A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  Collins looked back in the direction of the captain’s cabin and then at the radiant beauty beckoning him to allow her to enjoy his favorite love—the sea. Relenting, Collins nodded. “But just for a minute. We really have to see JP.”

  “JP?” Aimee repeated, smiling as she walked over to the deck’s rails and peered over.

  “Jean-Pierre, but everyone calls him JP,” Collins said as he spied, from the corner of his eye, Smiley and Red Legs Solomon stop what they were doing to ogle the captain’s woman. Soon, more men joined them in an effort to catch a glimpse of “the One” as she stood confidently with her face in the wind. Collins had already known that it would be impossible to keep her presence hidden from the crew, and consequently had done the exact opposite. He had spread the word that the captain’s woman was not only on board but had been injured by one of the crew. Hearing the latter, it was not hard to convince the crew to keep quiet about her presence until Collins found the right time to inform the boss. But no one had agreed not to stare at the siren if given a chance.

  Grimacing, Collins gestured for her to follow him. “It’s time. We need to go now, my lady.”

  Aimee sighed. Once they were inside where the wind could not smother her words, she asked, “It’s time for what?”

  Collins did not answer but went down two narrow sets of stairs that led to a small factory of delicious smells. Instantly, Aimee felt like eating again, and this time a meal big enough to satisfy even someone of Mr. Collins’s size. “Please say it is time for dinner. Mr. Jean-Pierre? Is that your name?” she asked the man with a twitching mustache. He was shorter than she was by several inches, with thinning dark hair, but unlike most men who could not see eye to eye with her, JP was not in the least intimidated. “It smells absolutely wonderful. I can honestly say that I have never inhaled better scents in my life than what you are creating in here.”

  JP narrowed his gaze as the tall, trim blonde bent over to peek in his pots. Then, without asking, she used a nearby ladle to sample the contents. Every man aboard the Sea Emerald knew to stay away from his kitchen. Step inside and you did not eat. It was a clear and simple rule, and all followed it—including the captain. JP could be mean when crossed, but as one of the most coveted cooks on the seas, he was allowed to be. It had taken Captain Hamilton three years to convince him to move on board the Sea Emerald, and JP had only one firm stipulation—stay out of his kitchen.

  Collins gave JP a grave look and then introduced them. “Uh, JP, this is . . .” He was about to say “the One” again before changing his mind. He really did not want to explain to the lady just what the term meant and how the captain felt about her. That conversation was for her and the captain, and no one else. “. . . Lady, uh . . .”

  “Aimee,” she said between sips.

  Collins swallowed. “Lady Aimee, this is . . . JP.”

  Aimee turned, looking chagrined about her miniature eating foray, and greeted the cook as if he were the most gifted genius in the world. It completely disarmed the Frenchman. “Mr. Jean-Pierre, you are truly a master. I shamefully admit to sneaking into many kitchens, but I have never been in one so cleverly organized. Despite the confined space allotted to you, you have whipped up dishes that make the mouth water in anticipation of the next bite.”

  Aimee paused, taking in the cook’s twitching mustache. “Mr. Collins, I believe we have interrupted this magician at a critical time and must allow him to continue his work. If we do not, the carrots will be undercooked,” Aimee said, pointing to the diced vegetables on a table against the wall. “And that would be a shame, for the stew Mr. Jean-Pierre is preparing is one of the best I have ever tasted.” She hummed for a second and pointed to the ladle in the soup. “Mr. Jean-Pierre, would you mind terribly if I tried just one more sample?”

  JP opened his mouth to say many things but nothing came out. Seeing that the cook was visibly shaken, Collins grimaced. “We are not here for victuals, JP, and you have my apologies about the interruption, but we have need of the whiskey.” Collins caught the cook’s eye and with his chin directed JP’s gaze to her wrists. He knew exactly when the Frenchman saw them.

  JP gulped, for he knew what the chief mate intended to do. And it did have to be done. “Should we get zee boss?” he whispered.

