She’d been lost in thought when he’d returned. He’d left her at the rail with those thoughts and taken time to spread the blanket on the deck and lay out the picnic: cheese and bread, apples and, best of all, champagne. Elise loved champagne, loved to do wicked things with it.
‘You’ve been busy.’ Elise sat and tucked her skirts around her. He joined her, pulling off his boots. The sun had broken through the clouds and the blanket was warm. The boat bobbed gently beneath them. For the moment, everything was perfect.
‘My father would have loved today,’ Elise said softly, as unwilling as he to disrupt the peace around them. He’d guessed she’d been thinking of her father. How could she not on such an important day? Whether she knew it or not, Elise Sutton had an enormous capacity for love. He suspected, however, it was a capacity she guarded carefully.
‘Sutton’s Hope would have made him proud.’ Dorian popped the cork on the bottle and poured out two glasses. ‘You would have made him proud.’ He handed her a glass. ‘Shall we have a toast? To Richard Sutton, to his vision and to his daughter.’
Elise blushed, her eyes watering a little at the tribute. He was glad she understood he was sincere. ‘Thank you.’ She touched her glass to his. ‘How about a toast to the builder? To Dorian Rowland, a most extraordinary man.’ Her eyes met his, and he let their gaze hold, a feat more difficult than he would have thought. Of all the things they’d said to one another over the past weeks, these toasts might have been the boldest.
These words were the closest they’d come to any verbal expression of their feelings. They’d done things together: rash things, intimate things, dangerous things. But never once had they spoken of how each made the other feel, as if saying the words signified a commitment neither were prepared to make.
‘People say things like this when they believe someone is leaving, perhaps never to be seen again. It’s one of the reasons I hate farewells.’ Dorian set down his glass and reached for the wheel of cheese. ‘Do you think I am leaving, Elise?’ He passed her a chunk of cheese and slice of bread. He’d not planned to address their future today, but perhaps now was the right time after all.
Elise took the slice of cheese and bread from him, gathering her thoughts. Her answer, when she made it, would be careful. ‘I think your business obligations to me are nearly over. If you stay, it will be out of something more. Staying will require some decisions.’
‘We are dancing around it again.’ Dorian gave a wry smile. ‘It was one thing to use me for sex before the Season, but once everyone comes to town you’ll need something more substantial. Is that it?’
He watched her swallow the champagne hastily to keep from choking on it. The bolder turn of the conversation had caught her off guard. ‘Yes, something like that. Sex is fine for now, but eventually it has to mean something.’ She stared into her glass, watching the bubbles disappearing. ‘I’m afraid that’s my fatal flaw, Dorian. You should know it before it’s too late. Sex has to mean something to me. It can’t just be for fun, not always. If we were to continue, eventually, I fear I would expect from you more than you might be prepared to give.’
How could he answer that for her when he wasn’t sure he could answer it for himself? What was he willing to give? It was easier to know that answer if she’d come away with him. But what if the only way to have her was to stay? Her shipyard was here, everything she wanted was here. Would she leave it all for him? Would it be fair to expect that from her when he wasn’t sure he could give it in return? But that wasn’t all she was asking him with the revelation.
She was telling him something else, too—that this had happened before. He’d known, of course, he wasn’t her first lover. There’d been someone else who’d tempted her and failed her. She’d expected love where there’d been none. A spurt of anger went through him, anger directed at the nameless man who’d teased her so carelessly. Dorian’s thumb was under her chin, tipping her face up, forcing their gazes to meet when she would have preferred to have avoided it. ‘Is that what happened the last time?’
‘Yes.’ She met his gaze evenly. There was defiance in her tone. ‘I was more emotionally invested. He was more physically invested. At the time, I didn’t understand the difference until it was too late.’
