A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  He had actually looked forward to the noise and people, which was unusual for a man who coveted his solitude. Upon his marriage to Millie, he had feared his home would become boisterous, filled with chaos. But he quickly discovered that he could enjoy the peace he so desired and her company at the same time. He had been quite surprised to learn how easily his wife became engrossed in a book, or writing letters, and a myriad of things.

  Millie seemed to know when he needed companionship and silence, and helped steer his sister to other parts of the house when he needed to be alone. Likewise, he had learned to discern when to offer companionship when she needed it. After the way he had ordered her departure, Chase wondered if she missed his company as much as he missed hers.

  Each day he half hoped, half expected her to defy his command to stay away, and return to Hembree Grove, ready to argue with him until he relented. If Reece’s town house had not been vandalized so soon after the forgery had been stolen, he might have given in to his own desires and asked for her to return. But no longer did he intend to maintain the silence between them.

  He had not meant to cause such a rift. By now, Reece was to have returned Aimee, and Chase had expected to have resolved the issue with the maps. Never was his separation from Millie to last this long. It was nearing two weeks and could possibly continue for two more. And he had yet to send her a letter.

  At first, he had not done so because he knew Millie would want to know about Aimee, and he refused to lie and say that she was fine when he was not absolutely positive. He also did not want to say Aimee’s whereabouts were unknown, when he was fairly certain she was with Reece. But just because he had not been sending her letters did not mean he had not been writing her. He had written every day. And in every letter he wrote the one thing that prevented it from going to the post. Come home.

  Tonight, sitting alone, listening to all the random, inconsequential conversations around him, Chase realized she was just returning his silence. He had been a fool. By not sending Millie his thoughts and feelings about her, she had in return refused to send him anything regarding hers. He left White’s immediately, having deciding the damn thief could wait another night to raid his home. He needed to write a letter to his wife and then send it.

  He mentally urged the driver to go faster, eager to begin. He would tell her what he knew of Aimee. She deserved to know. He would convey just how much he missed her and that he would be joining her as soon as he could. Until then, there would no longer be this wall of silence between them. They would write with the understanding that soon she would be in his arms, where she belonged.

  Chase closed his eyes and imagined Millie’s expression upon getting his letter, delighted that he had been the first to give in. She would be relieved about Aimee and perhaps even decide to pack and return to London. He would send another letter to her father, stressing there was the possibility of danger and to do what he could to keep his daughter with him at Abileen Rose.

  Reassured now that he had a plan to at least mend things between him and his wife, Chase smiled as the coach came to a halt. He hopped out, waved the driver to take care of the horses and retire, and then headed up to the front door. Instead of opening as customary upon his arrival, it remained shut. All the windows were dark.

  Pushing open the door, Chase looked for the two guards he had assigned there, but found none. Neither could he see any evidence of a disturbance. He took another step inside and heard a scuffling coming from down the hall, near the kitchens. He paused, waiting to see if it was one or both of the guards returning to their post, but the soft noise stopped.

  Frowning, Chase loosened his cravat. He rubbed his face, debating how to handle the guards when they returned from their midnight break, when he heard the scuffling noise again. This time it did not sound like it came from the back rooms, but his study. Immediately, years of trained instincts went on alert.

  Moving quietly, he headed toward the study and nudged open the door. Reaching along the wall, his fingertips came into contact with the hilt of a sword. It looked decorative, but it was also deadly, for he had made sure it was regularly polished and honed. Once the long blade was in his grasp, he whirled his body inside, ready to attack whoever was there, but the room was empty. The thief had used the connecting door to the drawing room, near the front entrance.

  Chase heard the soft click of a door opening and immediately pivoted to give chase. He made it outside just in time to see a hack, which must have been waiting, vanish down North Audley Street. Going back inside, the open door to the drawing room caught his attention, for just inside were the bodies of the two night guards. Blood from their head wounds was pooling on the floor, but thankfully both were still breathing, if only just barely.

