A Woman Made for Sin (22 page)

Marching over to the bar, she snatched the mugs Clive had just put on the counter
before Millie could get them and headed over to the table of customers. She issued
each of them her most provocative smile and set the mugs down. “Here you go, men.”

“Uh, thanks, Bess, but we was wantin’ Ellie ter be bringin’ us our drinks.”

Bessie glanced around the table. Heads were nodding and several were stretching their
necks to see around her and catch a peek at the woman who had just made her look like
a fool. “But you get ’em faster with me, Mikey.”

Mikey grimaced. “Maybe. Not goin’ to argue that point, but we’re payin’ Ellie, Bess.”
He stared at her, letting her know without words that he was fully aware of her intentions
to usurp Millie’s tip. Bessie watched in shock as he waved to Millie, who must have
started his way because a big grin took over his face.

Bessie took a step back, thankful to hear the doors squeak open, allowing another
group of men to enter. She went over to see to their needs, but before she was done,
four more men came in and Millie was already at their table. It went like this for
the next several hours. And though the place was fairly evenly divided, with her serving
one half and Millie assisting the other, Bessie was more than a little unhappy.

“It’s just because she’s a new face,” Devlin said as Bessie handed him a glass of
his favorite whiskey. The stuff was expensive and Clive kept it on hand just for his
friend.

Bessie knew very little about the man, other than his name and what she could see.
He had been coming here for as long as she could remember and he always sat alone,
staring at the hearth, whether a fire was lit or not. He had plenty of blunt judging
by the way he dressed and consumed liquor, but Bessie had no idea how he earned it.
He was definitely not a dockworker or a stevedore for he lacked the specific odor
that came from such labor. Tall, with dark, ominous features, Devlin was an odd one.
He looked like he belonged at Six Belles and yet was not really one of them. Which
meant Bessie trusted him only because Clive did.

Bessie glanced back at Millie and rolled her eyes when she missed the man’s extended
hand and almost tipped over another mug of ale. She let go a small, unfeminine snort.
“Look at ’em fawnin’ all over her. She could pour a whole drink in their laps and
they wouldn’t care.” Bessie folded her arms and watched in disgust. “Didn’t think
Clive would get suckered in by a pretty face,” she added under her breath.

In truth, Bessie had always thought she was Clive’s type. He had never said as much,
but she had just caught him spying on her every once in a while, especially when she
was bending over. It was one of the reasons Bessie never thought to leave Six Belles.
It would mean giving up the small fantasy that Clive and she might someday become
more.

Devlin shook his head. “Settle down there, Bessie. I’m sure Clive still prefers redheads
over brunettes,” he reassured her. “But knowing his policy on women, I too am a little
curious about his latest hire.”

Bessie watched as one of the men’s hands reached around to give Ellie’s left cheek
a squeeze. When she did not stop him, Bessie released a small smile of satisfaction.
Clive was a tolerant man, but there were certain things he would not tolerate in his
place. Bessie made sure the men knew she would serve them drinks and nothing else.
If any refused to keep their hands to themselves, she gave them a painful reminder.
It cost her tips and sometimes Clive customers, but it was the preferred alternative.
“Tonight will be the last we see of her once Clive sees what’s happenin’.”

Devlin was about to agree when Ellie leaned forward over the table, causing her small
but attractive behind to rise higher and even more in reach. The men huddled close
to her for a few seconds as she whispered something and then, inexplicably, they sat
back. All were grinning, but the hand that had been touching her had released its
grip and was slowly retreating. Devlin found himself surprisingly impressed—not that
every man now had his hands visible and on the table, but that they seemed happy about
keeping them there.

Bessie must have found it just as hard to believe. “What just happened? How did she
do that?”

Devlin shook his head, smiled, and resumed his relaxed position in the chair so that
he once again was facing the hearth. “Not a clue, and if I were you, I would play
nice and ask. Because based on what I just saw, she’s not going anywhere.”

Bessie stole a sideways glance at Clive. He was not one to smile, but the man was
wearing one now. He had seen the whole thing.

Clive arched a brow at Bessie as she marched over to him. He crossed his arms and
leaned back against the barrels. “Makes you wonder what Ellie told them,” he said
with a smirk when Bessie got close enough to hear. “Maybe you should ask her.”

Bessie shot him an icy look. “You want me back tomorrow, Clive, you tell me her story.
What’s a woman like her doin’ here where she don’t belong?”

“I too would be interested,” Bessie heard Devlin say behind her. She was glad he had
followed her, aware that Clive might be more apt to divulge what he knew to Devlin.

Clive took the empty glass Devlin handed him and shrugged his shoulders. “Never would
tell me. Just that she needed a job. Pretty insistent about it. I suspect she’s hiding
from someone.”

“She probably was spreading her legs for some cully who got tired of her and threw
her out,” Bessie mumbled.

Clive waved at Millie to get her attention and pointed at a group of men looking for
her. He then handed Devlin a refill of whiskey and said, “I thought the same for a
bit, but I’ve seen kept women—whether of quality or no—and there’s a look about ’em
that Ellie doesn’t have.”

