A Lady Dares

by Bronwyn Scott

  The gentleman was back, the mask of politeness and manners in place as surely as the return of his coat over those broad shoulders.

  ‘I’m still coming back to work,’ Elise said once they had settled in the carriage.

  ‘All right,’ he said quietly.

  ‘All right?’ Elise fired back, but there was little heat in it. ‘I thought you were determined that I wouldn’t?’ After the disclosures this afternoon, she’d expected him to resist even more vehemently than before.

  Dorian grinned, his first smile in an hour, and tucked his hands behind his head. ‘I changed my mind, that’s all. You should be pleased. You’ve got what you wanted.’

  But he’d got what he wanted, too, and that’s what had her suspicions on alert. He’d only capitulated because he’d seen a benefit in it. He laughed. ‘What’s the matter, Elise? Can’t stand winning? Not everything has to be a fight.’

  ‘But some things should be.’

  ‘Before you go into battle, just remember I’m on your side.’ Dorian winked. ‘I don’t get paid if that boat isn’t finished.’

  His humour was a startling reminder of yet another reality. That’s all this was to him, of course. A job. She was part of the job, something she’d been apt to forget on occasion. The word we had slipped into her vocabulary with alarming ease and stealthy regularity. When she thought of the yacht club’s seasonal trip, she pictured them going together. When she thought of the upcoming races it was with Dorian at the helm of the new yacht, although they’d not spoken of it. These were especially dangerous fantasies and all because he’d kissed her and shown her pleasure beyond imagining. And, oh, how she wanted to feel that pleasure again! But that was setting herself up for disappointment because it could never be more than a fleeting satisfaction. She knew better and she had the experience to prove it.

  The carriage rocked to a stop in front of her town house. Elise wished her thoughts would do the same. ‘Do you still feel like being scandalous?’ Dorian asked, handing her down.

  She smiled. Her comment seemed hours ago in another lifetime devoid of mysterious fires and machete-wielding foremen. But her devotion to the claim hadn’t diminished. If anything, circumstances had conspired to make her embrace that decision even more. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then how about dinner with me tonight? I know a decent restaurant you’ll enjoy. We should celebrate the yacht even if today wasn’t perfect.’ There he went again, acting more than the employee, more than the gentleman. This was the devastating rake who knew perfectly well the scandal he provoked by asking her to dine out and did it anyway.

  She should say no. There might be more than a dinner on his mind. Their last dinner together had certainly led to more than dessert. ‘You may call for me at seven.’

  She was very aware she’d said yes for all the reasons she should have said no. He had her spinning; there was no doubt about it. He was a gentleman, a rogue, a pirate all rolled into one enticing package. She wondered which one would pick her up tonight?

  Picking Elise up at seven was something of an illusion. She’d sent the carriage for him at half past six and now it would make the return journey to her town house. Usually, it irked him to be so reliant on a woman’s hospitality. It made him feel like a kept man. But tonight, Dorian was happy to let the illusion lay. He needed all the reasons he could come up with to keep her near him. Dorian flicked a speck of dust from his green jacket and settled back against the squabs.

  Tyne would come after her. Elise’s inability to believe it would not prevent it from happening. She was a rock through a town house window away from finding out he was right. He’d relented on her return to the shipyard because it served his purpose. He could continue to work on the yacht and keep an eye on her. Tyne would be hard pressed to get to her if she was at the office. Tyne would have to go through him first and, for now, Tyne was loath to do that.

  Having her at the shipyard had nothing to do with actually wanting her there. She was bossy and dictatorial. She’d try to poke her nose into everything just when he had a system established. Dorian laughed out loud in the empty carriage. He could tell himself all he wanted that these precautions were for the sake of protecting the boat. This boat would be his way of getting back at Tyne for the Queen Maeve. But that wasn’t the whole truth. Elise Sutton had got under his skin in a most novel and intriguing way.

  They’d quarrelled today after the fire and much that he’d meant to say had gone unsaid. The quarrel had sidetracked his intent. He hadn’t scolded her for staying. in retrospect, it was for the best. He’d been furious she’d tried to fight the fire, to put herself in harm’s deliberate way like that. He’d been furious because he’d been frightened for her, by her. She was fighting for her dream. She was strong in the face of adversity. He didn’t want to like her, but he did. She didn’t deserve any of the things that were happening and she didn’t deserve him.

