A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  Millie finished taking the table’s orders and began to walk toward Clive, stopping right in front of Bessie. “I’m actually quite well versed in serving an assortment of drinks in a variety of settings because, as you know, the rules of etiquette take into account minor details such as where, what, and who is being served. But I am sure that you possess similar knowledge or . . . oh my. My mistake. I did not realize you were only skilled in delivering mugs of ale and spirits to men whose only intent is getting drunk.”

  Millie did not wait for an answer but went over to Clive and said, “Five more of the same.”

  Bessie inhaled sharply. The saucy green chit might think she had won, but her flowery words had tipped her hand. Whoever the interloper was, she clearly did not belong here. Dockworkers and seamen might enjoy spying on a pretty, genteel face from afar, but not in their taverns and especially not when it belonged to the gentry and their judgmental ways. She was just about to say as much, but when the men eagerly hollered for Ellie’s quick return, Bessie became so furious she could hardly speak.

  Marching over to the bar, she snatched the mugs Clive had just put on the counter before Millie could get them and headed over to the table of customers. She issued each of them her most provocative smile and set the mugs down. “Here you go, men.”

  “Uh, thanks, Bess, but we was wantin’ Ellie ter be bringin’ us our drinks.”

  Bessie glanced around the table. Heads were nodding and several were stretching their necks to see around her and catch a peek at the woman who had just made her look like a fool. “But you get ’em faster with me, Mikey.”

  Mikey grimaced. “Maybe. Not goin’ to argue that point, but we’re payin’ Ellie, Bess.” He stared at her, letting her know without words that he was fully aware of her intentions to usurp Millie’s tip. Bessie watched in shock as he waved to Millie, who must have started his way because a big grin took over his face.

  Bessie took a step back, thankful to hear the doors squeak open, allowing another group of men to enter. She went over to see to their needs, but before she was done, four more men came in and Millie was already at their table. It went like this for the next several hours. And though the place was fairly evenly divided, with her serving one half and Millie assisting the other, Bessie was more than a little unhappy.

  “It’s just because she’s a new face,” Devlin said as Bessie handed him a glass of his favorite whiskey. The stuff was expensive and Clive kept it on hand just for his friend.

  Bessie knew very little about the man, other than his name and what she could see. He had been coming here for as long as she could remember and he always sat alone, staring at the hearth, whether a fire was lit or not. He had plenty of blunt judging by the way he dressed and consumed liquor, but Bessie had no idea how he earned it. He was definitely not a dockworker or a stevedore for he lacked the specific odor that came from such labor. Tall, with dark, ominous features, Devlin was an odd one. He looked like he belonged at Six Belles and yet was not really one of them. Which meant Bessie trusted him only because Clive did.

  Bessie glanced back at Millie and rolled her eyes when she missed the man’s extended hand and almost tipped over another mug of ale. She let go a small, unfeminine snort. “Look at ’em fawnin’ all over her. She could pour a whole drink in their laps and they wouldn’t care.” Bessie folded her arms and watched in disgust. “Didn’t think Clive would get suckered in by a pretty face,” she added under her breath.

  In truth, Bessie had always thought she was Clive’s type. He had never said as much, but she had just caught him spying on her every once in a while, especially when she was bending over. It was one of the reasons Bessie never thought to leave Six Belles. It would mean giving up the small fantasy that Clive and she might someday become more.

  Devlin shook his head. “Settle down there, Bessie. I’m sure Clive still prefers redheads over brunettes,” he reassured her. “But knowing his policy on women, I too am a little curious about his latest hire.”

  Bessie watched as one of the men’s hands reached around to give Ellie’s left cheek a squeeze. When she did not stop him, Bessie released a small smile of satisfaction. Clive was a tolerant man, but there were certain things he would not tolerate in his place. Bessie made sure the men knew she would serve them drinks and nothing else. If any refused to keep their hands to themselves, she gave them a painful reminder. It cost her tips and sometimes Clive customers, but it was the preferred alternative. “Tonight will be the last we see of her once Clive sees what’s happenin’.”

