A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  Clive rolled his eyes and muttered something about how men were doomed when it came to understanding women. Devlin pushed himself up out of his chair and sauntered over to where Millie was standing with her arms crossed. “Ye remind me of someone I once knew.”

  “The world is full of petite brunettes. I am far from unusual,” Millie retorted. She was still annoyed and was not in the mood to be charmed out of her anger. She had thought that with a little more time, the men would start opening up to her, but she was beginning to realize that it was going to take a lot longer than she had anticipated to gain their trust. More time than she had if she was to return to Chase with news before he became aware of her absence.

  “The lass I refer to is neither short nor dark haired. But like you, her tongue is quite sharp when riled.”

  “You are not the first to remark on my harridan-like nature. I have been called many things . . . twig . . . sprite.” She whispered the last two words, reminded of how much she missed Chase.

  Devlin smiled. He liked the fact that she did not deny who she was. “Sprite. Aye, that works.”

  “You like sprites, do you, Mr. MacLeery?”

  “Not usually. You are the exception.”

  “But what about this other woman I remind you of? Do you still love her?”

  Devlin started to cough. “Love her? Not at all! I cannot stand the vixen. For a while, the bampot was the bane of my existence.”

  “Bampot?” Millie inquired, unfamiliar with the Scottish term.

  Devlin frowned, somewhat embarrassed that he did often call the woman who wanted to marry him “unhinged,” and usually to her face. “It matters not.”

  Millie did not pursue the subject, mostly because she did not need to. Devlin’s expression reminded her of her own just a few months ago when she and Chase denied their true feelings, pretending they only felt irritated by the other. She still detested being called Mildred and probably always would, but Charlie had become an endearment.

  A sharp cry from across the room broke Millie’s train of thought. She turned around and instantly realized just why Bessie had yelped in pain. A man had caught her arm in a tight grasp.

  He was neither tall nor short, but he looked strong and his unshaven face did not hide the sneer on his lips and the intent in his deep-set eyes. This man was not just randy—he was mean. And Bessie knew it too. Millie glanced at the three men still sitting at his table and knew without question that they were not going to intervene.

  “Mr. MacLeery, I think it would be wise to find Clive and ask him to return immediately.”

  Devlin had been about to intervene but decided that with four men, it was best to get Clive first.

  Once Millie saw Devlin head toward the back room, she made her way to Bessie. The man holding her arm looked to be from one of the ships that had just arrived. He was wearing galligaskins—loose pantaloons designed to cover knee breeches. Most men wore their “goin’ ashore” clothes, but not the four strangers. They were also carrying cutlasses. The knife was typically used for cutting lines or tearing sails; sheathed on the small of the back, it was accessible by either hand, and therefore a formidable weapon.

  Millie grew uneasy as she stopped just out of arm’s reach. “Let Bessie go,” she said softly.

  The man laughed triumphantly. “Not likely.”

  Millie knew then that her normal method of dealing with men was not going to work. No amount of talking, flattery, or smiles would work on him or his men. What they enjoyed most was exerting power over others, especially in the form of physical pain. That was the language they understood.

  Without additional preamble, Millie stepped forward and let all the years of training take over as she lunged for the man’s Adam’s apple. As a child, she had been small and a target for others. Charlie had ensured she learned how to defend herself as a child. Since the incident with Sir Edward, he had made certain that her fighting skills included tactics many would consider not just unfair, but deadly.

  From the corner of her eye, Millie could see that one of his companions was overcoming his surprise and was about to act. She let go and spun low, causing the man to miss his grasp when he came for her. Using his momentary lack of balance to her advantage, she punched her heel into his knee, causing him to crumple.

  The man whose Adam’s apple she had struck thrust Bessie away from him so hard that she landed on her hip on a nearby empty table. He was enraged, and for a second, Millie had no idea how to stop him. Then she remembered the one method she and Chase had never been able to practice. Just in time, she shoved the bottom part of her palm into his nose, pushing upward. She heard a crunch and he fell.

  She was about to make sure she had not killed him, when she heard two chairs fall abruptly backward as the final two companions decided to come after her. This time Millie did not panic. One was coming from behind, the other from the front, both believing their size and strength a benefit. Millie, however, decided to make them a handicap, and just as they came at her, she did another low spin. Both being of similar height, they clashed heads, momentarily stunning each other. As one reached up to rub his forehead, Millie took his arm and used the momentum to twist it until the shoulder popped out of the socket. Seeing the damage she alone had caused, the fourth man turned and ran out of the joint, leaving his companions to follow as best they could.

  Millie took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to slow the rapid beat of her heart. Oh, Chase, you would be so furious and proud of me right now, she said to herself, wishing she could rush home and tell him just what had happened. She would even enjoy enduring one of his lectures.

  When she opened her eyes, Millie wiped her perspiring palms on her skirt and looked around. Only then did she realize not only how quiet the place had become, but that every set of eyes was on her.

  Swallowing, Millie pasted on her sweetest smile and said as nonchalantly as she could manage, “Just something I learned to do in my youth.” Then she winked at the table of men closest to her and said, “Warn your sons, gentlemen, that this is what happens when young boys mercilessly pick on little girls.”

