A Lady Dares

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘Open your legs for me, Elise, cradle me, mio cuore.’

  His eyes burnt with coal-like intensity, holding her gaze as he slid between her thighs. The intimacy of their bodies threatened to overwhelm her. There was a wild, primal beauty in lying like this with a man, with him. He’d worshipped her tonight: with wine, with food, with dance, with his touch and his kiss. He’d coaxed her body to a fevered pitch as she had coaxed his and now those fevers were about to be joined in one conflagration.

  Dorian took her mouth in a hard kiss just as he positioned himself at her entrance and thrust, a deep penetrating motion. She gasped into his mouth feeling the pleasure of a man sliding home. He picked up his rhythm, her hips matching him of their own accord, the pleasure returning like a flower opening to the sun.

  Elise closed her legs around him, holding him close, unwilling to let him slip away until she claimed her release. His name became a hoarse litany on her lips until speech became an impossibility. Words were replaced by sounds and still they soared into that sun and finally, at long last, when all thought had become obliterated, she burst into the radiance of that sun aware only of Dorian beside her, joining her in the piercing brilliance of the moment.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Three simultaneous thoughts crowded Elise’s waking moments the next morning. The first was that Dorian was gone. She didn’t have to open her eyes and look around to know. She could feel the absence of him, which was a good thing because her second thought was that it hurt too much to do anything else like open her eyes. So he had been trying to get her drunk her last night. She’d been right and now she had proof. Her head ached, it hurt to open her eyes, her tongue felt thick and there was a dreadful taste in her mouth.

  It was impossible to even imagine doing anything about those conditions since all solutions required sitting up—a monumental feat at present. The third thought was that it was unusually bright in her room. Against her better judgement, she did hazard one open eye to see the cause of it. Better judgement had been right. That was a bad idea. Even opening one eye hurt. But she had her answer: sunlight. Not that she was opposed to sunlight. Normally, she’d have been thrilled to wake up to a sunny morning in early spring. Goodness knew they were rare enough. But it was unfortunate the London weather gods had decided this morning had to be one of them. Unfortunate, too, that Dorian had left the doors to her little balcony open and now the sun streamed through. However, it did bring a smile to her lips to picture Dorian climbing down from her balcony.

  The trellis rung! He’d mentioned it wasn’t stable last night. A moment’s worry crossed her mind. Elise tried to push it away. If he’d fallen, she would have heard him. Right? She wouldn’t have heard a thing, not in her current state. She should go check and see if he was lying in her garden, if only she could move.

  Elise risked another peep, this time at the white porcelain clock on her bedside table, and groaned. She was going to have to find a way to move. It was after ten o’clock. The morning was more than half over. She was late for the office and there was so much to do. By the time she got to the shipyards it would be noon.

  Elise gave herself fifteen more minutes of recovery before ringing for Anna. She congratulated herself on being upright when Anna arrived, bearing a tray of hot chocolate and a morning pastry. Elise thought her stomach might be able to tolerate that much. She could use The need to get to the shipyard to circumvent the breakfast that would be laid out for her downstairs. The merest thought of eggs and ham was enough to turn her stomach just now.

  Anna made cheery chatter as she bustled around the room, laying out clothes. The chatter did nothing for Elise’s head. At one point, Anna stooped to pick up the red dress from the floor and shake it out. Elise tried not to look overly interested in the process.

  ‘You should have called me, miss. I would have come back up to help you undress. And look, there’s a button missing. I don’t know how you got out of this by yourself with all the buttons down the back. We’re probably lucky you didn’t lose more than one.’

  ‘It was late. I didn’t want to wake you,’ Elise mumbled into her cup of hot chocolate. She could feel her face blush, her mind a riot of memories as to how that dress had come off and what had followed afterwards. It was the one thing she’d avoided thinking about so far this morning. ‘I want to wear the blue gown today.’ Elise attempted to focus her mind on something else. She wasn’t ready to contemplate the previous evening and she certainly wasn’t going to do it under Anna’s watchful eye.

  Anna gave her a quizzical look. ‘Are you all right, miss? You look a little heated.’

