At the Chaselton estate, they would have time to be alone together, without the fanfare of Town. There would be no duty toward Society matrons, his sister, or even her friends. It would be just him and her. With enough time, they would mend what rifts had been created.
It would also be the perfect opportunity to calmly and patiently address her dangerous compulsions, the foundation of their current quarrel.
Millie leaned against the bar and tilted her head back slightly to stretch her neck. She had not anticipated how difficult it would be to work in a tavern. She knew the physical labor would be challenging and her tired feet and constantly aching back proved that assumption right. But she had not anticipated just how hard everything else would be. Remembering multiple orders and handling money exchanges were just not things done by noblewomen.
A man shouted out something unintelligible and Millie kept her eyes closed, ignoring him. Other than Devlin, only one group of men remained, and Bessie had laid claim to them as soon as they had entered the tavern. Their hollers belonged to her.
Millie had stopped trying to gain Bessie’s approval and friendship by the third night. The woman was just abrasive to everyone, including those who frequented Six Belles. And yet, most of the men did not seem to mind Bessie’s saucy attitude.
On the second night, Bessie had arrived early and dictated that they would share the customers, but she would choose which were hers and which ones Millie would serve. After the first hour, Millie was unsurprised to learn that those who tipped or tipped well, Bessie claimed, the others she gave away. But as Millie got better at serving, more and more of the customers were requesting her to help them, overriding Bessie’s initial claim. And each time, Millie braced herself for Bessie to explode, for it was not a matter of if, but when. And Millie suspected that if Clive were driven to make a choice between them, she would lose. She had little time left to execute her plan.
It was this fear that gave her the courage to begin asking questions about Aimee, the pinnace, and who owned the ship it belonged to. But she quickly learned that asking outright was the fastest way to learn absolutely nothing. Millie was fairly certain that not a sole she spoke to actually had the answers to her questions, based on their puzzled expressions, but she was just as certain that if they had known, they would not have told her. The men might enjoy having her serve them, but it would take a lot more than a fresh, pretty face to get them to part with any information.
With the direct approach not working, Millie shifted to a more indirect line of questioning. She asked about the men’s work, or how their day went, trying to engage them in conversation. But each time she brought up the pinnace, they changed the topic back to her.
“Green and white dinghy? Never seen such a thing. Don’t care to either, not when I have you to gaze at.”
“Dinghy? Seen ’em all and none are painted, except maybe white. But if you want to go with me to check inside a few, I can promise you an enjoyable tour.”
Millie sighed. She had promised not to return without information on Aimee, and she intended to keep it. But she was beginning to wonder if working for Clive would ever yield results.
A clinking sound beside her brought her out of her reverie. Devlin had risen and was now beside her, placing his empty glass down on the counter. He plopped four half-crowns onto the wooden surface. Millie slid two of the coins into her hand and gave him a sincere smile but said nothing. Devlin always tipped Bessie and her equally, regardless of who waited on him.
Millie watched him turn and leave the tavern. There was something about the man that had her intrigued. On her second night, she had spied a handkerchief with a small emblem on it. It had taken her a solid half hour of cajoling to get Stuart to tell her what it meant. He would have told her outright for coin, but she was already paying him to keep his ears open for any news from Hembree Grove about Aimee. She refused to set the dangerous precedent of having to pay for answers to questions he would have openly answered for anyone else.
In the end, Stuart said he knew very little. Only that the emblem belonged to a gambling joint located near Goodman’s Fields and that its wild reputation was often the tattle of the ton gossips. The joint itself brought in high-stakes gamblers because it had a reputation for being one of the more honest establishments of its kind. However, the owner was not a man to be crossed. If one lost his money, his livelihood, or even his home, then it was lost.
Though Stuart could not say who the owner was, having never been near the place due to his young age and lack of funds, Millie was sure it was Devlin. He dressed well and sat alone, but it was neither of these things that set him apart from those who came into Six Belles. It was something about how he spoke and comported himself. His Scottish accent had been softened by training and, she suspected, a good deal of effort. The way he moved spoke of confidence and ease, and something else she could not quite define. And yet, while he acted as if he belonged in this harsh side of London, Millie suspected that in reality he was as far from his true home as she was from hers.
As Devlin reached the door, he looked back at Clive and gave him a distinct nod. Clive bobbed his head in return, but watching the silent exchange between the two men made Millie’s eyes open wide with realization.
Devlin, like her, was an aristocrat.
Without a doubt, the man had been brought up and raised among the titled, either as the backup heir, a cousin, or some other relation. Millie drummed her fingers on the bar, letting her mind race. Someone with Devlin’s background and current occupation would have access to information. Of all the people in this tavern, she had never thought to ask him for help.
Could she trust him? Should she?
To know the answer, she first needed to learn exactly who Devlin really was.
Reece’s head snapped up at the first sign of movement from Aimee. She moaned and her hand moved to her head. For a moment, he just stared at her, making sure that what he was seeing was not a vision he had conjured. Aimee was not just alive, but awake. He let his head collapse back into his hands.
