A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  Aimee pursed her lips and decided that she knew enough about the bilge from its smell. Besides, she had other reasons to meet with Dudley, and this was the first opportunity she’d had to observe him at night, for normally he worked the day shifts.

  She lifted up her hand so that he could see the two palm-sized ovals she held. Dudley moved the lantern closer and saw that they were portraits of Swivel Eye Stu and Gilley—two of the sorrier-looking men on the Sea Emerald.

  “I did these this morning. Do you think they will like them?”

  Aimee shifted her hand so he could take a better look. Both men looked like who they were, and yet she had drawn them as they would have looked if given the clothes and the funds. They almost looked like gentlemen. Even in the dark shadows of the inner hull, Aimee could see Dudley was not just surprised but impressed.

  “Blimey,” he muttered. “Do they know? That they look like . . . that . . . ?”

  Aimee shook her head. “Not at this time, though I do plan to give them their portraits later. If you recall, I lost a couple of games playing cards with them and this is my payment. I owe you as well, Mr. Willnon. I thought I would create something similar for you to give to your wife.”

  Dudley’s face broke out into a very large grin and she knew that she was on the verge of achieving what she came down here to do. She had purposely started with the two hardest men to draw, but the most willing to talk and teach her. But as ordinary seamen, it had not taken very long before Stu and Gilley had divulged as much as she wanted to know on how to keep the ship clean and in working order. Aimee was far more interested in the rigging, sail-making, and how to work the ship. That was the work of able-bodied seamen.

  “Me wife,” Dudley repeated aloud, his eyes shining with the idea. “Would you, me lady? Just tell me what I need to do and when. And I’ll be there.”

  Shaking her head, Aimee slipped the two portraits back into the side pocket of her dress. “No need, Mr. Willnon. I can get all I need when I join you on your shift right now.”

  “Did you say join me?”

  Aimee nodded. “I’ll shadow you, not for the whole time, but just enough for me to get an understanding of what you do.”

  The line of his mouth tightened a fraction more. “Now what do you want to learn a sailor’s job for? Not like you’re going to do it.”

  Aimee stifled the desire to stomp her foot like Millie did in times of frustration. “Your captain and chief mate do not do the things you do either, but they know them.”

  “That’s because they’re the captain and the chief. You’re . . . a . . . well, a woman. Females shouldn’t know such things.”

  “Mr. Willnon, that is simply a ridiculous statement invented to protect the pride of a man. Besides, we had an agreement when we played cards the other night.”

  For a long moment, Dudley just looked at Aimee. He had no idea just what all those fancy words meant, but he was fairly certain that she had taken exception to his comment. “How was I supposed to know you was serious?”

  “About learning the ship? Yes, I am quite serious. I know very little about ships, and as I am on one, and will be for several more weeks, I would like to end my ignorance. Regardless of my reasons, you are indebted to me to share your knowledge, and as an honorable man, I am sure you will settle this matter by letting me join you on your shift.”

  Dudley’s eyes had grown dark and insolent, and Aimee realized she might have just pushed the kind man too far with her speech. “Mr. Willnon, please help me. Do you never wish that your wife better understood your passion for sailing and the sea?”

  Dudley twisted his lips and looked at her enigmatically. Finally, he gave her a single nod.

  Aimee’s face brightened and she continued. “I have a problem, Mr. Willnon. I suspect everyone aboard the ship has been told about my feelings for Mr. Hamilton, but he still views me as the little girl I once was. He believes I am fragile and soft and come from a life that prevents me from understanding who he is. I need to prove to him that I understand his world—that it is gritty, hard, and oftentimes uncomfortable—and that I appreciate it and even sometimes want to join it. I do not need to be pampered to be happy. And I am not a weak female who needs to be protected. But he will never believe me unless I can prove to him otherwise.”

  Dudley’s eyes shifted from stony to gentle and contemplative. Damn good argument, he thought to himself.

  No one had to tell him about her feelings for the captain, for it was obvious. She would often look to the place the captain stood when he was on the upper deck. And if she really was the one who created all the consternation whenever they had to go to London, then it was clear the captain loved her in return. And Dudley had no doubt she was indeed that person. Many of the men were falling for her, and he might have too, if he were not already fully enamored of his wife. Regardless, all understood she belonged to the captain—even if he was the only one who did not realize it.

  Dudley felt himself giving in. “You won’t be interferin’? Slowin’ me down? Chatterin’ on about nonsense?”

  A satisfied light crept into Aimee’s green eyes. “I promise.”

  Dudley grabbed one of her wrists and pulled it into the light. “And these?”

  Aimee raised her chin and said nothing.

  The skin on her wrists was new and pink, but in a few more days the bright color would dim, leaving white scars. Dudley did not like to think about the captain seeing them. They alone would probably keep Aimee from ever setting another foot on a ship. Though her quest was doomed, Dudley refused to be part of the reason Aimee thought she had failed. “Don’t tell any of the other men.”

  “I won’t say a thing,” she promised and followed him out of the inner hull.

