A Lady Dares

by Bronwyn Scott

  Elise couldn’t decide what would cause the worst scandal tomorrow: the fire or the fact that her neighbours would know without equivocation a man had been with her in the town house when it had occurred. Sensible neighbours would be thankful she hadn’t been alone. Without Dorian, the house and perhaps theirs would have been lost. But Mayfair neighbours weren’t sensible. They’d see only the breach of protocol in Dorian’s presence instead of the luck.

  ‘Elise, you’re pale. Come with me. Evans can handle things from here for tonight. Mary will send a tea tray.’ Dorian took her arm and she let him lead her away to a small sitting room at the back of the house. Now that the crisis had passed, she was starting to shake. A mixture of fear and anger swept through her. She was more than glad to turn the situation over to Dorian for the moment. She let him take the tea tray from Mary. She let him put a warm tea cup in her hands while she tried to formulate a coherent thought.

  ‘Why would someone do this?’ she said at last, the heat of the tea cup rallying her senses.

  ‘You know who and you know why,’ Dorian chided gently, fixing his own cup. ‘What happened tonight is a terrible thing, but you can hardly be surprised. We’ve been waiting for the other shoe to fall since Tyne’s thugs visited the shipyard, since the fuse was lit to ignite the tar barrels. Now it has.’

  He paused and Elise waited for him to say the rest. ‘I told you the day of the fuse fire we were lucky. The intent had been to scare us, not really to ignite the barrels. Tonight was about more than scaring us. Tyne is getting desperate. He wants this situation resolved soon.’

  ‘I won’t give him my boat. It would be fairly hard to anyway since he hasn’t made an offer and technically I don’t know it’s him behind all this madness.’

  ‘He agrees with you,’ Dorian said solemnly. ‘At this point he knows you won’t give over the boat, not as long as you live. If you were dead, it might be an easier matter. There’d be no one left who cared what became of the boat.’

  She looked up from her cup. ‘No one except you.’ It was true. William would gladly be rid of it and her mother had already washed her hands of it.

  ‘There would be me. I’d rather it didn’t come down to that, though.’ Dorian took her hand. ‘I want to go after Tyne. I want to confront him and put an end to this.’

  Elise shook her head. She knew what he meant. ‘I won’t sanction murder over a boat, Dorian.’

  ‘Think of it as self-defence. As long as he lives, you are not safe.’

  ‘As long as I have something he wants, I’m not safe,’ Elise amended. ‘As soon as I sell the boat, I’m no longer of interest to him.’ It would be imperative now to go forwards with plans to sell the yacht. The brief fantasy Dorian had invoked over wine and pasta of keeping the boat would come to an end out of vital necessity. There could no longer be consideration of any other plan.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Elise. Tyne can live on revenge alone. Don’t think for a moment he’ll forgive you for thwarting him. It may not be as easy as you think to sell the yacht. Yachtsmen and sailors are a superstitious lot. If Tyne were to spread rumours about the boat, buyers would be thin on the ground.’

  ‘Are you saying it’s hopeless?’ Elise challenged. ‘I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t? I didn’t take you for a fatalist, Dorian.’

  She made to rise, but Dorian pulled her down. ‘Not a fatalist, Elise, a realist. You don’t know him like I do.’

  ‘I would if you’d just tell me,’ Elise snapped. Anger had overcome her fear. How had her life become so complicated that she was in her mother’s drawing room, alone with a man and discussing the murder of another man who wanted her boat as if it were a casual item on a meeting agenda? ‘You tell me nothing of yourself, nothing of our apparent common enemy and you expect me to take all my direction blindly from you. That has never been my way and it won’t ever be my way no matter how good in bed you are.’

  A horrid thought struck her. She rose, shaking off Dorian’s hand. ‘Is that what all this seduction has been about? Gaining my blind compliance? I suppose next you’ll be offering to take the boat off my hands as a favour to lead Tyne away from me while satisfying some hidden agenda of yours!’