  ‘My room got a bit warm last night.’ That was an understatement. ‘I opened the doors,’ Elise offered hastily. Perhaps Anna would believe that also explained the absence of a nightgown. ‘I’ve got to hurry now, though. I slept too late and I’ve got things to take care of down at the shipyard.’

  If there was anything Anna disliked, it was a rushed toilette, and the mention of such a possibility did the trick, taking Anna’s mind off any other awkward questions. Elise was feeling more herself by the time Anna finished. She looked slightly pale but, other than that, any telltale signs of her night of sin and dissipation were not in evidence.

  Navigating the stairs and the short journey to the carriage proved it. Everyone greeted her as they did every morning. No one thought it odd that she eschewed breakfast, which she sometimes did, although not often. Her coachman helped her into the carriage and set off for the docks as usual.

  It was something of a surprise to Elise that she didn’t look different, nor did she feel different except for the headache and a bit of soreness between her legs. Such a momentous occasion should mark her in a more obvious way. But no one around her seemed to notice. For everyone else, it was another ordinary day. But it wasn’t for her. Today was the first day after she’d slept with Dorian Rowland, the Scourge of Gibraltar. To her mind, this event posed a great divide: the time before and the time that would come. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  Elise sank back against the squabs of the seat. What had she done? Her rationales last night had seemed solid enough, justifiable enough. This morning they seemed flimsy. Even if she lacked a logical understanding of the evening, she had enjoyed Dorian’s seduction. Quite a lot. Perhaps that was what bothered her most. She didn’t regret it. In fact, she thought she might even like it to happen again, and that was very naughty of her indeed. Of course, next time, they’d have to be more careful. They couldn’t leave dresses around for Anna to find and she couldn’t forget to put on a nightgown.

  Elise stopped her thoughts right there. Next time. There wasn’t supposed to be a next time and here she was planning it. She remembered very clearly one of her rationales was based on this being a one-time experience meant to satisfy curiosity. Only now there were other appetites begging to be fed. Next times were complicated. Next times implied a relationship which was absolutely not what she wanted with Dorian Rowland. What do you want with him? came the question.

  I want him to build my boat, Elise answered staunchly in her mind. But her conscience wasn’t appeased with a half-truth. And? it prompted.

  And maybe I want to use him for sex. Then she added hastily to her conscience, There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not as if anyone will know and it’s not as if he’ll mind. There, that should satisfy.

  How wicked she’d become in such a very short time. It was only yesterday she’d decided to embrace scandal and cast off her lavender gowns. Now, here she was recovering from a hangover and contemplating taking a lover on a more permanent basis. Of course, it was all Dorian’s fault. No one knew how to be wicked better than him. All she’d done was change her gowns. Dorian had done the rest.

  He was still doing it, too, Elise noticed once she was settled in the office. She’d glanced out the window and spotted him immediately in the yard, swaggering around in his culottes, chest bare, tools dangling from a belt slung at his hips, blond hair pulled back with a t
hong. She went hot at the sight of all that masculine beauty. There was a private, heady knowledge in knowing It had been hers last night, every intimate inch of it. Oh, yes, she was definitely using him for sex. It was a most liberating thought until her bloody conscience piped up again. If you’re using him for sex, what’s he using you for?

  Sex. The answer came easily and obviously to her. A man such as Dorian liked sex, even needed sex. But what if sex wasn’t the end for him, but the means? The means to what? There was nothing she had that he could possibly want. He technically outranked her if he cared to claim it. His family was richer than hers, again if he wished to claim the connection, while her shipyard teetered on bankruptcy. He wasn’t looking to marry. There was absolutely nothing she had that he didn’t also have. She was overthinking it. Perhaps sex was all it was for him, too. But she couldn’t get one thought out of her head—what if it’s not? What if last night had been calculated for something more than a romp in her sheets?

  Which was why, in spite of her favourable thoughts about what had transpired the previous night, the first words out of her mouth when he came up to the office were, ‘Did you get me drunk on purpose, knowing full well it would make me late to work?’

