A Lady Dares

by Bronwyn Scott

  That was the place at which his thoughts intersected with hers and it was where he’d made his first mistake. By his own rules, he shouldn’t have allowed it to happen—not yet, not without an agreement. Up until now, all of his seductions occurred after some explicit or implicit plan had been established, interest signalled and accepted by both parties.

  With that signalling came an understanding. What would proceed would be a seduction in which he would gladly take the lead, but to which there would be an end. There would be nothing beyond. If and when both parties concurred on those negotiations, then such things as what had transpired tonight would take place, but not before.

  Tonight had got the plan backwards. And he’d set himself up for it. He’d gone to her house to inform Elise of the break-in. He should have left it at that. He should not have allowed himself to be moved by the stoic sight of her bearing yet more bad news on those slender shoulders. He should not have been moved by the way she’d turned into him: I just wanted to build my father’s boat. And he never should have said the words that had followed: we will. If Elise Sutton was walking beside him right now thinking they were in this together, that she could trust him, that he would stand beside her through whatever might come, it was his fault.

  As if to confirm it, Elise spoke softly. ‘When I first met you, I didn’t like you very much.’

  ‘And now?’ They’d reached the hidden door and he held it open for her.

  She smiled up at him as she passed. ‘And now I like you a bit more. Are we becoming friends, Dorian Rowland?’

  ‘Friends? No, never that.’ Dorian chuckled. Whatever it was he wanted from Elise Sutton, he wanted far more than friendship. He waved down a late-night wherry man.

  ‘Then what?’ Elise asked once they were on board, watching the Westminster stairs come into view.

  ‘Something else,’ Dorian answered cryptically, wrapping his arms about her, hoping his touch would be answer enough until he could work out a better one. Although the answer, when he found it, might not please her. But tonight was not the time to tell her that women relied on him for sex, nothing more. Anything beyond momentary pleasure was not his to give. He’d not proven reliable in that regard in the past and he had no reason to believe it would be any different this time. He was coming to believe his father might be right. Singular devotion simply wasn’t in him. And that’s what Elise Sutton would expect from a man. It’s what she had a right to expect.

  He saw her safely home, part of him worried Tyne might try to personalise his attacks. It had occurred to him that Tyne would seek retaliation for the discomfort of his two henchmen and that Elise would be a natural target.

  ‘Will the boat be all right?’ she asked in the darkness of the carriage as it drew to a stop in front of the town house. Dorian chuckled. Her mind had moved on from the pleasures of the evening to what had brought them together in the first place. Or perhaps it was her way of restoring balance to what had become a deeply personal evening with an unlikely partner.

  ‘I took on a guard dog today and alerted the watch, although I put more faith in the dog.’ Dorian chuckled. ‘He’s a big brindle hound and he can’t be bought.’ Dorian was fairly certain Damien Tyne would see to the watch soon enough and there’d be little protection from that quarter once Tyne’s machine was in motion.

  Dorian opened the door and pulled down the steps. Playing the gentleman had come easy to him this evening. It was a bit of a surprise to see how easily it’d come back to him. ‘Goodnight, Elise.’

  ‘Goodnight, Dorian. Thank you for the evening.’ She smiled politely at him as if she’d not pleasured him just an hour before, or screamed her own pleasure to the skies a quarter of an hour before that. When she wanted, Elise Sutton could be a cool customer. But he knew better. She wasn’t cool in the least. An arousal started at just the thought of all her heat, all her passion hidden behind the calm exterior with which she met the world.

  ‘The hull is nearly timbered, then we’ll caulk,’ Dorian said in hopes of subduing his arousal before it became troublesome. ‘I will contact you when it’s finished. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.’

  Disappointment clouded her eyes. Disappointment over not seeing him tomorrow or disappointment in not being invited to the shipyard? With Elise it could be either or both. ‘You will contact me if there’s trouble before that?’

  ‘Yes, most certainly.’ He gave her a short bow. ‘Goodnight.’