  Servants appeared, most of them still dressed in their sleep attire. Chase quickly gave orders to go for the doctor and to send word that he wanted to see Bow Street runner Randall Greery as soon as possible. Then he went into his study and shut the door. The room looked untouched but not his desk. Chase went over and simultaneously pushed down on the desk’s inlay and the Chaselton crest, freeing a secret drawer. Inside, he had left several unimportant papers. They were still there, but not as he had left them.

  Chase grimaced. Closing the drawer, he pulled a pedestal up close to the wall. Standing upon it, he reached up to unscrew the end of the rod from which hung a large, heavy portrait of his grandfather. It was the one place Chase thought might remain hidden, even if the thief had ravaged his study. From the rod he pulled out and unrolled three old vellum maps: the one he had kept to study, the one dropped when the thief had left the Zephyr, and the one he had switched out on the Tempest.

  He glanced at them once again but still saw nothing that would tell him just why they might be so valuable to someone. They had nothing in common beyond their overall appearance and origination. Only someone who knew and studied maps might be able to discern just what it was that made these particular ones so unique.

  Chase rolled them back up and slid them back into the rod. He then returned the pedestal and went over to collapse on the settee to think.

  As expected, the thief had come into his home, but Chase had not anticipated the man would be able to overcome two guards. The strikes had been precise and potentially deadly, which only someone with extensive combat training would know how to do. The attacker had also known about the secret drawer in his desk. But what concerned Chase the most was that the thief had known just how to escape. The thief was not a stranger but someone who had been in his home and in his study. Someone he trusted.

  Any wavering thoughts he had about allowing Millie to return home vanished. Until now, the incidents had been benign, but now he was dealing with a dangerous villain. Tonight he had been unsuccessful in finding the three maps he knew Chase had in his possession, which meant next time he was going to get creative.

  Only three things in Chase’s life could be used as leverage against him. His mother, who was safe in Scotland; his sister—who, ironically, had placed herself in safety when she allowed herself to be abducted by Reece’s men; and his wife—his greatest weakness.

  He had almost lost Millie to a madman once. Never again. However long it took, she was going to remain safely away from anyone who thought to use her to force his hand.

  In another part of the house, Elda Mae quickly lit a candle. She took out some paper and an inkwell and sat down. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to calm her excited nerves. For too many days, she had watched and listened for anything the master did, but he was just as silent as the house.

  Visitors had stopped by for business, but only one had been summoned to handle the riddles of the thief and of Aimee. Elda Mae had told the rest of the staff to find her, for she must be present when the Bow Street runner came to call. But until today, her eavesdropping had resulted in nothing of value. More questions than answers. But much had happened this day.

  Elda Mae did not know where to begin. What should she relay first? That Aim
ee was most likely safe and with Reece?

  Or that the marquess was in grave danger?

  Chapter 11

  October 19, 1816

  Millie stepped out of her father’s post chaise in front of a sizeable gray stone manor that was Jennelle’s residence. It was just as she remembered, though she had only visited the place a handful of times in her youth.

  “Should I get your bags down, my lady?”

  Millie looked back at the questioning expression on the older footman’s wrinkled but very expressive face. “Yes, please,” she answered and returned her gaze to the manor.

  Four days ago, she had initiated her plan and then waited for a reply. It finally came two days later. All Madame Sasha’s note said was Gent Manor, Saturday 3 p.m., but that was enough. She would have only a little more than two hours to spend with Jennelle, though her friend thought otherwise.

  Millie had not seen her since the day they had departed London. They had written to each other twice, but all of their correspondence had been brief, as the one topic they were most consumed with neither wanted to discuss. It was too hard to sit and wait and know nothing. Soon that would end, for Millie was determined to find out what had happened to Aimee.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked slowly up the stone steps. For a moment, a twinge of guilt pulled at her, but Millie pushed the feeling aside and was about to rap firmly on one of the old oak doors when it unexpectedly opened. Millie jumped back, startled. There before her was a butler. If not, it was an exceptionally small man dressed like one.