Devlin took a swallow of the whiskey. “No, but she’s no virgin either. Be careful,
Clive. The way she handled those men, she’s a clever one. Whatever trouble she’s in,
just make sure it don’t fall back on you or Bessie.”

Clive nodded. “If ye hear anything at yer place about her, let me know.”

“I will.”

Devlin genuinely liked Clive. One night while reminiscing about their Scottish homeland,
they had become friends. Over the years, that friendship had solidified into trust,
and Clive was one of the few who knew what he did for a living. And while Devlin was
not ashamed of owning a prosperous gambling joint, he knew that such knowledge becoming
widely known might make him a target in this part of Town. Clive understood that and
respected a man’s privacy. Which was fortunate, because there were many things Devlin
wanted no one—including Clive—to know about himself and his past. Heirs to earldoms
would never be welcome at Six Belles—even cast out ones.

Devlin downed the rest of his whiskey and stared thoughtfully at the brunette coming
toward them with another order. She was a mystery and she was beautiful. Two things
he found irresistible.

Millie had seen the exchange and felt the tall man’s eyes on her. Walking past his
blatant stare, she handed Clive a couple of mugs for refills and asked for two more.
Then she turned and openly returned his assessment.

The man was no stevedore. He neither dressed nor smelled like someone who worked on
the docks, loading and unloading ship cargo. His black hair was trimmed, and though
not of the latest styles, his clothes were tailored to fit him, hinting at his athletic,
Corinthian-like physique. Millie was unsure just how old he was, but she suspected
that, like Chase, he was younger than he looked. Life had taught him hard lessons,
killing whatever innocence the man had long ago. But there was something else about
him. A hardness that was almost frightening. His green eyes were dark, cold, fathomless
pits, yet she did not discern any judgment within them. Just curiosity.

Millie broke the gaze and grabbed the mugs from Clive. “You look like you have questions,
Mr. . . .”

Devlin twitched his lips at the attempt at proper formality. No, the woman did not
come from this harsh part of London, and yet she just might have enough spirit to
survive in it. “Name’s Devlin. And, aye. I have many a question, but I do not think
you will give me any answers.”

Millie could not help herself and smiled. “I promise that I have none that would interest
you,” she said before walking back to her customers.

She could feel his probing eyes follow her. They had been following her off and on
all night. But they had not been the only ones. Bessie had been shooting daggers at
her whenever she had the opportunity. Then there was Clive. He had never said a word,
but Millie knew that his blue gaze had caught all that she had done—the good and the
bad—throughout the evening and was determining if he would let her continue to work
there.

Millie set a mug down on the table and the man handed her two farthings. “You already
paid me for the drinks,” she said, handing him back the coins.

“Ah, but this, dearie, is for you.”

Millie looked at the two coins. A halfpenny altogether. The man had been one of the
first she waited on. She had spilled his drink, been slow, and he had been incredibly
patient and kind. He made so little money and she did not truly need it.

She opened up her palm and was handing the coins back when she heard Bessie roar “Bloody
hell!” Less than a second later, the enraged redhead was at the table snatching the
money right out of the man’s hand. Before he could protest, Bessie glared at him and
said, “Get out of here, Lem, and don’t you think for a moment that you can come back
in here and not pay for the service as well as the drink.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Lem got up, downed the mug of ale, and left, leaving
Millie to face a furious Bessie alone.

Millie felt her jaw tighten. “Bessie, I did not want to take money for what I know
was less than average service.”

“Now, you listen, missy.
Never
give back any blunt a man gives you in here.
Never
. If they think they don’t have to tip, they won’t. You may not know it yet, little
girl, but you ain’t sleepin’ between the legs of an aristocrat anymore. In this place,
there’s only one way to earn honest coin.”

Millie put her hand out. “Then give it back.”

Bessie snorted, her sea-blue eyes sparkling with victory. “Consider it payment for
a much-needed lesson.”

Millie watched in silence as the woman proceeded to take the tip and drop it in her
bodice. She could argue it was hers, but then it was Bessie who actually had the wisdom
to take the money. More mistakes like that one and people might start asking questions.
Too many questions created rumors, and Chase frequented the docks too often to take
the chance for rumors to take hold. Millie knew she needed to become a lot smarter,
a lot faster.

Gathering two empty mugs in each hand, Millie proceeded back to the bar. She had tried
three, but two were all her small hands could manage. She placed the mugs behind the
counter and stretched her back, trying to ignore the dark-haired man watching her
from the hearth chair.

She shook her head and squeezed her toes in her boots. Never had her feet hurt this
bad, even after dancing with the clumsiest of men. She glanced up. The man was still
staring at her and Clive was pointing to another group who had just entered. It was
going to be a long night.

October 22, 1816

For two days, Collins had been debating what he should do. His options were few, and
yet he still could not decide how to proceed.

