When he first saw her, he had barely recognized her from the faint picture the captain kept in his cabin, but her pale hair, high cheekbones, and long lashes were an unmistakable combination that belonged to only one person. The captain’s woman.
When they had left port last Christmas, the captain had been in an extremely foul mood. Nothing had pleased him, and it had taken very little for him to be irritated. After several weeks of such unusual behavior, Collins had caught the captain in his cabin holding a picture of a lady. He had been drinking, a very uncommon indulgence, and told Collins that he had found her—the One. The one woman men searched for all their lives. But she couldn’t be his.
Collins had asked why the captain could not marry her, and it was then he learned just how deeply the man felt about Society’s rules. He was the second son of a lord, and without a title, she could never be his. Collins did not understand, as the captain was very wealthy, something he would have thought could negate the lack of a title. But when he declared that any woman would be lucky to have a man with such means, the captain had slowly shaken his head.
Money was not enough. Not for her. She was the daughter of a marquess, and more than that, she was the sister of his best friend. Who was he? An ex-soldier who became a mere merchant. Collins said no more, but he noticed that not once since Christmas had the captain even looked at another woman. When at port, he did his business and kept to the ship. He didn’t even imbibe with his men. His captain had become a haunted man. Haunted by a woman he referred to as the One.
Collins was about to knock again when he thought he heard a high-pitched sound. A second later he realized that what he heard was singing. It was quiet and soft, but the tune was haunting and he could not help but stand there and listen. Only after several minutes did he realize what he was doing.
Damn woman, he hissed to himself. How much worse could this get? Did the Lord really need to make her a siren too? It did not matter what she looked like; a voice like that could ensnare a man’s soul and make him forget just where his loyalty lay.
This time Collins banged on the door. The singing thankfully stopped. As he waited for her to open the door, he rehearsed what he was going to say, for he wanted no arguments about leaving immediately to see the captain. The sooner he turned her and all the problems her presence was going to cause over to someone else, the better.
The moment the door opened and he saw what was on the other side, all thought left him as his jaw fell open. When it came to women, Collins gravitated to those who were curvaceous, dark haired, and dark eyed, but he had never seen an angel before.
Once she was no longer covered in grime and filth, he knew she would be pretty, but nothing had prepared him for the vision standing in his cabin beckoning him to enter. Finally, the captain’s strange behavior all made sense, for the woman standing in his cabin was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. Yes, this fairylike vision could indeed drive an eternal seaman to the land.
Aimee smiled at the warm assessment Collins’s eyes were giving her. As she suspected, the bath had done much to impr
ove her appearance. “Mr. Collins, thank you so much for the bath and clean clothes. They are greatly appreciated. I can tell you that I shall never again take a fresh gown for granted.”
Collins noticeably gulped and he sought to calm his inner voice when she swung her arm wide, indicating for him to come into his own cabin and join her. But as she did, her wrists became visible. Collins’s eyes bulged with rage as he stared at the angry red wound. No bath could diminish the raw, painful injury. He looked down at her other arm and saw that it was damaged just as badly, if not worse. “Who did that to you?” Collins demanded, his voice tight with unleashed anger.
Aimee looked down to where his eyes were focused. “My wrists? Unfortunately, that was of my own doing while trying unsuccessfully to wrestle myself to freedom. They still look bad, but they do not hurt nearly like they did when it happened.”
Collins heard her voice make light of the injury but knew without a doubt that such wounds were very painful. Unfortunately, he also knew they must be tended to. And the moment he did, he knew the captain, who had temporarily retired to his cabin, would investigate upon hearing her high-pitched yowls. But at least the captain would finally know she was aboard. “My lady, if you would follow me. We need to see the cook.”
Puzzled, Aimee followed Collins out into the narrow corridor. Something thumped behind her and she watched how Collins extended an arm around her to hook the latch so that the door did not bang as the ship rolled with the waves.
When they reached the deck, Aimee stopped. Without a word, she stood with her eyes closed, enjoying the wind as it whipped at her face, hair, and gown. It felt wonderful. “Mr. Collins, if you do not mind, can we stay here for just a moment longer? I would so like a chance to view the ocean. While I have felt it beneath my feet, I have not yet actually seen the Atlantic.”
A Woman Made For Sin Page 6
