A Lady Dares

by Bronwyn Scott

  That made him chuckle. She’d not wanted him to think she was entirely inexperienced. Most decent girls were just the opposite, wanting to prove their virtue. Even so, there was no question Elise Sutton was a lady in spite of her adventurous streak. Men like him didn’t mess with ladies. Ladies came with expectations while a man like him came with none.

  ‘Lover girl’s here,’ one of the men called out, a surly fellow named Adam. He was not the sort Dorian preferred to hire, but choices had been few and he’d been eager to get the project under way.

  ‘Shut up and show some respect,’ Dorian growled. He looked up from his work on the hull to see Elise crossing the yard. The princess in her was intact this morning, helped along no doubt by a careful choice of dress. He knew very well that clothes were a woman’s armour. Elise was turned out to perfection in a lavender morning dress of figured silk, complemented by the soft grey of her shawl and the matching lace trim of her Victoria bonnet. The ensemble was very demure, very respectful, although not quite up to the standard for a daughter’s mourning. He wondered briefly if she’d forgone mourning altogether. Yet the subdued qualities of the outfit did not diminish her. Perhaps that was due to her walk, Dorian mused, watching the sway of her hips and not necessarily her clothes.

  She crossed the yard with a purpose, hardly deigning to give any attention to the eyes attracted by her movement. Her superior attitude was for the best. Dorian felt a twinge of guilt over the sort of men he’d hired. These were rough men unaccustomed to ladies. But also he’d not expected her to make herself a daily fixture in the shipyard.

  ‘Clearly my message yesterday eluded you.’ Dorian set down the wrung staff he was using to attach planking on the hull.

  ‘Good morning to you, too.’ Elise smiled cheerily and ignored the cool greeting. ‘I’ve some things we need to discuss. Do you have a moment?’

  The comment elicited a mean chuckle from Adam Bent. ‘Are you going to take orders from the little woman? You’re not so big now.’

  There were other nervous laughs. He had to nip such conjecture in the bud. These men would never respect a man who appeared to be at a woman’s beck and call. But he’d dealt with men like Bent before on his ships. With a quick movement, Dorian divested Bent of the racing knife in his hand and pressed it against his throat. ‘It’s sharp and it will hurt, in case you’re wondering,’ Dorian said with savage fierceness, leaving no doubt he was not bluffing.

  Bent’s eyes bulged in fear. Behind him, Dorian heard Elise gasp at the sudden violence. Around them, men stopped their work to stare. Good. Let them. Let them be very sure they knew who was in charge here and what he was willing to do to prove his claim. ‘Say you’re sorry,’ Dorian pressed.

  ‘Really, is that necessary?’ Elise stepped forwards, picking a rotten time to intervene.

  ‘It damn well is.’ Dorian locked eyes with the frightened Bent. The man was a bully. He would cave. Bullies always did at the first sign of real terror and there was nothing as terrifying as a blade against one’s throat. A racing knife, whose purpose was to trace a shape before cutting it out with its thin blade, could leave an especially wicked line. A small bead of red began to show.

  ‘I’m sorry, boss,’ Adam stammered.

  ‘Say it won’t happen again.’

  ‘It won’t happen again.’

  Dorian released him with a shove. ‘You’re right it won’t. Now, Miss Sutton, if you’ll follow me up to the office?’

  Perhaps the office wasn’t the best of locations with the memories of yesterday still so recent and hot, but there was no other place to take her.

  ‘Is this how you run your shipyards, Mr Rowland? At knifepoint?’ She didn’t wait for him to begin the conversation once the door was shut.

  ‘When I must.’ Dorian folded his arms. ‘I told you yesterday your presence was a disturbance and yet you persist in making appearances.’

  ‘I needed to see you,’ she said evenly. Dorian admired her aplomb. There wasn’t an ounce of apology in her eyes.

  ‘You could have asked me to call on you at your home. This is no place for a woman.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d put your shirt on,’ she replied, her implication clear. ‘I can’t have you scandalising the butler.’ she shot him a sideways glance that made him uneasy. ‘Although, it’s probably too late for that,’ she said cryptically. ‘I doubt a shirt will make much difference at this point.’