  Before the end of the shift, there was not a seaman—ordinary or able-bodied—who did not know Dudley was telling Aimee all about what he was doing and why. As a result, the men were more willing to not just let her repay what she owed them, but settle their debts as well. It was as if she was the first person to be interested in learning from them rather than telling them how to do their jobs.

  Now she just needed to convince the crew members who did not owe her anything to talk to her as well.

  Millie sat down and opened the third and last trunk Elda Mae had sent to her. It had taken nearly three days for her maid to get the message and send the items. In truth, it was a remarkably short time, but to Millie it had felt like forever. Once she had made the decision to stop waiting for Chase to deal with her mistakes, she wanted to begin immediately. She could have gone to her father for funds, but it was likely that he would want explanations—or alert Chase to her unusual request.

  One by one Millie pulled out and discarded items. Her old nursemaid had been fastidious and had done exactly as requested. She had packed everything Millie had left behind. That was the only way Millie knew to prevent Elda Mae from becoming suspicious. For if she had asked for only the few items she was truly interested in, Elda Mae would have arrived with the trunks, and then there would have been no way Millie could have enacted her plan.

  She reached in and sighed with relief as her fingertips clasped the dark burgundy velvet cloak Madame Sasha had made for her last spring when it was still cold at night. She spread it wide over the floor and then reached into the trunk to pull out the last item she needed to venture into a place where a woman of her rank would never be found.

  On the bottom was a small, old locked chest with gold filigree roses decorating the cedarwood. Her father had requisitioned it for her mother when they moved to Wareham and purchased Abileen Rose. Her mother had loved roses and had planted them all around the estate. Millie lightly fingered the item before confirming the small revolver was still inside. Then she placed it on the ground beside her cloak.

  Starting at one end, she pressed the hem, feeling for bulk. Finding none, she continued along the edge until she heard a soft crumpling sound. She grabbed the scissors on her dressing table and carefully cut the thre
ad that hid the concealed papers. At the snap of the last string, out flew nearly a hundred pounds. Only a tiny fraction of that was needed to get her to London, but she may need more for her plan to work.

  Everything she needed was here. Now she just needed everyone—each in their own way.

  Anxious to get started, Millie laid out a traveling outfit and threw together a light trunk of personal items along with her plainest garments. Next, she sat down and quickly scribed three notes. The first was to Jennelle, telling her to expect her arrival. The second was to her father, explaining that he was indeed right. Sitting and waiting when she could take action to solve her problems would only bring her unhappiness. She just hoped Chase would understand and eventually accept that for her to be happy, she had to be free to be herself.

  The last note was an entreaty to the one person who might understand and support her idea—Madame Sasha, who was much more than just a gifted modiste.

  “Damn Chaselton, damn his title, damn his wife, and damn everything he holds dear,” muttered a deformed figure looming over what turned out to be an incomplete replica of the first map in the series. He should have known when he grabbed the item that the vellum felt much too pliable to be a relic nearly eight hundred years old.

  His warped hand crumpled the reproduction and threw it into the hearth, snarling at the smell of burning animal skin. He had been followed tonight and had almost been caught. The runner was more skilled than most of his kind, but he had not been trained by someone like him—a master in lies, deception, and spying. He had trained Chaselton himself, and should have predicted that his one-time protégé would make such a clever move.

  Tonight’s misstep had just confirmed what the marquess probably had only suspected—that the targets were the unusual maps purchased by chance last year. Then again, the withered man thought as he tapped a finger against his chin, maybe it was not chance that placed the maps in his enemy’s hands, but fate. He wanted it to be Chaselton. Who better to provide the means to destroy him?

  Chaselton might have been lucky and thwarted him once, but he would not do so a second time. He had no doubt that one, maybe two, of the nine maps were on the Sea Emerald. He had the one from the offices of W & H Shipping near the docks, as well as the ones off the Intrepid and the Sea Rebel. Last night, he had successfully found another in Reece Hamilton’s empty townhome. That left three more, which were most likely hidden away at Hembree Grove. And while Chaselton might now know that the maps were being stolen, he still had no idea why they were of value. Both he and his partner, Reece Hamilton, still thought they were related to sea navigation and would continue along the path of such misguidance until it was too late.

  “Ah, Chaselton. You may be aware that you have an unusual thief on your hands. You even now know what is being stolen, but you do not know why. This time, only I have the answer.”

  Chapter 10

  October 18, 1816

  “Aye, my lord. That’s the way of it. I followed him meself, but he musta known ’cause he disappeared like he ne’er was there. Mighty strange that.”

  Chase eyed the odd-looking man in front of him. He was of average height, muscular from years of hard labor, with thin brown hair that was turning gray around his temples. Chase had used the Bow Street runner before because he was discreet, smart, and capable for someone who had learned everything from the streets. With training, he could have made an excellent spy except for one thing—the man had a memorable face.

  His mouth was small, which was made to look even more so with wide cheeks and bushy dark brown eyebrows. A somewhat bulbous nose conflicted with close-set eyes, making them look smaller than they were. Not any one feature was in itself remarkable, but put together, it made Randall Greery quite unforgettable. “Where did you lose him, Mr. Greery?”