  Devlin was about to agree when Ellie leaned forward over the table, causing her small but attractive behind to rise higher and even more in reach. The men huddled close to her for a few seconds as she whispered something and then, inexplicably, they sat back. All were grinning, but the hand that had been touching her had released its grip and was slowly retreating. Devlin found himself surprisingly impressed—not that every man now had his hands visible and on the table, but that they seemed happy about keeping them there.

  Bessie must have found it just as hard to believe. “What just happened? How did she do that?”

  Devlin shook his head, smiled, and resumed his relaxed position in the chair so that he once again was facing the hearth. “Not a clue, and if I were you, I would play nice and ask. Because based on what I just saw, she’s not going anywhere.”

  Bessie stole a sideways glance at Clive. He was not one to smile, but the man was wearing one now. He had seen the whole thing.

  Clive arched a brow at Bessie as she marched over to him. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the barrels. “Makes you wonder what Ellie told them,” he said with a smirk when Bessie got close enough to hear. “Maybe you should ask her.”

  Bessie shot him an icy look. “You want me back tomorrow, Clive, you tell me her story. What’s a woman like her doin’ here where she don’t belong?”

  “I too would be interested,” Bessie heard Devlin say behind her. She was glad he had followed her, aware that Clive might be more apt to divulge what he knew to Devlin.

  Clive took the empty glass Devlin handed him and shrugged his shoulders. “Never would tell me. Just that she needed a job. Pretty insistent about it. I suspect she’s hiding from someone.”

  “She probably was spreading her legs for some cully who got tired of her and threw her out,” Bessie mumbled.

  Clive waved at Millie to get her attention and pointed at a group of men looking for her. He then handed Devlin a refill of whiskey and said, “I thought the same for a bit, but I’ve seen kept women—whether of quality or no—and there’s a look about ’em that Ellie doesn’t have.”

  Devlin took a swallow of the whiskey. “No, but she’s no virgin either. Be careful, Clive. The way she handled those men, she’s a clever one. Whatever trouble she’s in, just make sure it don’t fall back on you or Bessie.”

  Clive nodded. “If ye hear anything at yer place about her, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  Devlin genuinely liked Clive. One night while reminiscing about their Scottish homeland, they had become friends. Over the years, that friendship had solidified into trust, and Clive was one of the few who knew what he did for a living. And while Devlin was not ashamed of owning a prosperous gambling joint, he knew that such knowledge becoming widely known might make him a target in this part of Town. Clive understood that and respected a man’s privacy. Which was fortunate, because there were many things Devlin wanted no one—including Clive—to know about himself and his past. Heirs to earldoms would never be welcome at Six Belles—even cast out ones.

  Devlin downed the rest of his whiskey and stared thoughtfully at the brunette coming toward them with another order. She was a mystery and she was beautiful. Two things he found irresistible.

  Millie had seen the exchange and felt the tall man’s eyes on her. Walking past his blatant stare, she handed Clive a couple of mugs for refills and asked for two more. Then she turned and openly returned his assessment.


  The man was no stevedore. He neither dressed nor smelled like someone who worked on the docks, loading and unloading ship cargo. His black hair was trimmed, and though not of the latest styles, his clothes were tailored to fit him, hinting at his athletic, Corinthian-like physique. Millie was unsure just how old he was, but she suspected that, like Chase, he was younger than he looked. Life had taught him hard lessons, killing whatever innocence the man had long ago. But there was something else about him. A hardness that was almost frightening. His green eyes were dark, cold, fathomless pits, yet she did not discern any judgment within them. Just curiosity.

  Millie broke the gaze and grabbed the mugs from Clive. “You look like you have questions, Mr. . . .”

