A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  Collins glanced at JP, whose expression held the same foreboding his did.

  No amount of luck was going to save any of them.

  Chapter 15

  October 24, 1816

  Collins paused to look at the angry seas. The foul weather had finally caught up with them and the storm was going to make things very tense on the ship for the next several hours. The only person in their cabin and not working was Lady Aimee. Collins prayed she had believed him when he told her that she was not—under any circumstances—to leave her cabin. The men needed no distractions.

  Aimee had nodded before calmly sitting down, but then that was how she responded to all of his instructions. The ship had already started rocking fiercely, but Aimee just sat there as if she was unaware of the storm and the nausea it should be creating. The damn woman did not even know when to get seasick.

  He glanced across the upper deck, waiting for the captain to give him the signal that it was time to move the sails to the storm configuration. Just before the first gust hit, Collins had been in the captain’s quarters, trying for the third time in the last forty-eight hours to tell the captain about Aimee’s presence on board. But before he could, the storm had made its presence known. Immediately, Reece had gone topside to take over the wheel and Collins had gone to make sure Aimee was not just safe, but safely out of the way.

  Another wave slammed into the side of the boat. Collins gripped the rail and watched the water recede across the deck and back into the ocean. The winds were growing in strength. The storm mimicked his mood, and both were growing worse by the minute.

  “Collins!” Reece shouted, barely loud enough to be heard. He pointed to the sails and mouthed the words “heave to.”

  Collins nodded in understanding and gestured to Kyrk, who also had been waiting for the captain to give the signal to climb the rigging. It was time to change the sails and reduce the amount of canvas that caught the wind. It was important to leave just enough sail via the staysail and both fore and main topsails to minimize forward drift and the resulting strain on the vessel.

  This balance between the force of the wind in the sails and the drag of the underwater keel was key to keeping a ship afloat. If the balance shifted and the ship turned its edge to the wind, it would be beaten by breaking waves. As an experienced rigger, Kyrk knew exactly what needed to be done. He and the Poulsen brothers had already taken down the jibs and were working on the foremast to get down the two highest sails—the royal and topgallant.

  Once done, all three men quickly descended back to the deck and got ready to do it again. Shiv made his way back to the spanker while Lamont and Kyrk headed to the mainmast where Jolly George was untying the ropes to the main sails. Just then an enormous rogue wave crashed over the ship’s starboard side. When the water slammed into them, they instinctively tried to grab ahold of anything nearby, but their efforts were futile.

  The last thing Collins saw before grabbing ahold of the companionway rail to anchor himself during the deluge, was the three men being swept away. When the water cleared and he was able to regain his vision, Collins scanned the deck. Near the capstan, an immobile heap of men’s legs and arms caught his attention. The large, rotating machine was used to apply force to tighten ropes or pull up an anchor. To be thrown against one was never good.

  Collins let go of the rail and made his way over to the scene. Both Poulsen brothers and Jolly George were injured but moving. Fortunately for Kyrk, he was unconscious because his right leg was seriously broken. Collins quickly ordered Turrell, Gilley, and Blackie to help him carry the men off the deck. JP joined him below. They did what they could for Kyrk’s leg and then Collins headed up the stairs to the upper deck, knowing the captain would be impatient for a report.

  “How bad is it?” Reece barked against the wind.

  “They’ll live. Jolly George is banged up. Shiv’s hand is broken, and based on Lamont’s inability to breathe without severe pain, his ribs are busted.”

  “And Kyrk?”

  Collins swallowed. He knew that the captain already suspected the worst. “His leg is bad. It’ll be weeks before he can walk again, let alone climb a mast.”

  “Damn,” Reece muttered as he fought the wind trying to wrestle the wheel from his grasp. “Storm’s getting worse and soon the last of the sun will be gone. We have to get those sails down.”

  “It’s been years, but I can climb.”

  “Can’t do it by yourself,” Reece yelled, loud enough that his frustration was unmistakable. “Find me someone—anyone—who can climb the mast without breaking it and help you.”

  Collins returned Reece’s stare. The Sea Emerald was not shorthanded, but it had a crew of just over thirty. They both knew that in that one wave, they lost their best chance at getting those sails down. In this weather, the weight of two large men on the mast would most likely snap it, leaving the ship even more vulnerable than it already was.

  The boat listed severely and it was as if the sea and the captain were at war. Reece was using all of his strength and knowledge to keep the vessel pointed in the desired direction. But if those sails did not come down, he was going to lose the fight . . . and soon.

  All Collins needed was someone who could help free the ropes along the halyard so the men on the deck could help furl the sail and keep it that way until Collins had enough time to tie off each sail. They did not have to be skilled in ships or sails, or even very strong. They just needed to be able to climb and help free knots. Only one person on this ship met all the requirements.

  Could he ask a woman—a daughter of a marquess—to climb a mast in the middle of a serious storm? It was unthinkable, and yet Collins knew that was exactly what he was going to do.

  The ship rolled and Aimee fell back against the wall that protected her from the sea. It was wet and leaking water, making Aimee wonder just how close the ship’s side was to being in the water. Every instinct she had was to leave the room that felt more and more like a coffin and go topside. But she remained where she was.

