A Lady Dares

by Bronwyn Scott

  Remember the plan, Dorian told himself, shutting the door to the shed behind him and whistling for Drago, who was turning out to be quite the guard dog. He was to convince Elise not to sell the boat. Then he was to convince Elise to sell or give the boat to him on generous terms. He’d pay her for it, he just didn’t have the money upfront, something she could relate to.

  Dorian stopped in the yard to rub Drago’s head and stare up at the boat. It was really coming along. It would be every bit as magnificent as he’d imagined, perfect for running cargos in the Mediterranean, legal or otherwise. Of course, there was more money in ‘otherwise’.

  ‘Stay, guard the boat,’ he told Drago. The yacht had to be completed for his plans to move forwards. If the boat were destroyed, his seduction would have been for naught. Well, not for naught, he’d rather enjoyed it. It wasn’t as if it had been unpleasant work, or work at all, which was the problem. Genuinely liking Elise hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was now. Although, she might not like him if he kept her waiting. She’d invited him to dinner and he was running late. The carriage had probably been outside already for a good ten minutes.

  Dorian secured the gate and settled into the carriage. He felt in his coat pocket to assure himself it was still there, a small gift for Elise. He might be the Scourge of Gibraltar, but he had enough breeding to know a man didn’t show up for dinner empty-handed. Manners seduced just as surely as kisses.

  His previous visits had been different. He’d been strictly an employee then, reporting on business. The gift was small, something from his travels, but it was all he had to offer. He was currently not a rich man, although once he could have dazzled her with silks and spices and jewels beyond compare. And arms. Don’t forget the arms. A gun wasn’t exactly an appropriate hostess gift. Then he remembered the pistol she’d wielded the first day they met. It had been bulky and unwieldy in her hands, too heavy for her. Maybe Elise would like a gun, a lady’s pistol perhaps with a pearled handle, one that could fit in a reticule.

  A lamp glowing through the lace curtains welcomed him when he alighted. Everything was as it should be, a quiet town house preparing for a quiet evening. No one could argue anything improper, Dorian thought as he climbed the stairs. There were other carriages in the street, taking people to evening entertainments. Not nearly as many carriages as there would be in a few weeks when the Season started. Then, this quiet square would be thronged. A man sat across the street, reading a newspaper on a bench near the key park.

  If he hadn’t been so absorbed in the mental exercise of picking out a gun for Elise, he might have noted how odd it was to be reading the newspaper on a park bench this time of night when the light was fading. As it was, Dorian didn’t think much of it, his thoughts occupied with other things.

  Elise was waiting for him in the drawing room, looking particularly lovely in a gown of deep turquoise, her hair drawn up high on her head with a few tendrils left to curl temptingly at her neck.

  ‘Dorian, welcome.’ She came to him with outstretched hands, the greeting warm and yet formal, just the right tone to strike in front of the servants, he thought, taking those hands and bending in to kiss her cheek, the kind of greeting close friends or family relations might exchange. What a hostess she would make, sitting at the head of some nobleman’s table—or his table in the Gibraltar villa. What was he thinking? He couldn’t ask her to sit at his table. He’d seduced her, but he couldn’t keep her. It wasn’t in the plan. This sudden change of feeling wasn’t in the plan, either, and he didn’t quite understand where it had come from, only that it was here. Elise Sutton had definitely become more than a physical interest.

  Her eyes were alight with excitement. He knew instantly she had news, good news. ‘Something has happened since I saw you this afternoon,’ Dorian remarked. It must have been good because she was definitely recovered from any lingering effects of her hangover.

  ‘Yes, and there’s just enough time to tell you before dinner.’ Elise went over to the console table against the wall and opened a drawer, taking out a paper. ‘No machetes. My drawers aren’t nearly as exciting as yours.’

  Dorian grinned. ‘Your drawers were plenty exciting this afternoon, as I recall.’

  ‘And here I thought you were going to be on your best behaviour.’ Elise handed him the paper, but not before the slightest hint of a blush stained her cheeks.