  Dorian stopped in the doorway, his customary grin on his lips. ‘Feeling a little tap hackled, are we?’ Damn him for not showing a single side effect and he’d drunk twice as much as she. With a tan like his, he wasn’t even pale. It wasn’t fair.

  ‘Well, did you?’

  Dorian took off his tool belt and hung it on the coat rack. ‘No. I’m sorry you’re feeling poorly, though. get some coffee in you and the worst will pass. I can send a runner over to a nearby tavern and get something if you like.’

  Elise shook her head. She hated coffee. ‘No. My headache’s nearly gone. I had hot chocolate this morning.’

  ‘Good, then we can proceed with business. I came up because we need to talk about…’

  Elise drew a breath. Last night. Of course he’d want to talk about it. They would need ground rules. They would need to be clear on expectations or the lack of them before this could happen again.

  ‘The rigging.’

  Elise blinked twice. The rigging? He wasn’t going to talk about last night? She couldn’t decide what was worse. Actually talking about last night or not talking about it at all. Not talking about it treated the incident as if it hadn’t happened.

  ‘Yes, the rigging,’ Dorian repeated. ‘I need to get the mast cut. Have you decided to go with cutter or ketch?’

  ‘I think cutter.’ Elise quickly redirected her thoughts from pleasure to business. ‘I’ve been thinking since our earlier discussion…’ since the night you came to my house and we drank tea by the fire ‘…that cutter rigging gives us the option for installing an inner forestay, which would be useful if someone was looking to sail the boat in both river currents or in the heavier weather of open water.’

  ‘But ketch rigging is more minimalist. If there was an accident, the ketch rigging can go forwards with only the mizzen and headsail functional,’ Dorian argued.

  ‘My ships don’t have accidents,’ Elise countered. ‘I don’t build ships assuming they’ll be destroyed. I build ships designed to win races first, limp home under their own power second. If you build for defeat, that’s exactly what you’ll get.’

  Dorian smiled at her. ‘Bravo, well said. Then the cutter rigging it is.’ The compliment warmed her inexplicably. ‘Now, is there something else you wanted to discuss?’ His blue eyes were dancing and she had the distinct impression she was being teased.

  ‘No. What gave you that idea?’ Elise leaned back in the desk chair, steepling her hands and deciding to play along.

  ‘You seemed startled that I’d come up to discuss rigging. Perhaps you anticipated us talking about something else?’ Dorian crossed the room, skirting the desk and circling her chair.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as last night or tonight or tomorrow night?’ Dorian’s voice was low and private, caressing her as assuredly as a touch.

  ‘I thought you might want to discuss the rules of our association since they seem to have changed overnight, literally.’ Elise thought her reply was quite sophisticated, worldly even.

  Dorian chuckled. ‘You thought I might want to discuss such things? Or is it you who needs to discuss it with me? I don’t need rules, Elise. They ruin the spontaneity. For instance, if we had rules, I might not be able to do this.’ He bent and nipped at her ear lobe, eliciting a gasp of startled delight. ‘Or this.’ His tongue flicked along the shell of her ear, tickling, teasing in its circuitous path.

  It was positively wicked. She needed another word in her vocabulary. With Dorian, wicked was the new normal. He proved it by sliding to his knees in front her.

  ‘Dorian, what are you doing?’ Elise gave an undignified yelp at the feel of his hands running up her legs. ‘Someone could walk in.’

  ‘And see you sitting behind the desk? Fancy that. I’m sure no one sits behind their desk at work.’ His thumbs were at The apex of her thighs, one on each side of her mound, stroking, teasing. ‘They won’t see me. The desk blocks all view of anyone who might be underneath it. Of course, they might think it odd you find ledgers so very exciting.’ His head had joined his hands beneath her skirts, up her legs. He blew against her. ‘It’s up to you, Elise. What will an intruder see? A woman engrossed in her work or her pleasure?’