  Previously when Collins had threatened her about staying in her room, Aimee had known it was a tactic to get her to comply. But earlier that afternoon, he had meant what he said about her distracting the crew and how every man needed their full attention on their job to keep the ship afloat.

  “Be careful of his knee!”

  “Get JP!”

  “It bloody hurts to breathe.”

  “Tie off that part of his leg . . .”

  Aimee scrambled off the bed and unlatched the door to steal a look at what was going on in the hallway. It was hard to see and everyone was still shouting, but when Kyrk came into view, she nearly gasped aloud. His right leg was broken and a bone was protruding just below his knee. Her mind started to race. Had that happened when Kyrk was climbing? Were the sails still up or had he gotten them down in time?

  The boat lurched and Aimee suspected that the injuries had occurred before all the sails had been taken down. She whirled around and went over to the small chest and pulled out the men’s clothes she had been wearing when she tricked Gus and Petey into abducting her. Collins had told her not to leave, but he had said nothing about changing her clothes.

  Quickly, she removed her dress and donned the shirt and breeches. She had just finished when she heard a knock on the door. Aimee went to open it, unsurprised to find Collins on the other side. He eyed her attire, his expression both surprised and relieved.

  Aimee stepped out of the way to allow Collins entrance, but he declined. “I saw Kyrk being carried . . . his leg was bad. Will he live?”

  Collins nodded, but Aimee knew from his brief glance down the corridor to the room where they’d carried Kyrk, that nothing was for certain. “None of us are going to live through this if we don’t get the mainsails down.”

  Aimee’s green eyes held Collins’s blue ones. “I can do it.”

  Collins’s jaw visibly tensed. “Do you know what you are agreeing to?” he asked. “Because this storm just sev
erely wounded three men. Chances are it is going to take you out too.”

  Aimee kept her features deceptively composed. Collins was not trying to scare her into compliance, he was speaking the truth. Going out in this storm could mean death. But she also knew that it had to be done and the only reason Collins would be coming to see her was that he had little choice. “Just tell me what to do,” she said as calmly as she could muster and moved into the corridor.

  Collins pivoted and headed to the stairs that led to the main deck. Aimee followed, and as soon as she was out in the open her heart started to race. The wind was vicious and never had the main deck look so wide and dangerous. Lightning flashed and it lit up the scene just long enough for her to clearly see exactly what they were up against. The sails that remained unfurled billowed in the wind. Only the topsail was open on the foremast, but all four of the large sails on the mainmast were unfurled, becoming dangerous weapons. She did not need Collins to point out that that was where he needed her to climb.

  Aimee nodded and followed Collins as they made their way to the mast and began to climb. Reaching the first square sail, she walked out onto the footropes under the first yard. Her fingers were cold as the ocean spray and wind beat at them, but she quickly released the knots, enabling Collins to furl the mainsail. Ignoring the tingling in her extremities, she headed back up the rigging until she reached the top, a small platform at the joint of the lower- and topmast. Following Collins’s lead, she pulled herself across the ratlines that together with the shrouds formed a ropelike net. Each took one pair of backstays and together began to furl the topgallant sail. Relief flooded her when it freed and they moved on to the royal sail.

  Once the last sail was collapsed, she waited until Collins, who was already on the mast, made his way down. Then she began her own descent. Never did she want to do this again. Climbing was not something she ever thought could be terrifying, but neither had she ever dreamed of doing it in a storm where the item she was climbing was constantly trying to throw her off. But it was not even the rolling boat or the wind that truly terrified her, it was the cold.

  Aimee could hear shouts from below her, but the rain prevented her from seeing who it was or hearing what they were saying. All she knew was her fingers were so frozen, they barely responded to her demands to curl and hold on as she made her way down the mast. Her teeth could no longer chatter because her jaw and cheeks were unable to move. Only sheer will enabled her to take another step when she did not think she could.

  She looked down. Her eyes grew large and then blackness consumed her.

  Reece stood braced with both feet wide apart, to keep control of the wheel. A surge of relief went through him as he saw Collins and another man make their way up the mainmast. Collins was easy to make out despite the rain. Each time the lightning lit up the clouds, he could see that his chief mate’s large body was not made for such work. Reece knew Collins hated rigging work, but every officer knew and could pretty much perform any role on the ship, whether they liked it or not. But furling sails was a two-man job, especially in this weather. Collins could climb up, but another, much lighter man had to make his way out onto the yard—the arm of the mast. And Reece was not certain who Collins had found not just willing, but capable of climbing like the lean figure making its way across the yard.

  For a second, he thought it might be Carr, the bosun, but he was yelling out orders on the deck. The few others he might have guessed it to be were also working hard at the ropes, trying to keep the topsails up and in place. Reece was about to put it out of his mind when he realized that he was not the only one watching the thin figure work the ropes on the sails to get them free. JP—who never came on deck during a storm—was there, just past the companionway, staring into the dark sky. His body was tense as if seized with fear.