  “That is a question I have been struggling with since I first learned of her and her . . . condition.” Collins pressed his lips together. “Yes, we will get him, but let’s wait until after we wrap her wrists, I think.”

  Aimee held up her hand. “Just what do you believe will happen after I meet with Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Captain Hamilton will no doubt immediately turn us around and head back to London double speed. And seeing the condition you’re in—pardon me, miss, but your wounds are quite distressing to the eyes—he would most likely fire us all. And that’s if we’re lucky.” Collins rubbed the back of his neck. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t blame him. But these men are a good bunch and would follow the captain through just about anything. Such trust between a crew and their boss is not quickly developed. It would cost him a lot to fire us. And the men? Most would eventually find work, but nothing as good as the Sea Emerald, and they know it.”

  Aimee had surmised that Collins, even Gus and Petey, would get a lecture. She had even felt guilt at the thought, for she suspected Reece’s lectures were something along the line of her brother’s—and quite unpleasant. But after hearing Collins’s prediction of what would happen, Aimee had no intention of seeing Reece until they were much farther out to sea. She needed enough time to convince him that they belonged together. That his being a second son and his love for the sea made no difference. That she loved only him and he loved her as well. Being happy and in love, he would then harbor no ill feelings toward his crew.

  Until then she intended to stay aboard, which was not the horrible experience Society people purported it to be. Strangely enough, she enjoyed being on a ship. The sounds and the motion were both appealing and soothing, and she was not ready to give them up.

  Unfortunately, her new plan was doomed unless she convinced Collins that a delay in disclosing her presence would benefit both him and the crew. She delicately shrugged her shoulders and said, “Then why not wait to tell Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Wait?” Collins barked. The stress of having her around without the captain knowing was already intolerable. Collins doubted he could wait. Barely three days out, it already felt like the longest voyage ever.

  Before he unequivocally refused her suggestion, Aimee explained, “I am already here. The anger Mr. Hamilton might feel at my being aboard will not change. However, if we allow some time to pass for my wounds to heal, the severity of the repercussions might be significantly less. In addition, Mr. Hamilton would have more time for his anger to ease. I would hate to know that men lost their jobs because we were impatient.”

  The only disadvantage to her proposal was the impact it would have on Millie and Jennelle. Both were undoubtedly upset by her disappearance. But surely by now they had confirmed she was on the Sea Emerald and therefore in safe hands. If Aimee could actually talk to them, she had little doubt that they would be encouraging her to take the risk.

  The real unknown was her brother. Charles was going to be furious with her; thus, his anger was another reason to delay telling Reece. It would give her brother several more weeks to make peace with the idea that his little sister ran away with his best friend.

  She sighed and locked pleading green eyes onto Mr. Collins’s brown ones until he finally muttered the words she wanted to hear. “We will wait.”

  Aimee swallowed as she realized what Collins had prescribed for treating her injuries. “You have to be seriously befuddled if you think I am going to allow you to pour that nasty-smelling liquid onto my wrists, Mr. Jean-Pierre.”

  Frowning, he looked at her. “My name is not Mister Jean-Pierre, it is just Jean-Pierre. And, oui, I must clean your wounds wiz zis nasty-smelling liquid, as you so politely put it.”
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br />   Aimee ignored his sarcasm and pulled her arms behind her back. “And just how much do you know of wounds, Mr. Jean-Pierre? Do you claim to be a doctor as well as a cook?”

  “I know all too much, me lady,” JP replied, his French accent thick. “I ’ave been on ships all me life, and too often wounds such as yours are fine one day and foul zee next. Even after we do cleanse your injuries, zey may still not heal right.”

  Aimee gulped, remembering well the stories Jennelle told Millie and her about how some physicians believed that spirits stopped the flesh from turning bad and causing a man to die. But mostly, she remembered Millie’s terrifying account of cleansing her brother’s wound and the level of agony it had produced. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. It is not that I am a coward . . . but, well, maybe I am a coward. You see, I am quite aware of the pain that is caused by what you intend, and let me put it this way . . . there is no way in bloody hell you are going to do that to me.”