  ‘You dare to talk about agendas and using people?’ Dorian rose, too, eyes flashing. She’d pushed him too far in her own anger. ‘I’m not the one who only an hour ago was using all of her seductive prowess to convince me to captain her boat. If anyone has been underhanded, it has been you! You’re the one who has applied for yacht club membership by forging your brother’s signature on the application. I’ve never been other than what I seem.’ He held his arms wide in a gesture of transparency. ‘What you see is what you get with me, Princess.’

  ‘I did what I had to do,’ Elise fired back. Dorian’s eyes were blue coals of rage. He hadn’t missed the implication that perhaps he’d been used along the way. Well, let him infer what he liked.

  ‘Are you always that free with your favours, then?’

  But not that. How could Dorian think such a thing? How could he say it? Her hand came up of its own volition, slapping him hard across the face, the sound of it a loud and unmistakable clap of skin on skin. ‘Get out. I don’t want to see you until the yacht is done. For both of our sakes, I hope you can finish ahead of schedule.’

  ‘I can finish, Princess,’ Dorian said with nasty innuendo. ‘I will expect to be paid for my services.’ Looking straight past her, he strode out of the room, shoulders square, head up as if he had nothing to be ashamed of.

  And maybe he didn’t except for those last words. Elise sank to the sofa, her heart hammering with the emotion of the quarrel. How had things become unravelled so fast? She hadn’t meant to pick a fight with him. But the dam had burst and all the doubt had come rushing out, probably because the dam hadn’t been well built in the first place. Perhaps this was what happened when one slept with a man one didn’t really know and then tried to convince oneself the feelings were genuine. The truth was he’d been very blatant about not wanting to discuss his past. He’d been just as blatant about that as he’d been about not wanting to discuss their one night. What had he said? No rules? It couldn’t get much clearer than that.

  Tears started to burn in her eyes. She covered her face with her hands. She’d been so very foolish! It wasn’t just sleeping with Dorian that had been foolish. It was everything else: thinking that what they’d done would mean something; that she could outwit the villainous Damien Tyne; that she could build this boat and salvage the business. All she had to show for her efforts was a broken window, a fire-damaged town house and a madman after her. And what had she done? She’d sent away the one man who could help her find her way out of this mess. Oh, foolish didn’t begin to cover it.

  She needed to apologise. But she’d be damned if she was going to chase after Dorian Rowland in the dark to do it. She didn’t have much left after tonight, but she had her pride.

  Dorian stopped at the corner. He leaned against the lamp post, catching his breath. He should walk back in there and apologise. He’d said rough words to her, words a decent man didn’t say to a decent woman. It was further proof he wasn’t a decent man. But dammit, a man had his pride if nothing else. She’d accused him of seducing her for ulterior purposes. She’s not far from the truth and you know it. But it wasn’t like that, not when it had come down to it. He’d slept with her because he’d wanted to, because he’d desired her. He still desired her.

  Tonight was supposed to have ended differently. The necklace in his pocket was a sad reminder of those intentions. It still could, if he’d just go back. And what? Beg? Grovel? Elise had been angry. He’d seen her temper on full display, her wit sharp, her tongue cutting. Maybe it was better this way. Yes, it was definitely better this way.

  Dorian began to walk. First down one street, then another, and another until he was too far away to conveniently turn back, his mind rolling out all the reasons he was right to have left. He would not beg. He could apologise for his
words, but not his choices, and that would not be enough for Elise. He could say he was sorry for his secrets, but he would not tell them. She would truly despise him if she knew the things he’d done. The motives behind them would not be enough to clear him in her conscience.

  What was the point anyway? Confessing all to Elise wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t protect her from Tyne, it wouldn’t change the nature of their relationship—which was temporary. He couldn’t keep a woman like Elise. She’d wanted to talk about their relationship this afternoon. That should have scared him. His gut usually twisted at the mere mention. Talking about relationships meant admitting to having them—the very first step on a slippery slope to commitment. But this afternoon, the familiar twist hadn’t been there. Still, he’d diverted the discussion because he could offer her none of the reassurances women looked for.