‘Do you think that will happen here? That you are invested, but I am not?’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘It would be too easy to love you, Dorian, even though I know what kind of man you are. On occasion, I suspect I’m already halfway there. After all, I’ve turned down a perfectly good suitor for you on my own volition.’ Then she shook her head, ‘But, no, Dorian. I don’t think it could happen here. I’m smarter and wiser and you’ve made no secret about your intentions and that makes all the difference.’
Leave it to Elise to mingle compliments with a scold, but he was moved all the same. What would he do with that affection should she let it loose? Could he be trusted with it? Dorian rocked back on his heels and cut more bread while his mind reeled. She loved him. He wanted to celebrate that, wanted to jump up and down with the thrill of that knowledge. But the last part held him back, the part about intentions. He sensed the crux of the story lay there. ‘Why don’t you tell me about secret intentions? We’re well fortified if this is a long story.’
‘There’s not much to tell. I was eighteen. I was in the throes of my first Season. My father’s social circle extended to the lower rungs of the peerage and we had the royal patronage by then. It enabled me to garner the attention of a different kind of gentleman, the sons of barons, which meant there were titles to go with the estates. Before, the most I could have expected were the attentions of nice gentry farmers with lands and a comfortable income. I became infatuated with a Mr Robert Graves, heir to a baronetcy in Devonshire. He was dashing, a little wild, but it appeared he liked me, too. Before I knew it, we were dancing together every night, he was driving me in the park and we were sneaking out to the gardens for kisses.’
‘Kisses?’ Dorian waggled his eyebrows, pretending shock. A little levity was not amiss. She was starting to relax.
‘Well, considerably more than kisses. We became intimately involved. I had no qualms over it. I was certain he had marriage in mind and we wouldn’t have been the first couple to anticipate matrimony. He talked about plans and I assumed those plans were for us.’
Dorian’s anger flared. ‘Who were they for?’ He’d like to wring the bounder’s neck.
‘For his fourth cousin, Miss Mary Southmore,’ Elise said quietly. ‘What hurt most was the way he broke it to me. He said he had never harboured any intentions of marrying me. I was a craftsman’s daughter when all was said and done. My family built boats. I never should have believed anything more could come of it.’
‘I’m truly sorry.’ It explained much about Elise, about the guard she kept on her feelings, not willing to reveal too much.
‘Fortunately, what I felt for him wasn’t real love and I learned from that mistake.’ Elise gave a sad smile.
‘Not every man sees the world as Robert Graves does,’ Dorian put in softly. He stretched out on his side, drawing her to him, wanting to show her there was honour in him yet, that he could be trusted to deal honestly with her.
‘No, but a good lesson all the same.’ She snuggled down beside him, their faces close.
He pushed a strand of hair back out of her face. ‘We both know I’m not Robert Graves, Elise, not in temperament or in practice.’
‘I know,’ she whispered, her breath catching as he moved against her ever so slightly, enough to close the gap between their bodies and to make his arousal known. Her hand slipped between them, finding the length of him. Lord, he loved the feel of her hand on him.
‘Now there’s something else we both know, Elise. I’m dying to make love to you.’
She smiled. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
He leaned over, raising himself above her, hands braced on either side. She was beautiful beneath him, her hair falling down about her shoulde
rs, her green eyes looking up at him full of desire, a desire for him that was nearly overwhelming. Her hands were at the waistband of his trousers, unfastening, freeing. He managed her skirts and undergarments with a hand, his mouth trailing kisses down her throat, need rising with each touch. The wanting of her consumed him.
‘God, how I want you, Elise. You don’t know, you just don’t know.’ He was mumbling incoherent phrases against her throat, his breathing ragged. He moved, positioning himself. He was sliding home into the depths of her and nothing had ever felt this right. She was locked about him, holding him, rocking with him in his rhythm as he slid and thrust, pushing them towards the release he desperately wanted and never wanted; how he’d love to stay like this with her forever! In these moments there was no threat from Tyne, no social dilemmas to unravel regarding their future. There was only the knowledge that he was made for this moment and she was made for him and that was all that mattered, until it shattered into a million shards of pleasure, peace and perfection.