  Two dark and wizened eyes narrowed at her and Millie stared curiously back. She suspected she was supposed to find the gaze intimidating, but she was too caught up in the fact that she was returning his gaze without having to tilt her chin even remotely upward. The man was born to be a jockey, not a butler. And yet he most certainly was one, something Millie never thought to see at the Gent Manor.

  Jennelle’s father, Lord Gent, had a fairly substantial stipend, which he generously used to support his love of knowledge by acquiring an ever-increasing amount of books. To spend coin on servants might infringe upon his ability to indulge in his favorite pastime. Millie could remember him saying more than once that all he required was a good cook and a dependable housekeeper. Over the years, Jennelle had managed to convince him that a scullery maid to help in the kitchens, a couple more housemaids, one of whom could assist as a lady’s maid, and a stable master were also necessary. He had finally agreed on the promise that they would help to keep his life peaceful and allow limited interruptions when he was doing his research and writing.

  Seeing the improvement the handful of staff made to the quality of their living environment, Jennelle had then attempted to persuade her father to hire a butler and a gardener, but this time he had adamantly refused. “What do I need a gardener for, my dear?” he would ask. “We do not have parties. And neither you nor I is inclined to take turns about the hedges we have.” Jennelle had often told Millie that she would have liked to walk in the gardens as she did so often when visiting her and Aimee, but could not, as hers were riddled with thorns.

  The small man broke his gaze and gave a wide wave and bow for her to enter. “Lady Chaselton, please come in and I will see you to the salon.” Once Millie entered the room, he spoke again. “I shall let Miss Perrin know you are here.” And suddenly he was gone, leaving Millie to stare openmouthed at the salon door.

  Miss Perrin? she repeated silently, unable to make a sound. Granted, her friend was technically Jennelle Perrin, as her father was a baron. As such, she was supposed to be referred to as Miss Perrin in formal situations, but it had been years since anyone had called her that. Early into their friendship, Millie and Aimee realized that everyone addressed them as “lady,” but not Jennelle. Thinking it was quite unfair, they had decided everyone would call her Lady Jennelle. Mother Wentworth had readily agreed. It had taken some time to convince Chase, his friends, and all the servants, but they had eventually acquiesced to the girls’ constant entreaties. The honorary title had been used for so long it had become second nature to use it. But it seemed Jennelle’s butler was a stickler for the proprieties.

  Millie was pulling off her second glove when double doors burst open and Jennelle rushed in. They embraced for several seconds before Jennelle finally pulled back. Her blue eyes studied Millie’s, looking for any sign of hope that there was news of Aimee. Seeing none, she swallowed. “What has Charles told you?”

  Millie looked down for a place to sit. “Nothing,” she answered simply, deciding on the settee.

  “Nothing about Aimee? Or—”

  “I meant nothing,” Millie repeated, making a slicing gesture with her hand.

  Jennelle sank down beside her, shock filling her expression. “Nothing,” she repeated.

  “I have received not a single letter. Most likely for the same reason I have yet to send him one. We have nothing to say that the other wants to hear. He obviously has no news of Aimee, and I would only beg to come home and help.”

  Jennelle swallowed, once again thankful she was not in love or ever planned to be. “I suspect you are right. I doubt Charles realizes the pain he is causing by sending no word at all. But he will soon, Millie. We will have our Aimee back and she will be telling us all about her grand adventure, making us so jealous we all will forget these weeks of worry. I know it.”

  Millie offered Jennelle a smile when a soft cough came from behind her. Jennelle turned and gave the man a nod in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Mr. Wattkins.”

  Once the tray was settled, the butler bowed and left, closing the salon doors quietly behind him. “Who is that?” Millie asked quietly as she stared at the doors, waiting for them to spring open again at any moment.