  Reece looked around. JP was not alone. Practically his whole crew was watching the two people up on the rigging. It made sense in a way—if the sails did not come down, the ship was in real danger of not making it through the storm—but this was not the first storm this crew had seen, and Reece could not recollect any other time the men cared so much about those climbing the rigging. Just who had Collins found?

  Several bolts of lightning lit up the sky and the little more that Reece could make out made his stomach churn. Surely Collins had not convinced the woman they had hidden on board to climb the masts.

  A wave came, then another, but both figures held on. They were above the crashing walls of water, but each time one hit, the boat rocked, threatening to shake one of them off. Reece did everything he could to keep the boat pointing toward the oncoming waves. Only when he saw the final sail go down and the two figures start to descend did he realize that he had been holding his breath.

  The men were shouting something, but from the little Reece could make out, they were smiling. Collins’s feet hit the deck and Reece knew his chief mate was glad to be down. But instead of heading up to join him at the wheel, Collins pivoted and looked up, shouting. Reece still could not make out the figure still in the rigging, but he could see they were not holding on correctly. No longer were the men smiling. Shouts were coming from the deck, and suddenly the bosun bounded up the companionway and headed toward him.

  “I’ll take the wheel, Cap’n. You gotta go below,” he bellowed.

  Alarm shot through Reece. Collins had not come up but Carr had, which meant the situation on the deck was even worse than he had been able to make out. Reece made sure that the bosun had a firm grip on the wheel and then made his way to the stairs. He crossed the deck where the shouts were even more frantic.

  “Collins!”

  Collins whipped his head around. Fear consumed his features. “Captain!”

  Reece craned his head and could see that the mystery rigger was not caught, but frozen. Literally. The water, the wind, the nighttime cold, all had proven too much. With only twelve more feet to go, hands white with cold, body shaking, it was hard to believe that this person had just helped furl the sails.

  Another blast of wind came. The storm was not over and Reece needed to get back to the wheel. “You’re almost down!” he shouted, signaling the other men to be quiet. “Even though you cannot feel your fingers, you can still control them. Just force them to let go. A few more steps and you’ll be down.”

  The climber did not move. Fear had finally caught up with the onetime rigger and Reece moved to climb up and help. If needed, he would carry the body down. But just as he grabbed ahold of the first handle, the figure started to move and was about to take a step. Just as the hand let go, the person looked down. Reece’s whole world instantly imploded.

  Green eyes, framed in an overly pale face that could only belong to one person, latched on to his for a brief second before another wave crashed over the rails into them. Reece instinctively held on, but when he looked up—Aimee was gone.

  Chapter 16

  October 25, 1816

  Chase had learned to be a patient man when it came to solving problems. Almost always there were complications or peculiarities that required a unique approach, but that only meant one had to adapt. But all problems could be resolved if one was willing to do what was necessary. And right now, all three problems he was facing required him to go significantly beyond his comfort zone.

  The first—his sister—was a quandary that only grew each day. After being alone on a boat with Reece for so long, her reputation was in danger, which had only one solution. But as he had little power over the outcome, all he could do was wait. In the end, it was a situation of her making and therefore a problem for her to address. And while he should feel for his friend, part of Chase also blamed him for ignoring her. Reece should have known that Aimee would go to extreme measures to keep from being rebuffed in such a way.

  His second problem was less of a quandary and more of a predicament. As expected, the thief had gone underground. But the maps were secure, and until the culprit decided on his next move—if there would even be one—there was lit
tle Chase could do.

  His largest dilemma—the ever-increasing wedge between him and his wife—was a result of how he had set upon resolving the first two. Millie had yet to write him back. He had even confirmed that she had not sent Elda Mae any letters asking about him. Nothing. And of all the mysteries he was dealing with, his wife’s unexplained silence was the most maddening.

  Did she not realize how much he needed to hear from her? Was she not reading the letters he sent expressing his concern and his regret, but most importantly, his love?

  Like his father and his grandfather before him, Chase possessed a stoic personality. It enabled him to be patient, and in many ways tolerant, but it also caused him to appear apathetic and indifferent to the world around him. That he had found a woman whom he not only loved dearly, but who could also love a controlled, serious man like him had been a miracle. But Millie was more than just a loving wife; she had filled his soul with life. Until her, Chase had not known how empty he had been, and he knew he could not go back to the way he was. He needed her spirit to fill him—even if it was relayed via sentiments in a letter.

  Five times he had written her, and yet he had heard nothing.

  Chase had assumed Millie would be cross for being summarily dismissed, but she was neither subtle nor passive in nature. If anger was her chief emotion, he would be hearing from her multiple times a day, expressing those very feelings. So when he received no response to his first letter, Chase interpreted it as Millie’s small way of retaliation against his being so overbearing. But after five letters, it was clear that he could write a dozen more only to be similarly dismissed.

  It was obvious that she intended for him to come to her, to seek out her company after so bitterly rejecting it. He had resisted because he feared that with one look, one touch, he would not be able to let her go. Bringing her to London was not an option, but he could take her home to Dorset. He would just tell those dealing with the aftermath of Sir Edward’s betrayal that he would be unavailable to assist them for the next few months.