  Devlin twitched his lips at the attempt at proper formality. No, the woman did not come from this harsh part of London, and yet she just might have enough spirit to survive in it. “Name’s Devlin. And, aye. I have many a question, but I do not think you will give me any answers.”

  Millie could not help herself and smiled. “I promise that I have none that would interest you,” she said before walking back to her customers.

  She could feel his probing eyes follow her. They had been following her off and on all night. But they had not been the only ones. Bessie had been shooting daggers at her whenever she had the opportunity. Then there was Clive. He had never said a word, but Millie knew that his blue gaze had caught all that she had done—the good and the bad—throughout the evening and was determining if he would let her continue to work there.

  Millie set a mug down on the table and the man handed her two farthings. “You already paid me for the drinks,” she said, handing him back the coins.

  “Ah, but this, dearie, is for you.”

  Millie looked at the two coins. A halfpenny altogether. The man had been one of the first she waited on. She had spilled his drink, been slow, and he had been incredibly patient and kind. He made so little money and she did not truly need it.

  She opened up her palm and was handing the coins back when she heard Bessie roar “Bloody hell!” Less than a second later, the enraged redhead was at the table snatching the money right out of the man’s hand. Before he could protest, Bessie glared at him and said, “Get out of here, Lem, and don’t you think for a moment that you can come back in here and not pay for the service as well as the drink.”

  With a shrug of his shoulders, Lem got up, downed the mug of ale, and left, leaving Millie to face a furious Bessie alone.

  Millie felt her jaw tighten. “Bessie, I did not want to take money for what I know was less than average service.”

  “Now, you listen, missy. Never give back any blunt a man gives you in here. Never. If they think they don’t have to tip, they won’t. You may not know it yet, little girl, but you ain’t sleepin’ between the legs of an aristocrat anymore. In this place, there’s only one way to earn honest coin.”

  Millie put her hand out. “Then give it back.”

  Bessie snorted, her sea-blue eyes sparkling with victory. “Consider it payment for a much-needed lesson.”

  Millie watched in silence as the woman proceeded to take the tip and drop it in her bodice. She could argue it was hers, but then it was Bessie who actually had the wisdom to take the money. More mistakes like that one and people might start asking questions. Too many questions created rumors, and Chase frequented the docks too often to take the chance for rumors to take hold. Millie knew she needed to become a lot smarter, a lot faster.

  Gathering two empty mugs in each hand, Millie proceeded back to the bar. She had tried three, but two were all her small hands could manage. She placed the mugs behind the counter and stretched her back, trying to ignore the dark-haired man watching her from the hearth chair.

  She shook her head and squeezed her toes in her boots. Never had her feet hurt this bad, even after dancing with the clumsiest of men. She glanced up. The man was still staring at her and Clive was pointing to another group who had just entered. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 14

  October 22, 1816

  For two days, Collins had been debating what he should do. His options were few, and yet he still could not decide how to proceed.

  He had agreed to postpone announcing Aimee’s presence on the ship to the captain, based on the hope her injuries would disappear given enough time. But her wrists were now for the most part healed. Unfortunately, evidence still remained of what she had endured. The white scars were not obvious, but they could still be easily seen. They might lessen with time, but Collins suspected they would never completely disappear. Aimee knew it too and was stalling for time. She was under some delusion that the captain’s feelings about her would change based on how much she knew about ships. Collins could let her continue as things were, letting Aimee decide just when she was ready to reveal her presence, or he could do what his loyalty said he should, and inform the captain.

  “Her injuries are healed, JP. That was the reason we waited, was it not?”

  JP shrugged his shoulders and maintained his gaze on the sea, listening to the water splash against the side of the ship. The scattered clouds were thickening, but there was still enough moonlight to see the waves, which were growing stronger each day. “It was ze rationale, but not ze reason.”

  “Which was?”

  “It’s different for every person. Mademoiselle, she fears rejection. I like ’er, and you know zat I do not like very many people. As soon as ze captain sees ’er, she will be lost to us, and I do not want zat. Neizer do most of ze men. You do not need me to tell you your reason for delaying ze inevitable.”