  If he did care for her, what could come of it? She wasn’t his usual sort of woman. If she knew the things he’d done, if she knew he wasn’t much better than Tyne, she’d have nothing more to do with him. Her brother, William, hadn’t known the half of it when he’d made his acquaintance. William thought he was the usual sort of rake, a gentleman who’d had an adventure or two. Young William would be furious, but Elise would feel betrayed.

  She would be right to feel that way. He’d probably frightened away Charles, her very decent suitor who could have been brought up to scratch if she’d followed the rules. But Elise had opted for scandal instead of obscurity. His fault, too. He’d awakened her passions, her hopes, and when those crashed he’d be far away, in Gibraltar with a new ship beneath him, starting over.

  That was the plan at least. There were holes in it, such as where he was going to come up with a new ship if he couldn’t romance the yacht out from under her or convince her to give it to him. He’d convinced a pasha’s daughter to give him the secret password to her father’s arsenal once. He’d stolen the arms and resold them to the pasha’s enemy. Surely he could coax a little yacht out of Elise Sutton. But there was the fact that he liked her. He hadn’t much cared for the pasha’s daughter. He was back to that again—liking was a damnable thing.

  He was starting to have crazy thoughts—what would Elise think of Gibraltar? Recently, he’d started imagining her at his place in the hills overlooking the beach, taking her down the winding stairs to the beach at sunset, letting the water lap against their bare toes, making love in the sand. She could build her boats. Would that be enough for her? enough to convince her to tie her fate to the Scourge of Gibraltar, a smuggler extraordinaire in his own right? Right now, it was simple enough to dream. There was no need to expose realities. They were together for a few short weeks; there was no need for details between them. But if he wanted more, he’d have to tell her all that he was.

  At the town house, Elise made him wait, leaving him plenty of time to cool his heels in the drawing room studying the art. Her father had a decent nautical collection full of windswept seas and tilting boats in addition to the Turner in the hall. Skirts rustled at the door and he turned, his breath hitching at the sight of her.

  Tonight, she’d chosen a gown of deep red with black velvet and jet beads for trim. It moved and shimmered with her in the light. The ruby pendant at her throat glowed against the pale backdrop of her skin, her dark hair the perfect foil. Dorian took her hand and kissed it. ‘You look like an Italian signorina, which suits my plans all the better.’

  She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, a most coy gesture. ‘It sounds as if you mean to seduce me.’

  His groin tightened in reflex. Nights were much more exciting with her than their days: less sparring, more passion.

  ‘Perhaps I do,’ Dorian replied. ‘We’ll see how the evening goes. Have you ever had Italian food?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Italian food. Yet another thing she’d never done, and most certainly, she’d never done it this way—dining out in Soho. Elise to
ok Dorian’s hand and stepped down from the carriage into the crowded mélange of the neighbourhood.

  It was hard to believe they were still in the West End of London. The Soho area had a cosmopolitan feel to it that was entirely foreign to the stiff English uniformity of Mayfair’s wealthy citizens. London’s rich had forsaken Soho almost fifty years ago, leaving it to the immigrants who would make a home for themselves away from home. As they walked, the languages of Europe swirled around them. Elise laughed up at Dorian at one point, ‘There’s so much French being spoken here, I feel like we’re in Paris!’

  ‘We’re to be Italian tonight, remember?’ Dorian grinned. ‘But perhaps we can be French the next time we come.’

  The next time. Her heart gave an irrational trip of excitement. There was a wealth of promise and commitment in those words he tossed off so casually. Did he mean for there to be other nights like this one? And what did that mean? She knew what it didn’t mean. He wasn’t courting her. Dorian Rowland wasn’t the courting type. Yet, he was investing time in her, time that went beyond an employee’s obligation. It made her wonder what he wanted and what she’d give in return.