In the aftermath of that release, one question intruded: what would he be willing to do to have such a moment again? Could he stay for her? for this?
He’d stayed for her! Today, Dorian would be at the helm of the boat and at her side. He would stand with her on one of the most important days of her life: the day she showed the world Elise Sutton could build a yacht.
That one thought raced through Elise as she made her way through the streets leading to the docks. It was the opening trip and the streets were crowded with people anticipating the start of the yacht season. Spectators gathered along the waterfront to see the boats, sails hoisted, preparing to set out. Elise understood their excitement. She felt it, too. After a long bleak winter, there was an undeniable thrill at seeing the Commodore’s pennant flying from his yacht at Blackwell as it had in seasons past, a sign that while some things change, not all things change.
She let the excitement of the opening trip fill the pit in her stomach. Even if there was just the opening trip to worry about, she’d still have had butterflies. It was her first official outing since her father’s death. There would be those who would look askance at such behaviour.
But there was so much more. There’d been an ugly scene with Charles the day before. She had officially rejected his suit and he’d shown himself to be a poor loser. There was Tyne and Hart to worry about. She couldn’t keep them dangling much longer, but to refuse them outright put her in harm’s way. Then there was Dorian and the host of feelings and dilemmas he raised.
He was here for now, but for how much longer? Had they really reached any sort of consensus on the boat in spite of their disclosures and torrid lovemaking? Charles had not been wrong when he’d accused her of being infatuated with Dorian. She was and quite possibly more. Charles had insinuated Dorian had put her up to this nonsense with the yacht, but Elise knew better. She’d have ended up here, flaunting convention, with or without Dorian. Dorian simply made it easier. With Dorian, she had an ally.
Dorian was waiting for her beside the yacht, a welcome sight in the press of people. He was dressed in the new outfit she’d had sent over: spotless white trousers and a navy-blue jacket. He looked like the other captains, only more—more alive, more vibrant.
‘Miss Sutton, your yacht awaits.’ Dorian handed her up with grave formality that she might have believed if it hadn’t been for the familiar twinkle of mischief in his eye. ‘Several people have been eyeing the boat.’
‘Jealous, were they?’ Elise laughed, forcing herself to relax. She’d worked hard for this day. She wanted to enjoy it. Ladies passed by on the arms of gentlemen, many of them casting coy glances in Dorian’s direction. ‘I wonder if it was the yacht everyone was looking at?’ she teased Dorian.
‘Probably not,’ he admitted honestly, taking his place at the helm. ‘You’d better be prepared for scandal by dinner.’
Scandal would be better than some of the other options she’d mentally braced for. Elise went to stand at the railing and looked out over the river at all the boats assembled. She recognised several of them; the Lady Louisa, the Brilliant, the Phantom. All of them had been her father’s competitors and friends over the years. She waved to a few acquaintances on boats nearby. Some of them waved back.
Well, Charles had warned her. Dorian had warned her. She’d built a boat, she’d forgone mourning and she’d hired a scandalous captain. What should she have expected? Still, it was one thing to anticipate being snubbed—it was another to actually have it happen. It was rather eye-opening to realise that she would be the larger source of scandal than Dorian.
A fast boat will pay for all. Elise repeated her sustaining mantra. They would see what Sutton’s Hope could do and they’d cease to care about anything else. She’d come to the conclusion that she could build other boats like the Hope without selling it. In theory, it was a conclusion that gave her the best of both worlds. Of course, she had to impress them today and then she’d have to impress them on the race course. Rather, Dorian would have to impress them.
She needn’t have worried on that account. Dorian knew exactly what to do. The opening trip was technically non-competitive, but that didn’t stop people from jockeying for position behind the Commodore’s yacht or from showing off. Dorian made the most of the Hope’s sleek manoeuvrability, deftly coming up on the Commodore’s starboard side for prime positioning. A few captains, less concerned about issues of social status and more concerned with appreciating good sailing, shouted back good-natured comments.