  “That was Mr. Wattkins,” Jennelle answered before taking a sip of the hot tea. “He has been a godsend, and to think that I was worried the other servants would harass him when he first arrived.”

  “But however did you convince your father to employ another servant?”

  Jennelle sighed. “It was not me, but Alice, our housekeeper, and Emmerick, our cook. Those two have bickered since I can remember. In many ways, I think they actually enjoy quarreling as long as everyone plays their assigned roles—and mine is that of the pacifier. But I have been gone much of this year, and the fighting must have gotten to untenable levels during my last absence. You know my father, he likes simplicity but demands peace and quiet to do his reading. I was not home more than a handful of hours when it started again between them. This time, however, Father looked at me and said, ‘Jennelle, get someone in here to handle those two and do it immediately!’”

  “But how did you select Mr. Wattkins—Miss Perrin?” Millie asked.

  Jennelle waved her hand. “Oh, the man is dreadfully formal, but he is amazing at keeping peace among all the servants. Even more importantly, it was Mr. Wattkins who made it clear to my father that the manor was in need of a gardener. Without pause, my father agreed.”

  Millie twisted her hands together to release some of the nervous energy building within her. So much of her wanted this visit to be like the others, when she and Jennelle could just talk and enjoy each other’s company, but with Aimee missing, it was impossible.

  Jennelle eyed her for a long moment and then said, “Come. Take a walk in the gardens and tell me your plans to find our friend.”

  Millie felt her eyebrows arch in surprise and then shook her head. She should have known that Jennelle would recognize she was not here to commiserate but to take action. She had known Millie for too long.

  Nodding in agreement, Millie followed Jennelle through the connecting doors to the back library, which had originally been designed as a small hall for dancing. Jennelle pushed the double glass doors open and stepped out on the stone terrace, pausing for Millie to join her. The stone veranda was much smaller than the one at Abileen Rose, which in turn was a fraction of the one on Chase’s country estate. But it had a wonderful view, and the gardener
had made several improvements. By spring, the area would be lovely. A place Aimee hopefully would get to see.

  “You might as well tell me your plans now,” Jennelle stated without preamble. “I know as a good hostess I should inquire after your father and you about mine. We could make niceties all afternoon, but what I really want to know is just what we are going to do about Aimee. And I know you have a plan, Millie. Tell me now or I shall use every means of manipulation and subterfuge to get you to admit what it is.”

  Millie chuckled at the soft, semi-serious threat. She stepped down the stairs into the sunlight. Bringing a hand up to shade her squinting eyes, she wished she had not left her bonnet behind, but was too lazy to go back and fetch it. “Subterfuge will not be necessary, Jennelle, for there is nothing to say that you don’t already know. When I became Lady Chaselton, it was a little overwhelming. I did not feel worthy of being the marchioness of such a substantial estate or to such an important man. I have never desired to cater to what those in Society think is correct and proper. I prefer to follow my own counsel. Therefore, I’ve always known that the ton would never really accept me. They might pretend, but not truly welcome me. Chase, however, believes differently. The moment we arrived in Town, he started trying to convince me in various ways that I do belong.”

  Jennelle remembered Chase and Mother Wentworth coaching Millie into hosting one of the first social events of the Little Season. Jennelle’s understanding was that the party had been quite a coup. Millie had been a gracious, stunning, and undeniably faultless hostess. Mother Wentworth had declared that Millie knew everything she needed to make her Charles proud, and promptly left to visit her friends the MacLeeries in Scotland. One week later, Aimee had talked the Daring Three into one last adventure and everything went wrong.

  “If Mother Wentworth believes you are a fine marchioness, then you are.”

  “Unfortunately that does not make me a wife my husband can be proud of. After what happened with Aimee, I wonder if I will ever have the aptitude to be such a wife.” Millie lightly kicked a stone and watched it tumble down the rocky path.