  Disappointment? Relief? Elise wasn’t sure what she should feel. She tried to sort through those feelings while she got ready for bed. She’d dismissed her maid as soon as she could. Whatever those feelings were, she wanted to sift through them alone.

  Her maid and Evans had waited up for her, concerned that she’d been working late. She felt terrible for the deception. They’d been worried and she’d been out having fun. Of course, they would have worried more if they’d known the truth. What she’d done tonight had been scandalous. Breaking into Vauxhall had been a minor scandal compared to what else had transpired.

  Even alone in the dark of her room, she blushed at the memory. But not from shame. What had occurred between her and Dorian had been intimate and wondrous. She had never guessed such pleasure existed. Would it happen again? Could she let it happen again?

  The right answer was no. She should not risk it. Dorian was clearly no stranger to such circumstances. But it would change the nature of their relationship. Perhaps it already had. He was building her ship. She was in charge. What if he sought to use seduction as a means to usurp her authority or to place himself in the role of an equal partner?

  Elise bit her lip, thinking of all the mistakes she’d made over the evening. She had turned to him in the drawing room, seeking comfort from the disastrous news. She’d allowed him to be in charge of their adventure—an entirely delinquent adventure. In short, she’d allowed herself to be weak for a few hours only, but even those few hours could have been potentially damaging. He would finish the boat and he would leave. And she would what? Be alone? In the dark, Elise strengthened her resolve. she needed to begin as she meant to go on, by herself. Anything else was too risky and right now she had too much at stake for any more risks other than the ones she was already taking.

  Besides, her practical self reminded her, Dorian Rowland was a poor risk to take. He was fun and clever and he loved ships as she did. He’d had exciting adventures galore. In short, he represented a life she envied. But he was also dangerous; a social enigma with a clouded past that most likely involved exile from his family. What he had said about Damien Tyne had been most revealing. I was in a position to know.

  It spoke volumes. Dorian Rowland had captained the Queen Maeve, was called the Scourge of Gibraltar and fraternised with gun runners. He might not have a golden earring dangling from his ear lobe or a tattoo on his cheek, but he was nothing more than a pirate himself, a most delicious and dangerous discovery indeed.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘We’ve been discovered and so soon in the game. Your men were not as reliable as hoped,’ Maxwell said bluntly, knowing full well that few men dared to speak to Damien Tyne with such arch boldness. In the privacy of his own study, he could say whatever he damned well pleased. It was part of the reason he’d insisted they meet here instead of the coffee house. The other reason was that one discovery was all he wanted to risk.

  Tyne’s single slip had changed the nature of the game. If he wanted his hands on that property and Sutton’s last yacht by April, things would have to progress faster and more covertly than planned. For his part, Maxwell didn’t want Rowland or anyone connecting him with Tyne while play was in motion. He wouldn’t admit it to Tyne, but he was anxious. He couldn’t afford for this gambit to get too messy. He was the legitimate face of their questionable business. He had to stay as clean as Tyne was dirty.

  Across from him in the other chair, Tyne didn’t appear the least perturbed by the latest developments. He gave his brandy an indolent swirl. ‘It was unfortuna
te Rowland chose that moment to return.’

  ‘What was unfortunate,’ Maxwell said with emphasis, ‘was that two men were overpowered by one. Two men, I might add, who specialise in violent living. They should have been more than enough for Rowland.’

  Tyne shrugged. ‘Our Miss Sutton is building a boat and Rowland is helping her. Don’t belabour it. In the end we got what we went for.’

  ‘Yes, and at a great price,’ Maxwell groused, unable to be as glib.

  Tyne leaned forwards, clearly undaunted by the scolding. Then again, he didn’t have an identity to protect. Anyone who knew Damien Tyne knew exactly what he was. ‘Maybe this can work to our benefit. Rowland will have told her. She knows it’s me. That should scare her, perhaps enough for you to make an offer she’ll listen to.’