  Collins sighed. He wished Lady Aimee was ignorant about the treatment, but that would have meant something had gone right this day. “If you refuse, then I will be forced to notify the captain and he can do it,” he stated, part of him praying to God that the threat would not work.

  Aimee inhaled and stared at Collins. Deciding he was not bluffing, she straightened her shoulders and asked, “Are we to do it here?”

  JP looked at Collins and gave him a hostile glare. “My kitchen is for cooking and cooking only. I suggest your cabin.”

  Collins frowned and shook his head. Pulling JP aside, he whispered, “It’s too risky. The captain is next door to my cabin. One female shriek and he would walk in, demanding to know what the hell was going on. Only after we were fish fodder would he realize the right of what we were trying to do, but then it would be too late. I’d rather take your wrath.”

  Aimee had thought Collins’s previous comments about his imminent death were jokes, but she was beginning to believe the man truly believed Reece would physically harm them if he saw her injured or in pain. “I can assure you, Mr. Collins, that Mr. Hamilton would never hurt you or Mr. Jean-Pierre.”

  JP snorted, crossing his arms, and Collins grimaced. “Not unless he had a good reason, my lady. But, aye, he is certainly capable and willing if given adequate motive, and holding down a woman—especially you—and causing her to scream in pain . . . well, I can promise you, to him that would be a good reason.”

  “But I would stop him. I would tell him what happened and explain the situation.”

  Collins inhaled deeply, but his frown remained. “I’m hoping you are going to do exactly that, my lady, but only after you heal somewhat. Right now, one look at you and the captain is not going to listen to explanations. As a leader and a sailor, he is as fine as they come, fair and capable. But the captain is also a soldier and a damn good one. It would take very little to trigger his combat training and become one again. Hearing you in pain, seeing your arms and face . . . this time, we,” Collins said, waving his finger between himself and JP, “would be his enemies. And I’ve seen the captain in battle. We would die before you or anyone else could stop him.”

  Comprehension flooded Aimee’s countenance. She had known Reece only in safe, happy surroundings. Yet, Collins was right. For eight years, Reece had been constantly surrounded by danger. His crew had depended upon him. They knew him, and Reece knew them well. But he had been brought up as a noble, and like all gentlemen, his code of honor was nonnegotiable. If Reece believed his men had put her in danger or caused her harm, all the trust between them would be gone instantly. She had not realized how her decision to be abducted would affect others until now. Whatever the pain she had to endure to reduce the potential damage her presence might cause was a very small price to pay.

  “Mr. Jean-Pierre, I suggest we do this on deck. If I do cry out and am overheard by Mr. Hamilton, it would be easier to claim it was one of the crew. Correct?”

  The cook nodded in agreement, stray locks falling in front of his eyes. “Would be best. I’ll get a calming salve and some clean rags for bandages.”

  Aimee watched as the two men gathered what they needed. Collins looked at the cook and said, “We best be quick. The captain will rise and be on deck within the hour.”

  Jean-Pierre stepped past Aimee and out into the small hallway. “Put someone on guard to direct zee captain elsewhere if need be. This way, mademoiselle. No use delaying what must be done.”

  Aimee swallowed and followed the thin man up the stairs and into the early night air. Clouds covered much of the stars, but there was still enough light to maneuver. She took a deep breath, surprised to discover how much the smell of the warm sea air calmed her. On a crate a few feet away, Collins put down the glass container he carried and began ripping strips of cotton.

  Aimee pulled up a smaller box and sat down. It was then she noticed a hushed crowd gathering around them. These were the men whom Reece depended on and who depended on him. Aimee decided then and there that no matter what the pain, she would not scream. Not a single man witnessing what was about to happen would remember their captain’s future wife as a weeping female being held down by their chief mate in order to save her life.

  Collins had never been so nervous in his life. He would face a battalion of Frenchmen rather than this lone woman, who suddenly appeared relaxed and prepared to face what must be done. If the captain could witness her bravery, he would be incredibly proud. Collins figured on telling him . . . one day . . . but far, far into the future.