In one second, he was seeing Aimee, frozen on the mast of his ship. In the next, a wave had overtaken her. As soon as it cleared, he had frantically scanned the decks, as had the rest of his crew—who knew that if she was not found, Reece would not be accountable for his actions. But he had spotted her. Her body was curled into a ball, her head against the gunwale just underneath the rail. And she was not moving.
He ordered Collins to take over the wheel from Carr and hurried to Aimee, gathering her in his arms. A myriad of questions pummeled his mind, but mostly just one thought kept repeating itself over and over again. You will be fine. You will be fine. You will be fine.
But she had not been.
He had taken her to his room and examined her body. Nothing appeared broken; however, on the back of her head was a large, angry welt. Reece knew that it was impossible to accurately discern the ramifications of such injuries until the person woke up—if they woke up. And he refused to leave her side until he knew she was going to be fine. Only then would he decide how he was going to kill her. And he was still debating just when and how to eliminate his crew.
“My head . . .” Aimee moaned.
Reece slid to the edge of his chair so that he was as close as he could get to the bed. “You hit it when you fell.”
Aimee’s eyes fluttered open. “I fell?” she asked, clearly trying to remember just what had happened.
“Do you know where you are?”
Aimee closed her eyes and nodded. “The Sea Emerald. There was a storm. Someone had to help Collins get the sails down. Did I?” she asked, opening her eyes again. “Get them down? Are we safe?”
It took everything Reece had not to explode at the idea of Aimee acting as one of his crew. His chief mate had already admitted to it being his idea for Aimee to climb the masts, but to hear her call him Collins, as if they were close friends, was making Reece’s blood boil. “Someone had to get them down. Not you.”
“You mean what day is it,” he gritted out. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly twenty hours.”
Aimee turned her head and blinked as if she was just now realizing to whom she was talking. She turned to her side and raised her brows inquiringly. “Reece?”
He pulled her hand into his and said, “It’s me.”
Without warning, Aimee sat up and threw herself into his arms, pulling him toward her. Reece’s eyes shut and his face twisted. Unprepared, he allowed himself to savor the soft feel of her and immediately his body became aroused. Her smooth cheek nestled against his and he basked in its warmth. He wondered why something so wrong had to feel so right.
When he tried to set her apart from him, Aimee resisted, wrapping her arms around his neck. Then he felt her fingers delve into his hair, soft and full of promise.
He stared down at her—her lips, soft, pink, parted slightly—and every muscle in his body tensed. Reece knew he had a number of questions to ask her, but he could not think of a single one. All he knew was that he wanted so badly to kiss her he could not think straight.
Unable to continue resisting his growing desire, he caught Aimee’s face between his hands and brought her lips to his. With barely any encouragement, she opened her mouth, allowing him access to her moist warmth. Reece groaned and let the full force of his own hunger break over her. He had been craving this—craving her—for so long. Aimee was everything he remembered, sweet and ripe and incredibly fresh. Never had anything tasted so exquisitely good as she.
He could not get enough of her. His hands soon became as undisciplined as his mouth, taming and exciting as he stroked a warm path from her shoulders to the base of her spine. She moaned softly and tightened her grip on his neck, moving evocatively against him. When he showed his pleasure with a low growl, she smiled against his mouth.
Then, acting on a mixture of instinct and need, he deepened the kiss. Aimee responded, sharing her own consuming desires as she mated her tongue with his. “Aimee . . .” Her name was a soft growl of swiftly mounting desire on his lips as he eased her onto her back. “I’ve needed you so.” His mouth moved away from hers and he laid a trail of fiery hot kisses down her neck.
“I was so lonely,” she whispered, craning her head to give him better access.
“Promise me to never do anything so foolish again.”
“Never again. I swear to you.” Her voice was muffled, her face buried against his chest as she breathed in his scent. “I was never so scared in my life. Nothing like before.”
Summoning his self-command, Reece stilled his burning urges. Aimee’s eyes were large, full of passion, beckoning him to kiss her already red and swollen lips. He pushed himself away from her as the word before still rang in his ears.
Reality crashed in on him. He closed his eyes, berating himself for nearly compromising her again. But whenever he was near Aimee, his mind and body forgot everything but his overwhelming need to taste, touch, and make her his. “Before? ” he repeated, this time aloud. “Are you telling me that you’ve climbed the Sea Emerald’s masts before last night?”
Aimee sat back on her knees and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Then, looking him square in the eye, she nodded her head. Damn woman did not even try to look innocent. Her large green eyes just stared at him, daring him to say something. It was as if she had known this moment was coming for some time and was not just ready, but quite willing to have this argument.
Reece narrowed his gaze and scoffed softly. “How many times?”
Aimee just looked at him with an arched brow. Anyone who thought Aimee Wentworth sweet and naïve was both correct and incredibly mistaken. She was kind and beautiful. And while in many ways inexperienced and trusting, there was an impishness about her that could try the most patient of men.