  What he could do, though, was make enquiries about Tyne, help her resolve the doubts about her father’s death and he could finish her boat. Then he could give her up. He could walk away as if she were just another woman he’d slept with. Only she wasn’t. The realisation was so strong, struck so deeply, Dorian had to stop walking and steady himself. How had that happened? She had him dressing up and climbing unstable trellises. She had him thinking about captaining her yacht and re-entering society, something he’d sworn never to do, and all for a pretty face. Oh, no, she wasn’t just a pretty face. That was how it had happened. He’d fallen for her intelligence, her passion, her boldness. The reasons hardly mattered. What did was that he’d fallen.

  ‘Get a grip on yourself, Rowland,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Build the boat and walk away. She’s just a woman you can’t have.’ But that didn’t solve anything because he never walked away from a challenge.

  Heaven help him. He wanted Elise Sutton. He might even love her.

  Heaven help her when he was finished with her. He wanted Elise Sutton with a vengeance. Damien Tyne paced the small, crude office he kept on the Wapping docks. It was not nearly as nice as Blackwell and the East India set-up or as well located. He and Maxwell had guessed poorly and invested unwisely, while Richard Sutton had done the opposite. Sutton had leased the more-expensive site at Blackwell while he and Maxwell Hart had bet on the cut-through to be built between Limehouse and Wapping, joining the docks directly to the Pool of London. The cut had never materialised, although it had been talked about a great deal over the last twenty years.

  It only fed his vengeance to know Rowland was doing more than building the boat. His man had reported Rowland’s presence at the town house after hours on several occasions, the latest being four nights ago. Rowland had come for dinner, all dressed up and riding in the Sutton carriage.

  Rowland’s ability to land in the most lucrative of beds never ceased to amaze him. He’d taken Rowland’s ship, effectively running Rowland out of business for the nasty turn of events over the incident with the pasha. It should have broken Rowland. Without a ship, Rowland couldn’t run his cargos and he’d be too dangerous to be hired by another. No decent businessman would risk his ship being hunted down simply because Rowland was at the helm. Even with all that against him, Rowland had thrived. the lucky bastard was now privy to the elite innovations of Richard Sutton’s last yacht, bedding the lovely Elise and living the good life without expending a pound of his own money.

  Tyne pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. It was nearly eleven in the morning. Miss Sutton should be receiving Maxwell’s offer right about now. Perhaps after the fire four nights ago, the tide would begin to turn in his favour. Elise should be frightened. This game was serious and, without meaning to, Dorian would have helped it along. If he cared a whit for Elise Sutton, he would have cautioned her that this was for real. That he, Tyne, would stop at nothing. What would she think about Maxwell’s offer? Would she look at it with relief or with suspicion?

  He could picture her slitting open the envelope, her green eyes scanning the letter, the pulse at the base of her neck leaping in surprise, shock or excitement. He could picture her doing other things, too. Unfortunately, she’d been doing those things with Dorian Rowland. But very soon, she would be doing those things with him, for him and he would have his revenge on them both at last.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elise studied the sheaf of documents in her hand, unsure what to make of them. They contained an offer for the shipyard, now of all times. Charles stood at the French doors leading out to the rose garden, patiently letting her peruse the paperwork. He’d been the harbinger of this latest development, arriving with the papers shortly after eleven that morning and turned out in his daytime best.

  She had not seen him since the day Dorian had all but driven him out, but Charles didn’t seem to hold that against her. He was the epitome of concern, exclaiming over the fire damage and worried for her safety. He said he’d been away on some business for his father in Southampton. She hoped that was the truth. She didn’t want Dorian to have alienated him. She might not be head-over-heels in love with Charles Bradford, but her friends were few and far between these days. It made her question the offer all the more. Should she view it with suspicion or serendipity? Beyond the sitting room she’d taken over as her office at the back of the house, repairs continued on the town house—repairs that strained her budget. This offer would solve that financial need and more.

