A Lady Dares (10 page)

‘Let go, Elise. Let go for me.’ Dorian’s voice was ragged at her ear, his own breathing coming in pants as he stroked her, his own body rigid against hers. It was all the coaxing she needed. Elise arched one last time and shattered, her world an expanding kaleidoscope of sensations, her body shaking, her knees quivering. She remained upright due only to the strength of Dorian’s arms and the old oak at her back. Dorian’s eyes glittered dark and dangerous in their desire, watching her explode.

‘I think there is no more beautiful sight than a woman achieving her pleasure.’ He leaned an arm against the oak, his hair falling in his face as he bracketed her with his body. He was hoarse, proof that the moment had not moved her alone.

‘And a man? He is beautiful in pleasure, too?’ It had not escaped her that he had yet to find his own release. His muscles were taut
against the lines of his clothes, the tension of his own need obvious.

Dorian smiled wickedly, encouragingly. ‘You should judge for yourself. After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’

The moonlight had made her reckless. She reached for him, cupping him between his legs as he had her. He was hard against her touch, so very long, so very rigid, a potent force beneath his trousers. ‘Or the hand, as the case may be.’

D
orian flicked open his trousers in a deft movement. ‘Then by all means, my lady.’ Her hand closed around him, firm and decisive, sliding to the root of him. Dorian sucked in his breath, letting her learn him. The firmness of her grasp was a sign of her confidence if not also her knowledge. There was wide-eyed appreciation in her gaze even as she recognised the power she held in those moments. She was newly come to such intimacies, but not without imagination.

She stroked up, finding the wet, tender tip of him, a smile lighting her face at the discovery. She stroked downwards and then up again, establishing a rhythm that fired his blood. Her hand was cool and welcome on
his heated flesh. He would not last long at this rate, nor did he want to. The promise of exquisite relief waited just beyond the moment. Dorian reached back and dug his hands into the bark of the tree, pumping hard into her hand, uttering a harsh groan as release took him.

Elise was exultant. ‘What are you smiling at?’ Dorian teased.

‘I’m smiling because I was right. A man
is
beautiful in his pleasure.’

‘I don’t think anyone has ever called me beautiful before,’ Dorian drawled with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. He kissed her then, drawing her close against him so she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see how the comment affected him. He felt the first stirrings of new arousal. There was more he’d like to do with her, this bold princess of his, but not tonight, although his body was willing.

He was no stranger to seduction. He’d seduced women before: married women, widowed women, flirtatious débutantes, the touched and the untouched. He had few boundaries when it came to sex. What boundaries he did have, Elise was provoking. His earlier thoughts about coveting and protecting
were threatening to resurface at a most vulnerable time—right after intimacy when he was open to susceptibilities. ‘We need to get back,’ he murmured against her hair.

The walk to the hidden door was quiet, but not awkward. They’d strolled slowly, his arm about her waist, keeping her close. He had no doubt her mind was as full as his was at present. Their spontaneous outing had been illuminating, although probably for different reasons. Dorian found it was easier, less troublesome to his conscience, to think about her thoughts than his. He was not convinced this was her first encounter with raw passion—perhaps with the depth of pleasure the encounter had wrung from her, but not the nature of the encounter itself. Still, first encounter or not, he could guess what was racing through her mind: what had she done? Was there shock or shame over her own audacity? Was she pleased at the discovery of such pleasure? Emboldened by it even? Or did she think herself the wanton for having enjoyed it? And she
had
enjoyed it, Dorian knew she had. Most of all, she was likely wondering what it meant. Anything? Nothing? Everything?

That was the place at which his thoughts intersected with hers and it was where he’d made his first mistake. By his own rules, he shouldn’t have allowed it to happen—not yet, not without an agreement. Up until now, all of his seductions occurred
after
some explicit or implicit plan had been established, interest signalled and accepted by both parties.

With that signalling came an understanding. What would proceed would be a seduction in which he would gladly take the lead, but to which there would be an end. There would be nothing beyond. If and when both parties concurred on those negotiations,
then
such things as what had transpired tonight would take place, but not before.

Tonight had got the plan backwards. And he’d set himself up for it. He’d gone to her house to inform Elise of the break-in. He should have left it at that. He should not have allowed himself to be moved by the stoic sight of her bearing yet more bad news on those slender shoulders. He should not have been moved by the way she’d turned into him:
I just wanted to build my father’s boat
. And he
never
should have said the words that had followed:
we will
. If Elise Sutton was walking
beside him right now thinking they were in this together, that she could trust him, that he would stand beside her through whatever might come, it was his fault.

As if to confirm it, Elise spoke softly. ‘When I first met you, I didn’t like you very much.’

‘And now?’ They’d reached the hidden door and he held it open for her.

She smiled up at him as she passed. ‘And now I like you a bit more. Are we becoming friends, Dorian Rowland?’

‘Friends? No, never that.’ Dorian chuckled. Whatever it was he wanted from Elise Sutton, he wanted far more than friendship. He waved down a late-night wherry man.