  Aimee held her wrists in front of her and nodded to JP. Seconds later, what felt to be liquid fire smothered her wounds. Screaming would not have helped. Yelling would not have helped. Nothing would have helped her endure the pain that was consuming her. Tears blinded her eyes and she squeezed them shut. “Is it over?” she choked.

  “Aye, my lady, the worst of it is over,” she heard Collins reply and then the world went dark and she felt no more.

  Chapter 5

  October 10, 1816

  Aimee blinked twice and tried again to focus on the wood beams above her. She groaned. The last thing she could remember was being out on deck, and it had been dark outside. The bright light streaming through the window indicated she had been out for some time.

  Her arms were throbbing, but the pain was at least bearable. Grunting, she looked down at the makeshift bandages and fell back against the surprisingly soft bedding, sapped of energy. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own and was rejecting the idea of doing anything that might touch, move, or disturb her throbbing wrists.

  “Aimee Wentworth, you have just survived the worst of it, and you did yourself proud,” she said, speaking sternly to herself. “Now unless you want Reece’s men thinking you are a sad little pampered creature expecting to be catered to, sit up.”

  Reece glanced at the wall separating his quarters from those of his chief mate. He had been bending over his provisional desk, trying to discern a peculiar riddle regarding one of their navigational charts, when he thought he heard Aimee’s voice. He stood up and raked his hand through his hair. Had he actually gone mad?

  Distance and time, he had told himself, would enable him to conquer his emotions and physical craving for her, but neither had worked. Instead, they had driven him to insanity. Too often he had imagined her on the boat singing, talking to him, sitting with him, or being out on deck enjoying his beloved wind and sea, but he had always known it was an illusion of his own making. And never did his fantasies include Aimee scolding herself.

  Reece froze, listening. When only silence greeted him, he shook his head a few times and went back to the chart. The one on top was one he had made, and yet something about it was different than he remembered.

  Hoping that Collins would be able to identify the discrepancies, Reece rolled up the parchment and went out into the narrow hallway to bang on the door to the room next to his. “Collins,” Reece bellowed. “Open up, man. There is something wrong with these charts.”

  At the sound of Reec
e’s voice, Aimee instinctively sat up and hit her head on a low-lying bag of . . . something. A voluble “bloody hell” came out before she could muffle her response.

  Reece looked quizzically at the closed door. “Did you just sing the words bloody hell to me, mate?”

  Aimee sat frozen. It was Reece on the other side of the door. Worse, because she had said something, he believed Collins was in the cabin. Looking around, she could find nothing sizeable to hide behind or anything to duck under. Two seconds away from pure panic, Aimee heard Collins join Reece in the corridor and sighed with relief.

  “Can I help you, Captain?”

  Reece looked at his chief mate, puzzled and suspicious. He then saw the latch on his door was attached from the outside. “Did you bring a woman aboard, Collins?”

  Collins looked at Reece, wide-eyed but unblinking. “Not I, Captain,” he grunted. “After Rosita, I figured on spending a few cruises without female companionship, if you know what I mean.”

  Reece grimaced and glanced back at the closed door. To pursue the conversation meant talking about certain topics and admitting private thoughts he planned on taking to his watery grave. “Um, I wanted to go over these charts with you,” he said, pointing at the wooden door to indicate he wanted to step inside his chief mate’s cabin. “I swear we are off course, not by much, but it is difficult to tell with the cloud cover we have been having at night.”

  “I’ve been following the course you laid out, sir. We’re heading south as you wanted.”

  Reece frowned. The fastest routes from England to the Americas were not necessarily the most direct. Going south toward the equator before turning toward the Indies allowed them to avoid the strong current that flowed from the Americas across the Atlantic toward Europe. And Reece had a particular route he liked to follow because it shaved at least two days off the trip. “I know, but I sense we’re off. Get the log line and chronometer. I want to know exactly where we are and get us back on course. Let’s go in and take another look at these charts. I want to—”