  She’d always thought of herself as a person of good self-discipline, but the moment Dorian’s tongue flicked along the furrow of her mons, she was lost. There was no doubt anyone who happened into the office would see a woman claiming her pleasure. Dorian’s tongue moved up to lick across her pearl, teasing every last sensation from the little nub until Elise was entirely lost, her hands gripping the arms of the chair, her bottom sliding down ever further in the seat as Dorian conjured up a pleasure so intense she was helpless against it. Perhaps it was the risk of discovery; perhaps it was the host of physical sensations assailing her all at once. The arms of the chair were no help.

  Her hands slid into Dorian’s hair, anchoring and urging, her hands saying what she could not, words having escaped her abilities. Hurry, hurry, take me there to the place where I will shatter. There was fierceness now in his seduction. Dorian’s breath came rapid between her legs, his own body trembling. His hands cupped her buttocks, sandwiching her between his hands and his mouth most intimately, and then it came, wresting from her a cry of elation while Dorian’s head slumped against her thigh in satisfaction.

  ‘Pleasure,’ Elise breathed. ‘They would see pleasure, but not much else considering how far I’ve slid in the chair.’ Dorian chuckled contentedly, the rumble of his laughter muffled against her leg.

  ‘Why are you doing this, Dorian?’ She idly combed through his hair with her fingers, savouring the quietness of the moments that followed such an intense climax.

  ‘Doing what?’ Dorian murmured.

  ‘Seducing me. Don’t deny it.’ She wished there was a cot in the office. She was feeling rather drowsy.

  ‘I wasn’t aware you were opposed to it.’

  ‘I’m not. I just want to know why.’

  Dorian lifted his head. ‘I slept with you, Elise, because you’re a desirable woman and, if my actions haven’t made it clear, I’d like to do so again in the very near future.’ A grin took his face. ‘And you? Why are you seducing me?’

  Elise smiled and gave him a taste of his own. ‘If my actions haven’t made it clear, I am using you for sex.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  What was he doing? Dorian checked his cravat one last time in the little cracked mirror he’d hung over his improvised washstand of two stacked crates. A white ewer and tin basin stood atop the structure, the ewer sporting a hairline fracture of its own running down the side. It wasn’t enough to make the pitcher leak, but it was enough to claim a matched set—cracked ewer, cracked mirror, he liked to joke.

  He could add himself to the set th
ese days. He was cracked in the head the way he was mooning after Elise Sutton. He was Dorian Rowland, he didn’t chase after any skirt. They chased after him. But here he was, digging out one of his three good outfits from his trunk, tying a cravat and haring off for supper with Elise.

  Dissatisfied with his knot, Dorian yanked on his cravat and tried again. He never should have started calling her that. He should have stuck to Princess. He could hardly fault himself for pushing for first names. Any master of seduction knew using a first name early and often was a key component in convincing a woman of his genuine interest. Well, he’d certainly succeeded there. He’d seduced her and himself in the process.

  What had started out as a game to position himself for the boat was rapidly turning into something more. He liked the haughty princess. He liked teasing her with his outrageous comments; liked coaxing her ever so subtly to push the boundaries of convention, and goodness knew he liked what they’d done today in the office. Her pleasure had been contagious and he’d been caught up in it as well.

  Dorian grimaced at the reflection of his cravat. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. It had been a long time since he’d cared about the state of his cravat and even longer since he’d had a valet to tie it for him. While he’d been in the Mediterranean, he’d lived aboard his ship and done for himself, careful not to put himself above his men. This was just one more reminder that he had to caution himself when it came to Elise Sutton.

  She had him caring about things that hadn’t mattered, wanting things that hadn’t mattered for quite a while. Three outfits were plenty. He’d gone months at a time without even needing one of them. But this evening when he’d gone to dress, part of him wished there was at least a different waistcoat to put on, one she hadn’t seen before. He’d worn each of his outfits already: the one to call at her house that evening they’d drunk tea, the other when he’d called the afternoon he’d sent Charles Bradford on his way and the last to dinner at Giovanni’s. Going to Giovanni’s had been risky. Giovanni knew about him, could have spilled the entire sordid truth to Elise. Giovanni wouldn’t have meant any harm. To Giovanni, he was a hero. But Elise would not see the heroics in the things he’d done. Why should she when his own father certainly did not?