  ‘She rebuffed the investors when they first offered to buy her out.’ Hart had been a quiet, invisible party to that negotiation. He’d been shocked when the lucrative offer had been turned down, even more shocked when the investors had offered it a second time after threatening to force a refund of their monies if she didn’t sell. She’d refused and she’d paid their threat.

  ‘She wasn’t scared then. She was in the throes of mourning and wrapped up in sentimentality. Such emotions can make a person brave and stupid,’ Tyne said silkily. ‘Now, she’s had months of realities. Now, she’s alone, her funds are depleted and she knows with definite certainty there’s no white knight riding to her rescue. She’s far more desperate than she was earlier and she’s about to be more so.’ Tyne gave an evil smile that raised even the hairs on the back of Maxwell’s neck.

  ‘What have you done?’ Maxwell asked cautiously. He was just as ruthless as Tyne, but far more subtle. Tyne didn’t appreciate finesse.

  ‘Don’t worry, nothing much. There’s a disgruntled worker at the shipyard who doesn’t like our Mr Rowland. It seems Mr Rowland put a knife to his throat for looking at the lady wrong, which is interesting enough in itself. Seems Mr Rowland has developed a fascination for the Sutton girl.’ Tyne sighed dramatically. ‘The man would have left, but I’m paying him to stay. He will be useful not only for information, but for the odd bit of sabotage when the time comes. If I were you, I’d get my bid ready within the week.’

  It had been a week since their outing to Vauxhall and Elise suspected she’d have gone round the bend before the morning was out if the note from Dorian hadn’t arrived. She might still go crazy from the excitement the note had stirred in her. The boat was done! Well, not precisely done. The hull was timbered and caulked. There was still plenty to do, but this was an enormous step forwards.

  Elise glanced at the mantel clock in the sitting room, the note clutched in her hand. Dorian would be here within the hour. There was just enough time to change. She rang for her maid and headed upstairs.

  It was ridiculous to be so giddy over the prospect of Dorian’s call and the subsequent journey out of the house, but she could understand it. In the past week she’d written countless letters, cleaned the attics and still had plenty of time left over for her thoughts. She’d thought about everything and anything in the interminable days since Vauxhall.

  Never had she felt at such loose ends while she waited for news. By her efforts she’d become a prisoner in her own home. She was on her own for the first time in her life, had more freedom than ever and yet the very aloneness constrained her. Oh, heavens, just listen to her! She hated sounding like Charles. Worse, she hated acting like Charles. She could almost hear Dorian’s mocking laugh in her head, chiding her for prudish notions. In fact, she’d been chiding herself over such behaviour this week. This was not who she was.

  This week, she’d come to recognise that her father’s death had left her in no man’s land. She couldn’t go out and socialise and yet she didn’t want to stay home alone, hidden away. Young daughters weren’t required to wear black, but she was too old to be considered in that category. Even her clothes were in fashion limbo, she thought, staring at the muted lavender and grey gowns. They weren’t strictly appropriate for this phase of her mourning, but it was all the concession she was willing to make. Luckily, she looked fair enough in those shades. But she looked better in deep, rich jewel tones. With that erroneous thought, the ideas that had chased each other around her mind all week began to coalesce into one momentous decision.

  ‘Perhaps this one, miss?’ Her maid, Anna, held out a lavender gown trimmed in a thin black-velvet ribbon. Standing in front of her subdued gowns, everything changed. It wasn’t just the dresses, although they’d certainly been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  ‘No, Anna.’ Elise drew herself up with squared shoulders. ‘Bring me my other gowns. I am done with these. Have them packed up after I’ve gone today.’ It had occurred to her during her dreary week that she owed the rules nothing. She’d already broken so many others. What had obedience to rigid strictures ever got her? Her best moments had come from breaking the rules: working with her father, designing racing yachts. If she meant to see her boat succeed, she could not let herself become marginalised.

  Anna looked at her as if she’d grown two heads, or maybe four, and her skin had turned green. ‘Miss?’