  ‘Ah, here we are.’ Dorian ushered her towards a little restaurant with three arched windows with a sign reading ‘Giovanni’s.’ The immigrant population of Soho had taken good advantage of the growing penchant for dining out and opened eateries showcasing the foods of their native homes. Giovanni’s was no exception: an Italian trattoria lodged between a French bistro and a German delicatessen.

  Elise stepped inside and was immediately wrapped in the enticing smells of tomato and basil, garlic and fresh baked bread. A dozen tables draped in white cloths with candles in red jars to mute the light filled the room, all of them occupied with patrons and enormous bowls of pasta. Elise closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking a mental picture complete with scents. She felt adventurous and decadent in her red dress and she wanted to remember this moment, being here in this exotic neighbourhood with this exciting man beside her. Moments like this, experiences like this, had been rare in her life. Her world had been far smaller than she’d realised. ‘It smells divine. What is it?’

  ‘Spaghetti bolognese,’ Dorian whispered at her ear. ‘Giovanni makes it on Wednesdays and Sundays. It is his special dish.’

  The kitchen door swung open and an enormous black-haired man swathed in a great white apron burst through, arms outstretched. There was only a moment’s warning before he embraced Dorian, kissing him soundly on both cheeks. ‘Buona sera, mi amico.’ More loudly, he called out, ‘Che Capitano Dorian!’

  ‘It is good to see you, Giovanni.’

  ‘You have brought a pretty signorina,’ Giovanni said in broken English, turning his attention her direction.

  ‘Allow me to introduce Miss Elise Sutton. Her father has the yachtworks over at the Blackwell Docks.’

  ‘It is my pleasure,’ he effused. ‘Come, take the table in the window, Capitano Dorian.’ He led the way towards the one empty table in the little establishment.

  ‘The best table, Giovanni?’ Dorian teased. ‘A beautiful woman is always good for business, si?’

  ‘Ah, you wound me, capitano.’ Giovanni put a hand over his heart. ‘I would seat you at the best table always, even if you came alone.’ He cast a quick look over his shoulder towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll send Luciano with a little bread and a little vino. But for me, I have to go back to work. There is always business, no?’

  ‘Do not worry.’ Dorian smiled in assurance. ‘I will be here a while. There will be time to catch up later, my friend.’

  ‘How do you know these people?’ Elise asked once Giovanni had left.

  ‘I know them from my adventures in Naples,’ Dorian said evasively, conveniently saved from disclosing more by Luciano’s timely arrival with fresh bread, olive oil and wine.

  ‘Is this a taurasi of your uncle’s?’ Dorian sniffed the wine while Luciano beamed.

  ‘Of course, capitano. Only the best for you.’ Luciano poured two glasses after Dorian gave it his approval.

  ‘A taurasi is a red wine native to Naples,’ Dorian explained to her. ‘Giovanni’s brother has a vineyard there in the hills above the city. Every region has its wine. Tuscany has its chianti, but Naples has its taurasi.’ Dorian lifted his glass to Luciano. ‘Send my compliments to your uncle.’

  Luciano inclined his head. ‘I will. He will never forget how you saved them.’ He looked at Elise. ‘Do you know what he did for my uncle? There was a poor harvest one year and money was short. We had no way to get our wine to market to make back our money. No captain would take our casks with only a promise of future payment. But Capitano Dorian took the casks and he got the best price we’ve ever had. He saved us. My uncle would have lost everything. For that, his money is no good here. We will feed Capitano Dorian for life as long as he is in England and not haring off on dangerous—’

  ‘That’s quite enough, Luciano.’ Dorian held up a hand good-humouredly. ‘Miss Sutton will get the wrong impression. I am sure you have other patrons to wait on.’ He sent Luciano on his way, but Elise wouldn’t let it go, especially not after that piece of insight. Assisting a vintner didn’t seem like the usual activity for the Scourge of Gibraltar, but he’d been a long way from Gibraltar. Such a piece of information made her hungry for more.

  ‘You’re not getting off that easily.’ Elise fixed him with a sharp look. ‘I believe we were discussing how you know this family before Luciano arrived. What were you doing in Naples in the first place? Italy is a long way from Gibraltar.’ It must be quite a story, she reasoned, to have earned a gratitude which spanned Europe. She was intrigued, too. She’d not known his interests, whatever they were, extended so far east.