  ‘What’s the fun in that?’ Dorian took the paper and scanned it, noting the seal of the Royal Thames Yacht Club at the top and the signature of the club president, Commodore William Harrison. ‘You have membership? You?’ He hadn’t wanted to bring the subject up with her before, but if she meant to keep racing with them, she’d need membership with her father gone.

  ‘I do.’ She looked so pleased with herself, so lovely and smug he didn’t want to bring her down. Yet it was so extraordinary and unlikely that they’d award membership to a female.

  ‘How did you do it, Elise?’

  ‘I simply signed my brother’s name to the application and wrote a letter asking that the membership which my father had held be continued.’

  Dorian smiled. His princess was inventive. ‘Was there a reason William couldn’t do it himself?’

  ‘He’s away at Oxford, it would take too much time to bother him.’ She turned away to put the letter back in the drawer, but he sensed she was far more uncomfortable with that answer than she had been sharing her deception.

  Dorian went to her, his hands at her arms. ‘Tell me, Elise, will William be surprised to hear he’s now a member of the Royal Yacht Club?’

  ‘It hardly matters. The membership is paid and the deed is done. There’s nothing William can do except cause unnecessary awkwardness.’ She turned to face him, her arms twining about his neck, lips parted in invitation. ‘I have champagne chilling with dinner to celebrate.’

  ‘Then we shall celebrate.’ But Dorian recognised her efforts for what they were—a distraction, a very lovely one, a very inviting one. She could not have made it plainer that she didn’t want to talk about her brother. Interesting. He’d been under the impression they were close. But in his experience, one did not look gift horses in the mouth, one kissed them, except when stiff butlers might walk in at any moment to announce dinner. He’d wait and hope for better things when those butlers weren’t around.

  Fortunately, the butler and footmen made themselves scarce after laying the meal. Elise had arranged for the meal to be served en famille and had kept the fare simple: a roast, baby potatoes and carrots and fresh bread along with the promised champagne and a tray of cheeses and fruit at the ready, waiting on the sideboard for dessert.

  The table had been thoughtfully prepared, too: two chairs situated close to one another, two single candles in silver holders instead of a massive, imposing candelabra. It was a daringly intimate setting. It made Dorian wonder if perhaps tonight she meant to seduce him. A most arousing thought indeed.

  ‘I told the servants we didn’t need to stand on ceremony tonight,’ Elise explained, delightfully flustered for a moment.

  ‘That’s all right,’ Dorian whispered huskily at her ear, his hand light but proprietary at her back as he ushered her to her seat. ‘It’s much more fun to sit on it.’

  What a terribly bold comment. Elise wished she had some witty comeback but she came up with nothing but a pointed look that said she understood the naughty nuances. As far as she was concerned, he could sit on it, lay on it, jump on it, she didn’t care which as long as they didn’t talk about William.

  Evans poured champagne before retreating with the rest of the staff. Elise took a sip to cover her nerves. Ice-cold champagne was her absolute favourite, one of the few things she’d enjoyed about her Seasons in London. Dorian had guessed correctly that William would not approve. Her brother wasn’t opposed to the yacht club, he just wouldn’t see the need for it, not when he felt they should be closing the shipyard and moving on.

  But Dorian wasn’t as compelled to leave the subject alo
ne. ‘How is William doing with his studies?’

  ‘He’s doing fine. He loves it.’ There’d only been the two letters since he’d left, but she justified their scarcity knowing he was busy. ‘He doesn’t have much time to write once he’s immersed in his studies.’

  Dorian laughed. ‘Oxford must have changed since my time. Are you sure it’s his studies he’s “immersed” in and not some pretty tavern wench?’

  Elise fixed him with a disapproving stare. She might be at odds with William over the shipyard, but he was her brother. ‘I am sure. Not everyone goes to Oxford to carouse.’ Still, she was a little surprised he’d gone to Oxford at all. He didn’t seem the university type. Libraries and lecture halls seemed far too confining for the likes of Dorian Rowland.