  Elise stood her ground. ‘Bring my other gowns. I want the green carriage ensemble with the black frogging on the jacket.’

  The ensemble was wrinkled from storage and it took a bit of time to press it into decency but it was worth it. Elise smoothed the snug jacket over her hips. The outfit was perfect. People couldn’t truly complain. There was a touch of black trim to lend respectability and the dark green was hardly garish or the classic lines ostentatious. Anna had recovered from shock and twisted her hair up neatly beneath a jaunty little hat that sat cocked on her head, more ornament than actual ‘hat’.

  Elise reached out a hand and took Anna’s in appreciation of her efforts. ‘Thank you. I’m not sure I can explain it, but I wasn’t myself in those other dresses and there are things that need doing for which I most definitely need to be me.’ There was a scratch at the door, a footman informing them of Lord Rowland’s arrival.

  Anna nodded. ‘Truth is, we’ll all be glad, miss. It’s no good, you shutting yourself up in the house. It’s not right, no matter what the rules are. Young ladies should be out in society.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. But there are bound to be people who will take issue with that sentiment,’ Elise cautioned with one final look in the mirror. Her decision had been about more than putting on a dress. The dress was merely a public announcement. If people only speculated she’d set aside mourning by continuing about her business, her lack of mourning dress would take the guesswork out of it. Charles would have an apoplexy, and Dorian? Well, she would see what he’d do in just moments. Her heart was hammering as she took to the stairs.

  She saw him first. He was in the hall looking at a painting, a minor work of Turner’s, a nautical theme that had impressed her father. Today Dorian had chosen buff trousers and blue jacket along with high boots. His thick blond hair was once again pulled back at his neck into a luxurious tail.

  He turned at the sound of her half-boots on the stairs, his blue eyes registering his surprise, the smile on his mouth suggesting he was enjoying it. ‘If I’d known timbering the boat would get this sort of response, I’d have finished it earlier. What brought this on?’

  Elise smiled and raised her head a notch higher. ‘I have decided to be scandalous.’

  Dorian’s grin widened. ‘You look enchanting.’ He bowed over her hand. ‘Scandal becomes you.’

  ‘If you must know, it’s probably your fault. I lay all blame at your feet.’

  Dorian tucked her hand through the bend of his arm. ‘I am glad to be of service, most glad.’ An all-too-familiar tremble shot through her at his words, at his touch, at the mischief dancing in his eyes as he teased and flirted. It wasn’t the man who raised such a flutter in her, she told herself resolutely, taking her seat in the carriage. It was the freedom he represented that explained he
r intense reaction to him. That was what she craved, not the man himself. Any interest in the man sprang from knowing he was not part of the rules. He was something else altogether.

  Elise had nearly convinced herself of this line of logic by the time they reached the shipyard. She stepped down and let the familiar smells wash over her: scents of fresh timber, the strong smell of tar. Had she only been gone a week? It felt an eon and yet the sights and the smells were not strangers, not faded memories from another time. They were the scents of the present and of home. She belonged here. Elise shot Dorian a sideways glance. He’d have a fight on his hands if he tried to ban her again.

  The men had known she was coming. Dorian had prepared them. Threatened them was more like it. Every one of them stood at taut attention like a staff receiving their lord, work clothes clean, eyes respectfully averted. Mostly. The man Dorian had drawn a knife against wasn’t quite obedient. His eyes kept straying although his body held rigid.

  ‘You told them,’ she said in low tones after they’d passed the line of employees.

  ‘Yes. I expect order on land or sea from my men,’ Dorian said simply. ‘No one is required to work here. They all had a chance to leave.’ His hand was firm at her back, guiding her towards the form of the yacht.

  ‘There it is, Elise. Your hull.’ There was no mistaking the pride in his tone as he presented it, or the seductive tone in his voice as his tongue ran over her name.

  Her hull. The beginning manifestations of her dream come to life. tears threatened, but she held them back. There’d been too many tears lately. There would not be tears now, she silently vowed.