Most of the captains had been hired for the event as they would be for the races. Few owners captained their own yachts any more, having learned from experience that a well-built yacht wasn’t always enough to win. One needed a talented captain, too.
The Commodore came to the railing of his yacht and called over, ‘That’s a fine-looking yacht, Miss Sutton. Is that one of your father’s?’
‘The last one, sir, and the only one of its kind!’ Elise called back proudly over the wind.
‘She’s a gem. I look forward to seeing her race.’
One down. Elise hid a triumphant smile. At least they weren’t going to kick her out of the yacht club. Without membership, she wasn’t eligible for the regattas.
The opening sail took them past Erith and Rosherville, all the way to Gravesend where rooms had been spoken for at Wates Hotel. There would be dinner and dancing to celebrate the opening of the season. Some people would drive home in prearranged carriages. A few, like Dorian and Elise, would sail back although it would be dark.
Dorian was dazzling at dinner, all manners and polish. He charmed the ladies with flirtatious banter and compliments. He impressed the men with his knowledge of ships and the state of English presence in the Mediterranean. Surely, this Dorian Rowland could be received back into society.
Chapter Twenty-One
The thought hit her hard. Was that what she wanted? Dorian to stay in London and take up his mantle as a duke’s son? She supposed so. She’d certainly thought of Dorian staying. She’d not spent much time dwelling on the details of it. Surely, the latter would be part of it. Elise wasn’t the only one who thought so, either. The ladies’ retiring room was full of the same conversation. There wasn’t a woman there who didn’t want to talk about Dorian.
‘I thought I’d faint when he sat down beside me at dinner.’
‘He’s so handsome!’
‘Oohh, those blue eyes seemed to look right through me.’
‘What I wouldn’t give for my husband to look at me like he did.’ That was just the matrons. The daughters were equally as giddy.
‘Mama says he’s not received!’ one girl whispered behind her painted fan.
‘I think that makes him even more delicious,’ another said, trying to be wicked.
‘He’s still a lord. He’s the Duke of Ashdon’s son,’ another added practically. ‘His wife would still be a lady.’
On it went. Elise would have laughed at their nonsense if it hadn’t so closely mirr
ored her own thoughts. Part of her wished Dorian was always like this, the perfect fairy-tale rogue who turned out to be a gentleman in the end. The other part of her knew better than to want that or to believe it. Dorian wasn’t going to magically become a prince. He wasn’t exactly a pirate, either, but somewhere in between, and that would not be good enough for London society.
Elise wondered what the ladies would think if they could see him in his culottes, his chest bare, a knife between his teeth or up against the throat of an unruly worker. The silly girls in the retiring room had no idea what Dorian could do to them, their minds limited to a chaste kiss stolen in a dimly lit garden. But she knew and it was beyond any of their imaginings. Worse, she didn’t want to think of anyone else being the recipient of such decadent efforts.
Elise left the retiring room as soon as she could, unable to stand any more talk of Dorian. A few women cast unfavourable looks her way as she passed. She didn’t need to hear what they said to know the content of the conversation that would take place shortly. She’d heard similar snatches throughout the evening. The gentlemen had been polite at dinner, asking her questions about Sutton’s Hope, but the women had been less so.
‘It’s shameful how soon she left off mourning.’
‘I hear she’s attempting to run her father’s business.’
‘To show up here with Lord Rowland, of all people! Doesn’t she know better?’
To which one catty woman responded, ‘She knows better, I’d wager my pin money on it.’ The woman might as well have called her a blatant hussy. It was patently unfair that Dorian, who was a real scoundrel, had shown up after years of absenteeism and been an object of acceptable curiosity while she hadn’t done more than try to make her own way in the world and was shunned for it.
‘Smile, Elise. People are watching. You look as if you want to flay someone alive.’ Dorian materialised at her side the moment the orchestra struck up. ‘The retiring room all you’d hoped it would be?’
A Lady Dares Page 18