  Fear, Collins answered nonverbally. Not of physical injury or pain, but of losing his job. He was a good chief mate and he had built a reputation, so he knew he could find another position if needed. Problem was, he did not want another job. He respected Reece both as a man and a captain. He treated his crew well and did not meddle with those he left in charge. He was fair and never used brutality as an initial response to any situation. In short, he was someone Collins hoped to become. He had hoped the captain also believed in him and eventually would offer him his own command. But those hopes and plans had just been trumped, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

  “Damn it, JP. She’s the daughter of a marquess.”

  JP leaned one elbow against the ship’s rail and turned to study Collins with a sharp, assessing gaze. “And just why does zat make such a difference?”

  “Because it does. She should have said something.”

  JP turned back toward the sea, exhaling with agitation. “Why? When she knew zis would be ’ow you would react.”

  For the first time in his life, Collins was frightened of the power the noble class held. It did not matter that Aimee’s presence was thrust upon him and the crew by her own actions. He had helped to conceal her presence, and that alone was enough to possibly get him incarcerated, if not killed.

  “The damn woman knew I would have taken her to the captain, and she didn’t want that. She put me . . . hell, she put all of us in this position. Damn selfish of her.”

  JP nodded in mock agreement. “Oui, very selfish indeed. Troublesome too. Probably why zere ’ave been so many riots, like ze time you brought a woman on board.” JP paused and when Collins said nothing, he continued. “I’ve noticed ’ow you ’ave to continually threaten the men to keep their silence as well.”

  “Sometimes, JP, you can be an ass.”

  “And you, Collins, wouldn’t know anyzing about zat, would you? Just admit why you are mad. You zink she lied to you.”

  “She put the men in danger. Her being who she is, there could be hell to pay and she won’t be the one who pays it. It will be the men.”

  “And you.”

  “Don’t forget yourself, JP. Don’t think you won’t catch hell.”

  This time when JP nodded, it was in earnest. “But she doesn’t know it.”

  “Or she doesn’t care.”

  “If you reall
y believed zat, you would ’ave dragged ’er to ze captain already. You, my friend, are trying to find a way to shield not just ze men, but ’er.”

  “Then I am trying to do the impossible.”

  JP’s lips thinned with frustration. “Ze captain loves ’er, and no matter what you just said, you know Lady Aimee sincerely likes ze crew. She’ll protect zem. You’ll see. She’ll even protect you.”

  Collins sighed. “If she does, then she is going to be hurt. Maybe not physically, but you and I have seen the full force of the captain’s ire.”

  “His anger is inevitable, for zere is no way to successfully ’ide ’er until we get back to London.”

  Collins mused on the idea, wishing it were even remotely possible. “Maybe I should just wait until we are near the Savannah River to tell him about her. His wrath might be shorter-lived.”

  JP shook his head and leaned forward once more on the rail. “Unfortunately, I believe your first conclusion was ze right one.”

  “That I am a dead man?”

  JP nodded.

  “We all are,” Collins said. “And that includes Lady Aimee.”

  “You would zink ze captain would be smart enough to realize just what a gift ’e ’as been ’anded. Maybe we will get lucky and ’e will.”

  The sound of rapid footsteps got their attention. They turned simultaneously to see a skinny man run up onto the afterdeck. As always, his dark brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, making his face look more angular and severe.

  “What’s up, Mac?” Collins asked.

  “You’ve gotta come to the main deck!”

  Collins fought to keep from cringing. Ironlung Mac, the men called him, and it was appropriate because he always spoke louder than necessary. “Maybe in a while.”

  Mac shook his head. “Then it will be too late! The miss, well, she dared us and we couldn’t deny the dare, now could we, sir? So we did it thinkin’ she wouldn’t, but damn, if she didn’t start climbin’ the thing. She got to the top even faster than the rigger!”