  ‘Shirt on, shirt off, it’s all the same to me, Princess,’ Dorian drawled. She hadn’t slapped him or any of the other things ladies did when they were too ashamed to admit their passions had been provoked and they enjoyed it. He would take it as progress.

  ‘It is all the same to you, isn’t it?’ She gave him a wry, intelligent smile. ‘You’re not received. What do you care? You could run around naked if you wanted. Oh, wait, you do.’

  So that was the bee in her pretty bonnet this morning. She’d found out who he was. He did wonder how she’d come by that information. It wasn’t something a lady would know. ‘There are a few homes where I’m welcome,’ he offered in his defence.

  ‘Enough to have met my brother.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the house party outside Oxford. It was nothing, just an invite from a friend of a friend I hadn’t seen in a while,’ he admitted. Meeting William had been a fluke really. Decent society had shut their doors ages ago on him once conjecture of his Mediterranean activities reached them. ‘Does it matter? I assure you being received has nothing to do with my ability to build your ship.’

  She huffed at the response. ‘You seem to think your ability to build my ship excuses all nature of things. I disagree. I think you should have told me you were Lord Rowland, son of the Duke of Ashdon.’

  He smiled and leaned his hip against the desk, half-sitting on its edge. ‘But then you wouldn’t have hired me and we both would have missed out.’ His eyes drifted purposely to her mouth, letting her guess on what they would have missed out.

  ‘You’ve brought scandal to my business simply by being here. If anyone finds out, I’m finished.’

  Dorian’s smile faded. ‘Only if you care about such things.’ This was dangerous ground. Had she come here to let him go? The thought sat poorly with him. It had only been two days, but he’d invested effort in this proposition of hers, beating the docks for any worker he could find. He fiddled with her paperweight, a pretty amber piece with an insect inside, giving her a chance to think. ‘And do you, Miss Sutton? Do you care?’

  He had her there. The look on her face suggested she wasn’t sure how to answer. He answered for her, pushing off the desk and pacing the floor like an Oxford professor delivering a lecture. ‘That’s the thing about scandal, Miss Sutton. It only has teeth if everyone playing agrees to give it power. Frankly, I don’t see how you can care and pursue this line of work you’ve put before yourself. Surely you see the dichotomy, too?’ He rather worried that she didn’t, though. She was the sort whose boldness came from a combination of naïveté and ideals, a deadly mixture once society got a hold of them. Somebody was going to have to tell her the truth. This venture of hers simply wasn’t going to work. It couldn’t.

  Dorian softened his tone. ‘Are you familiar with syllogisms, Miss Sutton? A lady doesn’t build ships. Miss Sutton builds ships. Therefore, Miss Sutton isn’t a lady. Indeed, she can’t be a lady by the very definition of what society says a lady is. Do you see my point?’

  Her dark brows were knitted together, a furrow of twin lines forming between her eyes, the look not unattractive. It stirred him to want to do something about it, to erase the consternation. He wasn’t used to such chivalrous feelings.

  ‘I understand your meaning quite well and I respectfully disagree.’ Her chin went up a fraction in defiance.

  ‘You will have to choose,’ Dorian insisted. ‘My being here or not is the least of your worries if you’re thinking about your reputation. Building your blasted yacht is enough to sink you in most circles. No pun intended.’ Instinctively, h
e moved close to her, his hands going to her forearms in a gentle grip to make his point, to make her see reason.

  She swallowed nervously, the pulse at the base of her throat leaping in reaction to his nearness. ‘Again I disagree,’ she said with quiet steel. ‘I think this yacht will be the making of me.’

  ‘If it is, it will be the making of a lady most improper.’ Dorian gave a soft chuckle, breathing in the tangy lemongrass scent of her just before his mouth caught hers.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Rowland’s back.’ Maxwell made a grimace before taking a swallow of his brandy. He and Damien Tyne had the corner of the coffee house to themselves in the late afternoon. He preferred it that way. The conversation he wanted to have with Tyne might possibly become too dark for the others.