He had agreed to postpone announcing Aimee’s presence on the ship to the captain,
based on the hope her injuries would disappear given enough time. But her wrists were
now for the most part healed. Unfortunately, evidence still remained of what she had
endured. The white scars were not obvious, but they could still be easily seen. They
might lessen with time, but Collins suspected they would never completely disappear.
Aimee knew it too and was stalling for time. She was under some delusion that the
captain’s feelings about her would change based on how much she knew about ships.
Collins could let her continue as things were, letting Aimee decide just when she
was ready to reveal her presence, or he could do what his loyalty said he should,
and inform the captain.

“Her injuries are healed, JP. That was the reason we waited, was it not?”

JP shrugged his shoulders and maintained his gaze on the sea, listening to the water
splash against the side of the ship. The scattered clouds were thickening, but there
was still enough moonlight to see the waves, which were growing stronger each day.
“It was ze rationale, but not ze reason.”

“Which was?”

“It’s different for every person. Mademoiselle, she fears rejection. I like ’er, and
you know zat I do not like very many people. As soon as ze captain sees ’er, she will
be lost to us, and I do not want zat. Neizer do most of ze men. You do not need me
to tell you your reason for delaying ze inevitable.”

Fear
, Collins answered nonverbally. Not of physical injury or pain, but of losing his
job. He was a good chief mate and he had built a reputation, so he knew he could find
another position if needed. Problem was, he did not want another job. He respected
Reece both as a man and a captain. He treated his crew well and did not meddle with
those he left in charge. He was fair and never used brutality as an initial response
to any situation. In short, he was someone Collins hoped to become. He had hoped the
captain also believed in him and eventually would offer him his own command. But those
hopes and plans had just been trumped, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

“Damn it, JP. She’s the daughter of a
marquess.
”

JP leaned one elbow against the ship’s rail and turned to study Collins with a sharp,
assessing gaze. “And just why does zat make such a difference?”

“Because it does. She should have said
something
.”

JP turned back toward the sea, exhaling with agitation. “Why? When she knew zis would
be ’ow you would react.”

For the first time in his life, Collins was frightened of the power the noble class
held. It did not matter that Aimee’s presence was thrust upon him and the crew by
her own actions. He had helped to conceal her presence, and that alone was enough
to possibly get him incarcerated, if not killed.

“The damn woman knew I would have taken her to the captain, and she didn’t want that.
She put me . . . hell, she put all of us in this position. Damn selfish of her.”

JP nodded in mock agreement. “
Oui
, very selfish indeed. Troublesome too. Probably why zere ’ave been so many riots,
like ze time
you
brought a woman on board.” JP paused and when Collins said nothing, he continued.
“I’ve noticed ’ow you ’ave to continually threaten the men to keep their silence as
well.”

“Sometimes, JP, you can be an ass.”

“And you, Collins, wouldn’t know anyzing about zat, would you? Just admit why you
are mad. You zink she lied to you.”

“She put the men in danger. Her being who she is, there could be hell to pay and she
won’t be the one who pays it. It will be the men.”

“And you.”

“Don’t forget yourself, JP. Don’t think you won’t catch hell.”

This time when JP nodded, it was in earnest. “But she doesn’t know it.”

“Or she doesn’t care.”

“If you really believed zat, you would ’ave dragged ’er to ze captain already. You,
my friend, are trying to find a way to shield not just ze men, but ’er.”

“Then I am trying to do the impossible.”

JP’s lips thinned with frustration. “Ze captain loves ’er, and no matter what you
just said, you know Lady Aimee sincerely likes ze crew. She’ll protect zem. You’ll
see. She’ll even protect you.”

Collins sighed. “If she does, then she is going to be hurt. Maybe not physically,
but you and I have seen the full force of the captain’s ire.”

“His anger is inevitable, for zere is no way to successfully ’ide ’er until we get
back to London.”

Collins mused on the idea, wishing it were even remotely possible. “Maybe I should
just wait until we are near the Savannah River to tell him about her. His wrath might
be shorter-lived.”

JP shook his head and leaned forward once more on the rail. “Unfortunately, I believe
your first conclusion was ze right one.”

“That I am a dead man?”

JP nodded.

“We all are,” Collins said. “And that includes Lady Aimee.”

“You would zink ze captain would be smart enough to realize just what a gift ’e ’as
been ’anded. Maybe we will get lucky and ’e will.”

The sound of rapid footsteps got their attention. They turned simultaneously to see
a skinny man run up onto the afterdeck. As always, his dark brown hair was pulled
back in a tight ponytail, making his face look more angular and severe.

“What’s up, Mac?” Collins asked.

“You’ve gotta come to the main deck!”

Collins fought to keep from cringing. Ironlung Mac, the men called him, and it was
appropriate because he always spoke louder than necessary. “Maybe in a while.”

Mac shook his head. “Then it will be too late! The miss, well, she dared us and we
couldn’t deny the dare, now could we, sir? So we did it thinkin’ she wouldn’t, but
damn, if she didn’t start climbin’ the thing. She got to the top even faster than
the rigger!”

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

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