There was a reason she, Millie, and Jennelle had been named the Daring Three. Each of them had an indomitable spirit that could, without warning, become very dangerous. It was that side of Aimee that Reece was looking at right now. But she was forgetting that she was on his ship. Here his resolve ruled all, and his decision was final. “I’m waiting for an answer, Aimee. Just how many times have you climbed this ship’s mast?”
“I thought our first argument would be about me sneaking aboard your ship.”
“Trust me when I say that we will get to that, but first you will answer my question.”
Aimee narrowed her eyes and after another few seconds, she answered, her tone challenging rather than conciliatory. “The answer is several times, but working with Kyrk as a rigger was only a fraction of what I’ve learned to do these past few weeks. Now ask me why.”
Through an extraordinary act of will, Reece managed to control his rage. He very much wanted to know why, but he refused to play into her hands. Damn it, she was the one in the wrong, and he was not going to have her confuse that fact! “I’m not one of my men you can twist about with a smile,” he said.
Aimee spied his favorite worn robe and reached over to grab it. Standing up, she put it on and then strolled over to one of the larger portholes to stare at the rolling waters. The sun was shining once again and the seas, while not calm, were back to being blue, friendly waves. “I’ve never been on a ship before I stowed away on this one. For years, I heard endless stories about ships being cramped, the awful smells, and the lack of food variety. I must say they were quite accurate. But what no one ever told me was how liberating it could be being out here, with no land in sight, only the wind and the water. I find it both peaceful and exhilarating. The sensation is”—she paused to turn around and look at him—“quite addicting.”
Chase tensed. In just a few words, she had captured what he felt when he was at sea. But the last person he wanted to understand that feeling was Aimee. He did not want her to feel the same way. He wished she would complain about all the discomforts she had endured. He desperately needed her to hate the sea. “You loved it so much you wanted to become one of my crew. Is that what you are trying to make me believe?”
A momentary flash of light flickered in Aimee’s green eyes. “I have no desire to become one of your crew. I never did,” she said, annoyed. “I learned about these duties because of you.”
“Me? You knew I would never approve.”
Her face gave a slight wince, indicating the headache she’d had upon waking was still present. She squeezed her temples and then said calmly, “I also knew that just loving the sea would not be enough for you, even if you did believe me.”
“Enough for what?” Reece heard himself ask and then mentally kicked himself. She was drawing him in, getting him to talk, when in the end all that was said would be meaningless.
“For you,” Aimee said simply, as if Reece should have already understood her motivation. “It is incredibly difficult when the man who owns your heart prefers the sea over a life with you. I needed to understand your world, what you do, and just why you love it so much you could choose it over me. Never again would I have the opportunity to speak and interact with the men you work with, learn the complexities and experience firsthand all the challenges of running a ship.”
Reece went cold. “If Collins let you run this ship, then I’ll—”
“Do not make threats you don’t mean,” Aimee said, interrupting him with a wave of her hand. “It has been quite a struggle for Mr. Collins, determining just how to best be loyal to you.”
Reece snorted. He grabbed her wrists and pointed to the scars. “This is not loyalty. What they did to you . . . is a death warrant.”
Aimee licked her lips and then tugged her arm free from his grasp. “They told you?” she said, dumbfounded that the men would willingly put themselves in such trouble.
“Aye, they told me about how Pete and Gus tied you up for days. Waxed eloquent about how brave you were when they treated you so terribly. Even JP came to your defense. Unfortunately, my men have no
such excuses for their own actions and deception.”
Aimee sank back down onto the bed. She looked down at the white lines crisscrossing her wrists. They would most likely be with her the rest of her life. “It was my fault, Reece. Pete and Gus . . . they had no idea who I was or even that I was a female. Your men believed they were helping you. That was their motivation. You cannot hold what happened to me against them.”
“You are no longer dealing with addlepated seamen or my softhearted chief mate. I’ve known you longer and am not vulnerable to your pleas,” Reece lied. In his experience, the only way to ignore her entreaties was to not hear them.
Aimee looked up and her green eyes caught his blue ones. She must have sensed that he was doing his best to harden his heart. “I won’t let you do anything to them.”
His firm mouth curled, but there was no amusement in his smile. “You won’t let me? Regardless of what you believe, every man aboard swore an oath to me, and on that oath they should have alerted me to your presence. They did not. And on my ship, a man who is not loyal isn’t worth a damn.”
“They’re disloyal?” she said emphatically, jumping back to her feet. “In their minds, by taking care of me they were being loyal to you! I cannot believe you would punish your crew over that. If anything, you should be thanking them.” She took a step forward. Reece refused to budge. “Tell me. If your crew had told you that I was on board, would you not have immediately turned around? Of course you would have. Just like when you are in port, you would refuse to meet with me or even share a handful of words. Then once we arrived in London, you would fire Pete and Gus and then hand me off to my brother, only to disappear again. And you and I would be exactly where we were when you left the first time.”
A Woman Made For Sin Page 21