  “Out on the docks. He was moving along the Thames, leaving Blackwall and heading toward Bugsby’s Reach when I lost him. I didn’t believe anyone knew the East India Docks better than me, but he moved like a native to the waterfront,” Greery said, still puzzled how the man had simply vanished rounding a small crate of tinned meat.

  Unfortunately, that told Chase very little. “Were you able to at least verify that the thief got what he was after?” Chase asked, half expecting another negative answer.

  “Yes, my lord.” Greery coughed and frowned. Depending on the job—and the pay—he would often employ one or two others he trusted to assist with a case. Tonight had been one of those times. “One of me men, Roberts, put the map you gave us in with the others, like you asked. It’s gone, along with the case to your telescope, my lord.”

  “Just the case?”

  Greery bobbed his head. “Yes, my lord. Roberts found the telescope lying under the table as if it were thrown aside.”

  Chase leaned back in his chair and thought for a second. “And have you been able to determine if any other ships are missing charts, maps, or drawings of some sort?”

  This time Greery grimaced. “None, my lord. There’ve been the normal robberies and skirmishes around the docks—food, money, and the like—but nothing on any of the ships. With the exception of W & H Shipping, the rest have been left alone.”

  Chase drummed his fingers noiselessly on the map in front of him. On the surface, he was dealing with a simple burglar who was doing nothing more nefarious than taking some worthless pieces of paper. But the moment Millie told him about her encounter, his gut had twisted. His every instinct said this thief was far from harmless. The man had been too good slipping in and out of guarded places. And based on Greery’s feedback, he was also skilled at evading being seen and disappearing when being tailed. That level of skill required practice. This thief was not going to be found unless he was lured into a trap.

  So when the Tempest came into port, Chase had moved quickly. The forgery had been decent—good enough to fool someone as they quickly located and absconded with it, but its primary purpose was to goad the man into making another move sooner versus later.

  “Mr. Greery,” Chase began in a tone that indicated a change in topic. “Were you able to discover anything on the pinnace?”

  “Aye, my lord, good news. I was able to track down the models of all five ships that left port that night. Three of them definitely did not have pinnaces at all. One may have had them, but crewmen that had worked aboard her several times said they only used the jolly boats, and they were painted blue. That leaves only the Sea Emerald, whose pinnaces we know for certain are painted green and white. I got some of my less reputable men to talk to a few laborers on the docks that night, and they confirmed what the workers already told you. They thought the boy being grabbed was a drunken shipmate, for he did not fight or cry out for help.”

  Chase nodded, relieved to learn that his original conclusions were most likely correct despite the fact that the Sea Emerald had yet to return to London. Aimee was most likely with Reece, which meant the most likely reason his friend had not yet turned around was that his sister was intentionally keeping her presence on board quiet.

  Aimee was a master at swaying people to her point of view. Even better than Millie when so inclined—and when it came to Reece, she would be highly motivated to extend her time on the Sea Emerald by any means possible. Chase hoped she was miserable and learning her lesson, but knowing his sister, she probably was in control of most of the crew, using her innocent looks and seemingly sweet nature to finagle a room, food, and as comfortable a life as one could get on a ship.

  “Are you very certain, Mr. Greery?” Chase asked, his gold eyes boring into the older man’s dark ones.

  The Bow Street runner blinked. The task of finding out about the small rowing boat had been an odd request, and not until now did he realize how serious the lord felt about it. Fortunately, Greery did his job thoroughly and quickly, regardless of the task. “Aye, my lord. Most certain, if the description you gave me was accurate.”

  “Five quid is what we agreed, I believe,” Chase said, and opened a drawer to pull o
ut a small stack of paper. He thumbed out ten bills and placed them down on the desk, then pointed to it. “That’s the five we agreed to, and another five for you to ensure your men remain quiet about all they asked and saw.”

  Greery eyed the money as it slid toward him on the desk, shocked that the marquess had just given him ten pounds. “Thank you, your lordship. They’ll be quiet and I’ll be keeping my ears open for news of your thief. If you ever be needing help again, you just find me.”

  Chase watched as the bulky man strode out of his study. He had an uneasy feeling that he would be calling again for Mr. Greery, and disturbingly soon.

  Chase sat back in his coach as the driver departed for home. Home, he thought with bitterness. These days it felt more like an elaborate dwelling.

  Until Millie left, he had thought it was his mother who had made Hembree Grove feel warm and welcoming. But she had left for Scotland nearly five weeks ago, and not until Millie’s absence had he actually felt lonely. Even being among a crowd of people this evening had done nothing to relieve that feeling.

  He had stayed at White’s club for too long. Soon after Greery had left Hembree Grove, Chase immediately assigned guards inside every entrance, with instructions to capture and hold anyone who tried to go in, then send word to him at White’s. He had also decided to retrieve the map that Reece kept at his townhome to study, and keep it with the three he had safely hidden away. Unfortunately, he was too late. The place had already been raided, most likely that morning. Which meant Hembree Grove was likely the next target.

  Chase considered going back home, but the thief was most likely watching and waiting for him to leave. Chase wanted no more delays. More than anything, he wanted this mystery solved. He needed his life to return to normal. Chase wanted his wife back where she belonged—in his arms, his bed, and his everyday life. So he had headed to White’s.