  ‘Everyone gets the education they need at Oxford, books or otherwise,’ Dorian put in. ‘There’s no question of that.’

  Elise leaned forwards. ‘What kind of education did you get, Dorian?’

  ‘Otherwise.’ Dorian winked and she laughed. ‘And it’s served me well in my line of work.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Building ships, sailing ships,’ Dorian answered easily between bites of the meat.

  ‘That’s all? Just building and sailing ships? That’s hardly scandalous.’ It wasn’t nearly scandalous enough to be so completely cast out of society. The candlelight was doing fabulous things to his hair, burnishing and shadowing all those golden hues.

  ‘It is if you’re the son of the Duke of Ashdon. Dukes’ sons don’t deal in trade or carpentry,’ Dorian answered calmly.

  ‘But you were a captain of your own ship. Surely that’s enough to garner respectability and it’s not as if you are the heir. Your father should have been glad you had turned your hand to something.’ Elise wasn’t going to let go of this chance to learn more about the socially exiled Dorian Rowland.

  ‘Is reconciliation really so out of the question?’ she asked softly. Her family had been everything to her and she missed it dreadfully now that it had fallen apart, everyone scattered to their own corners, living their own lives.

  Dorian drained his glass. ‘Yes. And we’ll leave it at that. This is supposed to be a celebration.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘To the Royal Thames Yacht Club and the hopes of next season.’

  And to the hopes they wouldn’t mind too terribly much once they realised William had no intention of showing up at any of the races, Elise added silently. She was through the first hurdle. She had the membership. It was time for the second. She drew a deep breath. ‘There’s something else I hope we can celebrate tonight as well.’

  Dorian’s eyes glittered wickedly with indecent thoughts that made her shiver with anticipation. ‘I am sure there is.’

  Best to come straight out with it. ‘I want you to captain the yacht on the opening trip.’ She’d made her decision once word had come of her membership application.

  ‘Elise, do you know what you’re asking?’ Something clouded the glitter of his gaze.

  ‘Yes, I am asking you to stay beyond your contract. We’d agreed you could go once the boat was done, but now I need you to stay. It’s not for much longer than originally planned,’ Elise argued gently. She really did need him to stay. It made sense. He knew the boat, every last timber of it. He’d be the only one to have taken it for a trial. He had no pending engagements to be elsewhere that she knew of. He’d mentioned nothing other than the need to pay back Halsey for the confiscated cargo.

  ‘Elise, it’s more than that.’ Dorian shook his head, looking distinctly uncomfortable for the first time in their acquaintance. ‘You’re asking me to enter into society. Society and I parted ways a long time ago.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s time to re-enter,’ she answered staunchly. ‘What do you have to lose? If they’ve already rejected you for good, then nothing changes. But if they were willing to give you another chance, opportunities might open up.’ She felt a bit dishonest here. She was hoping those opportunities might be with her shipyard. Perhaps he could be persuaded to stay on as master builder.

  He reached for her hands, covering them with his grip, warm and firm. ‘Elise, I’m not worried for me. I don’t care what they think of me now or ever. I’ve made my choices. I am worried for you. Don’t you see what association with me could do to you? All your plans will be for naught.’

  ‘People know you’re here already.’ Something tugged at her heart to hear him speak so disparagingly of himself. ‘Charles knows, and who knows who else knows by now that you’re working at the shipyard?’

  ‘A select group of yachters probably do know,’ Dorian agreed. ‘That’s not the same as the whole of society knowing. It’s also not the same as flaunting it in their faces. The yachting community might tolerate me being around behind the scenes, but to put me up on your deck in the role of captain would be to rub their noses in it. You need someone who will be good for business.’

  Elise cocked her head to one side, considering. ‘You will be good for business. I am banking on you and all your notoriety, Dorian, and of course a fast ship pays for all. No one will care if you’d stolen the Crown Jewels when the boat is as fine as ours.’ She’d known it would be a hard sell. She shouldn’t be surprised that he was proving so resistant. She was surprised she felt so very desperate inside when she’d had his measure all along.