  Tyne raised slender dark brows in interest. ‘Really? I wonder if his father knows? Gibraltar must have finally got too hot for him. Still, it’s gutsy of him to come back here where he’s got a number of enemies waiting for him, you and me included. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t mind a shot at him after what he did?’

  Maxwell gave a thin smile. ‘We will get our chance. It will be an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.’ He dangled the thought before Damien like bait.

  ‘And how is that? We’re rather busy with the Sutton project at the moment. It doesn’t seem like the right time to go after Rowland.’

  Maxwell’s thin smile turned into a grin as he dropped the news. ‘He’s working for our Miss Sutton. She told Charles herself over lunch.’

  ‘And he scampered back here like a good boy and told you.’ Tyne leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on the table top beside him. Maxwell could almost see the thoughts running through Tyne’s mind.

  ‘You were right,’ Maxwell offered, wanting to be included in those usually lucrative thoughts. The fastest way to get Tyne to open up was to compliment him. Tyne was a smart man and a bit of an egomaniac. Tyne liked others to recognise his intelligence. ‘Miss Sutton does mean to give it one last gasp. She’s hired Rowland to do something.’

  ‘But we have no idea what that is?’ Tyne asked.

  ‘She wouldn’t tell Charles.’

  Tyne snorted. ‘She probably didn’t get the chance. Charles would have been too busy lecturing her about Rowland’s unsuitability. I do hope he told her to fire the reprobate.’

  ‘Charles served his purpose today,’ Maxwell reprimanded lightly. Tyne thought Charles was a silly young pup. ‘He’s our best connection to the inner workings of Miss Sutton’s life at the moment without spending money on people to watch her. Charles is happy to do it for free.’

  ‘He’s infatuated with her,’ Tyne grumbled.

  Maxwell idly stroked the short stem of his snifter. ‘Yes. If he’d marry her it would be all the better for us, get her out of the business for good. For the record, Charles did tell her to let Rowland go, but I doubt she’ll listen to his advice. She hasn’t listened to anyone so far.’ Certainly not the investors who’d come to her after the funeral and encouraged her to sell. She could have made this much easier on all of them, herself included.

  Tyne’s eyes glinted. ‘Maybe it’s time to make her listen.’

  Maxwell leaned forwards with keen interest. He and Tyne had been partners in questionable commerce practices before, but those notorious practices were conducted far from home where their countrymen were less likely to notice what they were up to. Going after someone in London would be different. They’d have to exercise extraordinary caution—something Tyne was not always good at. ‘What exactly do you have in mind?’

  ‘I think a nocturnal visit to the shipyard is in order so we can figure out precisely what she’s doing behind those walls. It doesn’t take a genius to speculate about what she might be doing, but we can’t take an appropriate course of action until we know for sure. I know just the men to do it.’

  Maxwell nodded his approval. ‘I like the way you think. In the meanwhile, I’ll tell Charles to continue his courtship.’

  ‘Miss Sutton, there’s a gentleman to see you.’

  Elise looked up from her reading, more than surprised to see Evans, the butler, in the doorway of the sitting room. It was after seven and she’d given the staff permission to retire for the evening. ‘I’m not expecting anyone.’ The house was quiet tonight. She’d seen William off earlier in the day and dinner had been a lonely affair, one of many, she supposed. Mourning and the absence of a decent chaperon made attending any social functions out of the question.

  ‘He has a card, Miss Sutton, and he says he has business to discuss.’

  Not Charles, then. That had been her first thought. But Charles would never have called on her so late at night, knowing her brother was gone, or have come to discuss something as dirty as business. Unless, of course, he wanted to remind her of the impropriety of a lady living alone. Elise took the card from the silver salver. The paper was a heavy white affair of cardstock with simple black letters in crisp block print. It was of good quality. The name on the card wasn’t. Lord Dorian Rowland. Just seeing the name was enough to make her stomach flutter for any number of reasons: a reminder that she’d hired a man who outranked her socially to work for her, a reminder that same man kissed liked the very devil whenever the fancy struck him and reduced her insides to jelly.