  The men took the cue and began to drink again, but Bessie, Devlin, and Clive, who was still holding a case of rum, remained motionless, staring at her wide-eyed. “Clive, do you need help with those?” Millie asked, but before he could answer, Bessie recovered enough to grab her wrist and pull her to the corner of the room.

  “Listen, little missy, I don’t know how you got so wise an’ all about that punchin’ when you know nothin’ about other things, but that man . . . he would’ve hurt me bad if you hadn’t done what you did.”

  Millie just blinked. Bessie’s tone was not one of gratitude, but neither did it contain its usual venom.

  “I don’t want any debts over my head,” Bessie continued. “Especially to you. So I’m goin’ to tell you how to keep your tips safe. I notice you put ’em in your pocket where anyone here can—and probably has tried to—swipe a coin or two without you knowin’.”

  Millie licked her lips. Despite what she just did to four grown men, she did not want Bessie thinking that she could be intimidated. “Putting them in your bodice is highly uncomfortable and not much safer, in my mind.”

  “You’re right,” Bessie said, surprising Millie. “You only swipe at your chest as if you’re dropping the coins inside. Then you put them in your pocket.”

  Millie was tempted to ridicule the value of Bessie’s secret, when the woman continued. “Before tomorrow night, sew a long strip of cloth to the inside layer of your garment, about so wide.” Millie watched as Bessie spread out her fingers to indicate between one and two inches. “That way you can slide the coins down for safekeepin’.”

  Millie’s brow creased in confusion. Bessie shifted a little to the left to ensure no one could see her movement and picked up a piece of her gown for Millie to take a closer look. As Millie traced the outline of several coins, her mouth opened with understanding. The strip did not act as a standar
d pocket, which would allow money to jingle and create noise. Instead, it stacked the coins on top of one another. Millie watched as Bessie twisted from side to side. Her gown was well worn, but it moved easily and no one would know that she had any money on her.

  Seeing Millie’s appreciative expression, Bessie nodded. “I’ve got nearly three pounds down there. So you know it works. Now, we’re even.”

  Not waiting for Millie’s agreement, Bessie immediately turned and left.

  Even? Millie thought. Was there such a thing, after all that had transpired between them?

  No, Millie decided. It was close, but they were not even. But she knew just how Bessie could square things between them.

  Chapter 22

  November 2, 1816

  Devlin drummed his fingers on the arm of the worn hearth chair as he watched Ellie clean up after the last of the patrons. In the past, he rarely stayed until closing, and though a frequent patron of Six Belles, it was only after his conversation with her that he had become a nightly customer—and a nightly stalker. At first, he had just been curious, wanting to know where she lived and who she spent time with when she was not at the tavern. Lately, however, he had become more protective. After yesterday afternoon, those feelings had seriously grown.

  He had just left his own business establishment when a man with a handheld portrait of Ellie stopped him. He was slightly more muscular than most men of his height. Though his brown hair was cut a little shorter than was fashionable, the style was better suited for the thinning, wiry strands. It was his close-set eyes that had made Devlin wary. They observed everything, but more than that, they detected what people did not intend for him to see. The man was clearly a Bow Street runner.

  Devlin had noticed him the day before, along with several others canvassing the streets. Suspecting that he was the one in charge, Devlin had decided to purposely put himself in the man’s path to discover which one of his more indebted gamblers they were looking for. Never had he dreamed he would flash Ellie’s face at him.

  Devlin had lied and done his best impersonation of boredom when informing the man that he had no idea who the woman was, nor did he care. The runner had shrugged and walked away, but this afternoon, the man had approached him again, asking once more if Devlin knew the whereabouts of the woman in the portrait. Devlin gave him the same answer, but it did not matter. The man did not believe him. He had seen something in Devlin’s initial reaction—the split second of recognition that one cannot disguise when unprepared.

  Devlin had walked away, but immediately doubled back and followed the runner to learn just who had hired him. They had reached the northern parts of Mayfair before the man realized he was being tailed and cleverly got swallowed by a crowd. Devlin then headed to Six Belles. Whoever was after Ellie came from a different world than the docks. A wealthy one.

  Devlin glanced over his shoulder at Ellie, smiling and laughing with a longshoreman who made no attempt to hide his attraction. Even in a modest frock with her hair tied back in a simple knot, she was unusually pretty, but no man hired numerous runners just to hunt down a beauty. Ellie might claim she came to work at Six Belles because she was looking for something, but that did not mean she was not also hiding from someone. Realizing someone wealthy and most likely powerful was searching for her, Devlin no longer doubted the appropriateness of his nightly habit of following her home. Ellie may be able to fight drunk men, but that did not make her invulnerable.

  “Ellie!” he called out.

  A few seconds later, she arrived at his side. “Mr. MacLeery, what a surprise to see you here this evening,” she said teasingly, her lavender eyes sparkling with humor.

  For a second, Devlin was mesmerized by them but quickly recovered. “I do not want you walking home alone at night anymore.”