  Elise’s eyes returned to the final number at the bottom of the last page. With that kind of money, she could easily pay Dorian and his crew for their work on the yacht and walk away with a sum that would keep her and her family comfortably. For her part, she would not need to worry about relying on her mother or brother for funds. She could continue to live in the style to which she’d been raised and maintain her independence.

  To do what? What would she use that independence for? Without a shipyard, there’d be no point in designing yachts that would never be built. She knew what her brother would say and her mother, too.

  ‘It’s a good deal, Elise. It’s more money than the investors offered to pay.’ Charles turned from the doors, ready to engage in persuasive conversation.

  ‘Is that what you are to convince me of?’ Elise gave him a thin smile. She understood the role Charles was sent to play. He was the messenger, chosen carefully to use his leverage as her friend to bring back an affirmative decision to this business man, Maxwell Hart.

  ‘Anyone would tell you the same,’ Charles replied. ‘I’m not here to mislead you, but to help you if you have questions and to offer my opinion if you ask for it.’

  That was a more pliable, gentler side of Charles, Elise noted. Usually, he was very rigid with his black-and-white views on life. Her own smile softened in answer. ‘I appreciate that, Charles. I do have questions. Who is Maxwell Hart and how do you know him? I don’t recall him from my father’s associations.’

  ‘My father knows him through some shipping arrangements. He’s wealthy. As an importer, Hart knows the value in the shipyard’s position. He has a warehouse and a boat works over in Wapping, but he’s looking to move to a better location and your location is the best there is, as you well know.’

  Charles fiddled with a porcelain figurine on the fireplace mantel. ‘Personally, I think he’s given up hope that a cut-through will ever be built at Wapping.’

  Elise could understand that. The cut-through had never materialised and the difference between the more tedious waterways at Wapping and the efficiencies of the East and West India docks with their modern developments was quite marked. ‘The offer seems straightforward,’ Elise began, unwilling to share everything that had occurred lately, ‘but It comes at a most interesting time.’

  Interesting was a delicate way of putting things. It came at a time when a dangerous man was attempting to damage the yard and steal her boat. It would be all too easy to sell out and pass Damien Tyne on to the new owner. But selling out came with a price, too. She suspected the offer was so high because of the yacht. The documents clearly stated the yacht was to remai
n with the yard.

  ‘It seems to me that it comes at a most opportune time,’ Charles corrected. He made a gesture towards the door. It stood half-open, not entirely blocking out the sounds of repairs being done in the front room. ‘You’ve had a run of bad luck these last months, Elise. The tide could be starting to turn in your favour.’

  ‘That’s just it, Charles. Perhaps this seems too perfect, too suspicious.’

  Charles looked affronted. ‘Are you implying Maxwell Hart is attempting to force you out through coercion? Do you really think a man willing to pay such a sum would resort to throwing rocks through your windows or lighting the very shipyard he wants on fire?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t see the logic.’

  Put that way, she didn’t see the logic, either. Charles was right. It made no sense to think this man would ruin the property he wanted to acquire. It made even less sense when she knew, as Charles did not, that Damien Tyne was behind the attacks. Unless Dorian had been wrong all along about Tyne and about Tyne’s motives.

  It had occurred to her in the days since her quarrel with Dorian that she’d accepted his explanations at face value. Perhaps he’d lied about the thugs’ reasons for breaking into the shipyard. Perhaps they hadn’t been there looking at her yacht, but had come for him. She’d mentioned as much the night he’d first told her of the break-in.

  ‘It’s a difficult decision to walk away from all I know and everything my father worked for,’ Elise said slowly, trying to articulate the hollowness that filled her at the thought. She didn’t expect Charles to understand.

  Charles took the seat across from her, an earnest look on his face. ‘Think of it this way, Elise. You can walk away now and make a lot of money, or you can wait until the last moment and be politely forced out when the shipyard can no longer sustain itself. If so, you’ll end up with nothing except for the yacht and that’s if you can find a buyer in time. Hart is willing to pay you for the shipyard, the boat and the contents of the shipyard if you walk away now.’ Charles loved numbers. His whole face lit up when he talked about projected profits.