  Elise eyed the remaining champagne, just a bit in the bottle, but enough for what she intended. ‘It seems like you could do with a little more persuading. Let’s see what we can do about that.’

  She knelt before him, hands at the fastenings of his trousers, pleased to note that he was rising for her already, his manhood roused at her first touch. Pleased, too, that he understood this was a game of sorts. She wanted to do this for him. It was as arousing to her to touch him, to take him like this, as it was for him to be taken. This was no literal act of whoring herself to get what she wanted.

  Elise opened his trousers and took him in her hand, feeling the pulsing heat of him. ‘You are so big.’

  Dorian chuckled, sliding down in his chair to better position himself for her. ‘That’s what every man wants to hear, Princess.’

  ‘I doubt every man is as well endowed,’ Elise said coyly, starting to move her hand up and down his shaft, smoothing the bead of moisture from his tip over the entirety of his length. She reached for the bottle of champagne and glanced up naughtily at him while she poured the remnants over his length.

  ‘That’s a bit cold.’ Dorian jumped a bit at the contact. She felt a moment’s guilt.

  ‘I know, but my mouth isn’t.’ She closed her lips over the head of his shaft, taking in the salt of him and the dry sweetness of the champagne all at once. It was a heady ambrosia made all the more delicious when mixed with Dorian’s moans of approval. She worked him with her mouth, sucking and licking until she was sure all his reservations had deserted him.

  He was pulsing and tense, she could feel the muscles of his thighs quivering with the effort to hold back, his hands clenching the sides of his chair, his back arching his body up to her. That’s when everything shattered.

  Literally shattered.

  Her head flew up from between Dorian’s legs and Dorian exploded from the chair with lightning speed. He raced towards the drawing room. She was steps behind, skittering to a stop at the sight of broken glass on the floor and flames from the destroyed lamp racing up the heavy curtains.

  Oh, lord, her house was on fire.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elise grabbed a vase, the first item she laid eyes on with any water in it, and doused the curtains with a splash, petals and all, to little effect. Dorian seized a section of the curtains that hadn’t caught fire and yanked hard, bringing down the portières with a crash. ‘Watch your skirts!’

  Elise backed away just in time to avoid catching fire herself while Dorian smothered the flames with great stomps from his boots. The room filled with her staff, alerted to trouble by the commotion and already carrying buckets. Dorian
shouted orders and the flames began to diminish. They were gaining on it. Five minutes later, they conquered it. She wasn’t going to lose the house, but what a mess!

  There was a jagged hole in the broken window, glass shards scattered on the floor and the curtains obviously beyond repair. Smoke and flames had damaged the hard woods where the curtains had landed. Dorian’s decision had likely saved the house. If the flames had gone up the curtains to the ceiling, nothing could have stopped the fire from spreading. Smoke and water stained the furniture.

  Elise began to make mental notes. Furniture could be cleaned and repaired, she’d need new curtains, and a carpenter to repair the floor and she’d need a new window. That would be the first priority. She could imagine what the house looked like from the street.

  The neighbours! An involuntary gasp escaped her and she covered her mouth with her hand as if to try to hold it in. What must they think? With a shattered front window, there was no disguising the disaster. ‘There will be no hiding this,’ Elise mused out loud. Her eyes met Dorian’s across the room where he stood by the broken window. ‘Is there a crowd? Is it very bad?’ she asked, hoping for the best.

  Dorian’s response confirmed the worst. ‘Shall I get rid of them for you?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. He strode to the door and stepped outside. She could hear his commanding tones carrying down to the street. ‘We’re all fine here, just a rock that was kicked up by a passing carriage. You can go about your evenings. Thank you for your concern.’

  ‘They’re gone.’ Dorian smiled when he returned inside, looking all the more handsome for the mess he sported. His hair was loose, his shirt mostly untucked from the waistband of his trousers—that was her fault, not the fire’s.