  Millie smiled. “Clive walks Bessie and me down Pell and ensures the linkmen have the lights on. From there, it is only a short distance. I am perfectly safe.”

  Not from people specifically looking for you, Devlin wanted to say. However, he suspected such a disclosure might cause her to go on the run and vanish from his life. “Then will you tell me why you are so curious about ships with green and white pinnaces?”

  Millie’s eyes grew large for a second. “I can assure you the reason does not put me in any danger. And if you know nothing of the pinnace, then why do you care about my interest?”

  Because I think I am falling in love with you, Devlin thought. But aloud, he only said, “Just don’t leave here tonight without me.”

  Chapter 23

  November 3, 1816

  “I’d say we have two more days at sea and should anchor sometime Wednesday morning.”

  Aimee heard Mr. Collins’s voice just in time to keep from opening the door to the captain’s quarters. The chief mate was inside, and to her knowledge it was the first time he and Reece had spoken privately. Until now, all their meetings since her accident had been in public because Reece had been so furious that he had not trusted himself to be alone with Collins. But as the days stretched into a week, an awkwardness had grown between the two.

  Knowing she was the cause, Aimee had decided she had a responsibility in repairing the relationship. Confronting Reece had been more than a little unpleasant. Enduring several harsh, and not totally inaccurate, accusations about her being the reason behind the tension between the two men had been hard, but not nearly as challenging as keeping quiet. For too many times during his nearly hour-long diatribe had counterpoints to his barbs come to mind.

  Yes, she had disrupted the way of life aboard ship, but unlike the way Reece made it sound, her disturbances had not resulted in catastrophe. From what she could see, all the men were happy. They had been friendly and cooperative while she had been avoiding Reece, but at the same time there had been a weighted veil of secrecy that hung over them. With it gone, their spirits were free and merry. Even Reece had felt the effects and had started to join the men singing sea songs—a pastime, according to JP, Reece had abandoned since last December.

  When Reece had brought up loyalty again, a surge of resentment had gone through her and Aimee had almost interjected in her defense. She might not have been able to stop herself if Reece had continued to assert how he had lost the crew’s trust—because he had not. Instead, he had made it very clear how it could have been lost and the problems that would have caused.

  Through it all, Aimee had only listened, staying silent when she could have argued and corrected several of his claims. To do so would have defeated the real purpose of the lecture—the chance for Reece to release all the emotions and thoughts that had been festering inside him.

  It was her mother who had taught her the importance of letting a man offload his thoughts and feelings. It was rare her parents quarreled, but more often than not, her mother would just sit and listen to her father rant about something or someone. One time, after her father expressed several fairly harsh opinions to his wife about being manipulated into activities he expressly disliked, Aimee had sought to comfort her mother. But when she went into her room, Aimee had been surprised to find her mother completely untroubled. Instead, she was in the process of deciding which gown she was going to wear to the event her father had just made clear that he was not going to attend.

  It was years ago, but when Reece first started spouting all of his frustrations, it was the memory of what her mother told her that day that had enabled her to remain quiet. “Aimee, never forget that men can be just as emotional as women. Now those who are strong in mind and conviction like your father will never weep about what is troubling them. Nor will they plead or whine about their problems. However, at some point, men—like all human beings—are compelled to express their vexations. So you see? That is all your father was doing. In a way, it was the highest of compliments he paid me. Of all those he knows, your father chose me to release the inner thoughts that had been burdening him. It’s a form of trust, much like the one you have with Millie and Jennelle.”

  Ai
mee had kissed her mother and was about to run and play, happy once again that she really was the luckiest of all girls to have her mother and father as her parents, when her mother stopped her. “Aimee, before you go, I would like to clarify something important.” Aimee had shuffled back, unsure because the tone in her mother’s voice had gone from relaxed to quite serious. “A person can be frustrated and a good friend lets them release those frustrations, but it is never tolerable to belittle or cause another person harm, either physically or through words. And never let a man, even one you love, do so to you.”

  Not until Reece started detailing all of his frustrations did Aimee truly comprehend what her mother had been advising her about. For the first few minutes, Aimee had held herself still, listening, waiting for the personal attack, because she had given Reece many reasons to take that route, but he had not. He had just detailed every single aggravation he had experienced, beginning with how he thought he would go crazy hearing her sing all the time. In the end, his speech had just further convinced Aimee that she and Reece were right for each other. It also seemed to enable Reece to move past his anger and mend things with his chief mate.

  Smiling to herself, Aimee pivoted and was about to give Reece and Collins more time alone when she heard Collins ask, “So, the crew believes you and Lady Wentworth are going to marry when we reach Savannah.”

  Aimee could not help herself and grinned at the thought.

  “Don’t have much of a choice,” Reece replied brusquely. “From the moment we left London and she was on board, marriage was inevitable.”

  Collins cleared his throat. Aimee could not see him, but the muffled sound was one of distress. “You are a lucky man, Captain. The men and I know that, we just hope you do as well.”

  “Lucky? Any man but me would be lucky to marry Lady Wentworth, Collins. My biggest fear is regret.”