  ‘Did he say what he wanted specifically?’ Elise fought the urge to check her appearance in the little mirror on the wall. She’d obeyed his order not to go to the shipyard today and apparently he’d obeyed hers. Evans didn’t look too offended. She could assume Dorian had come with his shirt on.

  ‘No, miss, just business.’

  ‘Then I suppose I shall have to see him.’ Elise tried to sound cool. She rose and paced a few steps, trying to gather her thoughts, but to no avail. They continued to run amok. Why had he come? Was something wrong at the shipyard? Had there been an accident? Had something happened to the boat? Surely if something was seriously wrong he wouldn’t have come in person and waited patiently in the hall. He would have stayed to oversee the situation and sent a note, or he’d have come barging up the steps, shouting for her. Elise smoothed her skirts in an effort to quiet her nerves.

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Evans announced the guest. Dorian stepped into the room. Her hands stilled in the folds of her skirts at the sight of him. Dorian had put on far more than a shirt to make this call. Dark breeches were tucked into high black boots; a claret-coloured coat was tailored to show off broad shoulders and the gold-patterned waistcoat and pristine linen beneath. She could almost believe the man standing before her was a lord. Almost.

  There were other tells that gave him away. His thick sun-gold hair might be neatly pulled back and tied, but it was still too long for convention. His blue eyes were still too bold when they met hers. A gentleman would never look at a lady in a way that made her mouth go dry.

  ‘Lord Rowland, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Dorian, please,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve come as I promised to give you an update and because I have questions about the plans.’ He held up the long roll of paper in his hand. ‘I hope my visit isn’t inconvenient? You don’t have plans this evening?’

  ‘You know I don’t.’

  ‘London’s loss, I think.’ Dorian smiled and their eyes held in the moment. She felt her face heat. She really shouldn’t let him get to her like this. Nothing could come of it and this was absolutely the wrong time to become involved with someone when so much else depended on her attentions.

  ‘Where shall we unroll these?’ Dorian looked around the room and gave the plans a little wave, calling her attentions back to the intent of his visit.

  ‘Oh, yes, the plans. There’s no place to lay them out in here. Why don’t we try the library?’ At the last moment she remembered Evans still standing by the door. ‘Evans, have a tea tray sent up, please.’ She hoped she didn’t appear as flustered as she felt. It occurred to her as they headed towards the library that she’d never entertained anyo
ne alone and certainly not a man. Her mother or father had always been with her. The servants were here, of course, but it wasn’t the same.

  In the library, they busied themselves spreading out the plans on the long reading table and anchoring the corners with paperweights and books to keep the edges from rolling up. Dorian stirred up The fire while she lit lamps. The tea tray came and they found a place for it at the end of the table. The little tasks helped her regain composure. She designed yachts and ran a business, for heaven’s sake. It was silly to be daunted by a simple task and one handsome man.

  When everything was finally settled to their satisfaction, Dorian pointed to the area in question. ‘Here’s the problem—I think the centre of the hull is too narrow. It will increase the chance of capsizing. Do you know what your father was thinking when he established these dimensions?’

  ‘These aren’t solely my father’s plans. We designed this boat together,’ Elise said slowly. Even now, no one quite grasped her level of involvement in the shipyard. ‘This is my boat, too. I simply don’t know how to build it, but in theory it should work.’

  Dorian swore softly under his breath and she braced herself for the worst. But it didn’t come. He didn’t harangue her for the idea that she thought she could build a boat. ‘In theory It should work? Do you have a model? Did you do any kind of trial?’

  ‘No. It will work. I modelled this after Joshua Humphreys’s work, only we’ve used his design with more intensity. This boat is longer, lower and leaner.’ She could see he was unconvinced. ‘We’ve installed extra buoyancy bags on the port and starboard sides to compensate for any drastic heeling.’ She warmed to her subject now, making her argument with passion as she pointed to the various adaptations they’d made. ‘So you see there was no need to test it. Humphreys’s design works. We’ve just modified it.’