  Dorian shook his head. ‘I doubt there’s anything about those adventures you actually want to hear, Elise. Try the bread.’ Dorian dipped a slice into the olive oil dribbled on a plate and held it up to her lips. ‘Now, try the wine,’ he coached.

  Elise drank, acutely aware of Dorian’s eyes on her as she swallowed. ‘You will tell me nothing?’ she said, meeting his gaze.

  ‘Tonight is about the future, Elise.’ A small, private smile flitted on his lips. He raised his glass. ‘I would offer a toast. To the boat, Elise. May this be the first of many nights we toast its victories and milestones.’

  Elise touched her glass to his, momentarily overcome with emotion. He was intoxicating like this—wine, candlelight and words that spoke the very thoughts of her own mind.

  She drank to the toast and set her glass down. He’d adroitly shoved aside the personal in lieu of business, a reminder that perhaps he had bandied about his earlier words with carelessness. ‘Since we have a better idea of when we’ll be done, I can start contacting potential buyers. I have a list of my father’s clients who may be interested. We can use the opening trip as a chance for them to join us on board.’ In her mind, she was already planning that event. They would need cheese and wine and cold meats, maybe even champagne. Planning the event and writing the letters would take considerable time. She had her father’s lists. But the idea of selling the yacht left an empty pit in her stomach. This was silliness. Selling the yacht was her plan, the key to her plan. She couldn’t get sentimental now. Warm hands closed about hers, stilling her thoughts.

  ‘Stop, Elise. Your mind is going a thousand miles an hour.’ Dorian gave a soft laugh. ‘It’s a bit soon to think of selling the yacht. We should name it first.’

  ‘Heavens, no! That will only make it worse.’ Elise cringed. ‘It’s like naming a cow you have to slaughter for beef.’

  ‘That’s a very colourful way to look at it.’ Dorian chuckled. Then he sobered and cocked his head to one side, studying her with those mesmerising blue eyes of his. ‘Why sell it, Elise? Why not keep it? People can still purchase yachts built like it from you.’

  He really could read minds. She took a sip of her wine to cover her agitation. ‘Selling the yacht is part of the plan. You know it is. I need to se
ll the boat to raise money to make other boats and to get the word out that we are back in business.’

  Dorian gave her an assessing nod. ‘That may be. I think it’s too soon to tell yet. There might be other options.’ He slid the last of the delicious bread in her direction.

  ‘What other options?’ Elise sopped up the remaining olive oil with the slice, trying not to let her curiosity give away her interest. Could she save the boat? It would be an ideal solution and he made it sound easy. She’d learned to be wary of easy, though. There must be a catch.

  Dorian shook his head. ‘Not tonight, Elise. Tonight is about pleasure first and right now we have pasta to enjoy.’ He gestured towards Luciano, who was bearing an enormous bowl of spaghetti with the bolognese sauce on top. Another man followed behind with a plate of Neapolitan meatballs.

  ‘We’ll never eat all of this.’ Elise laughed, watching Luciano set down the bowl with effort.

  ‘You’ll never know until you try.’ Dorian winked and dug in, undaunted by the size of the serving.

  As they ate, he told her of Italy, the food loosening his memories and the wine his tongue, although Elise understood implicitly these stories were carefully vetted. Still, if it was all he would share of himself, she’d take it. He told her of foods and wines and cheeses, and lazy afternoons spent in hillside villas, of evenings roaming the seaside towns. ‘More English will discover Italy in the near future, mark my words. But for now, it remains blissfully unanglicised.’

  ‘I want to discover it,’ Elise said. She meant it. The stories had transfixed her, as had the man telling them. She’d love to have listened to more, but the restaurant was emptying of patrons and still they lingered over the pasta.

  Dorian nudged the last meatball in her direction. ‘Yours.’

  ‘I can’t eat another bite.’ Elise put a hand to her stomach.

  ‘You’ll have to eat dessert. Giovanni will be offended and his tiramisu is extraordinary. And you haven’t tried the vin santo yet.’