‘Then what?’ Elise asked once they were on board, watching the Westminster stairs come into view.

‘Something else,’ Dorian answered cryptically, wrapping his arms about her, hoping his touch would be answer enough until he could work out a better one. Although the answer, when he found it, might not please her. But tonight was not the time to tell her that women relied on him for sex, nothing more. Anything beyond momentary pleasure was
not his to give. He’d not proven reliable in that regard in the past and he had no reason to believe it would be any different this time. He was coming to believe his father might be right. Singular devotion simply wasn’t in him. And that’s what Elise Sutton would expect from a man. It’s what she had a
right
to expect.

He saw her safely home, part of him worried Tyne might try to personalise his attacks. It had occurred to him that Tyne would seek retaliation for the discomfort of his two henchmen and that Elise would be a natural target.

‘Will the boat be all right?’ she asked in the darkness of the carriage as it drew to a stop in front of the town house. Dorian chuckled. Her mind had moved on from the pleasures of the evening to what had brought them together in the first place. Or perhaps it was her way of restoring balance to what had become a deeply personal evening with an unlikely partner.

‘I took on a guard dog today and alerted the watch, although I put more faith in the dog.’ Dorian chuckled. ‘He’s a big brindle hound
and
he
can’t be bought.’ Dorian was fairly certain Damien Tyne would see to the watch soon enough and there’d be little protection from that quarter once Tyne’s machine was in motion.

Dorian opened the door and pulled down the steps. Playing the gentleman had come easy to him this evening. It was a bit of a surprise to see how easily it’d come back to him. ‘Goodnight, Elise.’

‘Goodnight, Dorian. Thank you for the evening.’ She smiled politely at him as if she’d not pleasured him just an hour before, or screamed her own pleasure to the skies a quarter of an hour before that. When she wanted, Elise Sutton could be a cool customer. But he knew better. She wasn’t cool in the least. An arousal started at just the thought of all her heat, all her passion hidden behind the calm exterior with which she met the world.

‘The hull is nearly timbered, then we’ll caulk,’ Dorian said in hopes of subduing his arousal before it became troublesome. ‘I will contact you when it’s finished. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.’

Disappointment clouded her eyes. Disappointment
over not seeing him tomorrow or disappointment in not being invited to the shipyard? With Elise it could be either or both. ‘You will contact me if there’s trouble before that?’

‘Yes, most certainly.’ He gave her a short bow. ‘Goodnight.’

Disappointment? Relief? Elise wasn’t sure what she should feel. She tried to sort through those feelings while she got ready for bed. She’d dismissed her maid as soon as she could. Whatever those feelings were, she wanted to sift through them alone.

Her maid and Evans had waited up for her, concerned that she’d been working late. She felt terrible for the deception. They’d been worried and she’d been out having fun. Of course, they would have worried more if they’d known the truth. What she’d done tonight had been scandalous. Breaking into Vauxhall had been a minor scandal compared to what else had transpired.

Even alone in the dark of her room, she blushed at the memory. But not from shame. What had occurred between her and Dorian had been intimate and wondrous. She had
never guessed such pleasure existed. Would it happen again?
Could
she let it happen again?

The right answer was no. She should not risk it. Dorian was clearly no stranger to such circumstances. But it would change the nature of their relationship. Perhaps it already had. He was building her ship. She was in charge. What if he sought to use seduction as a means to usurp her authority or to place himself in the role of an equal partner?

Elise bit her lip, thinking of all the mistakes she’d made over the evening. She had turned to him in the drawing room, seeking comfort from the disastrous news. She’d allowed him to be in charge of their adventure—an entirely
delinquent
adventure. In short, she’d allowed herself to be weak for a few hours only, but even those few hours could have been potentially damaging. He would finish the boat and he would leave. And she would what? Be alone? In the dark, Elise strengthened her resolve. she needed to begin as she meant to go on, by herself. Anything else was too risky and right now she had too much at stake for any more risks other than the ones she was already taking.

Besides, her practical self reminded her,
Dorian Rowland was a poor risk to take. He was fun and clever and he loved ships as she did. He’d had exciting adventures galore. In short, he represented a life she envied. But he was also dangerous; a social enigma with a clouded past that most likely involved exile from his family. What he had said about Damien Tyne had been most revealing.
I was in a position to know
.

It spoke volumes. Dorian Rowland had captained the
Queen Maeve
, was called the Scourge of Gibraltar and fraternised with gun runners. He might not have a golden earring dangling from his ear lobe or a tattoo on his cheek, but he was nothing more than a pirate himself, a most delicious and dangerous discovery indeed.

‘W
e’ve been discovered and so soon in the game. Your men were not as reliable as hoped,’ Maxwell said bluntly, knowing full well that few men dared to speak to Damien Tyne with such arch boldness. In the privacy of his own study, he could say whatever he damned well pleased. It was part of the reason he’d insisted they meet here instead of the coffee house. The other reason was that one discovery was all he wanted to risk.

Tyne’s single slip had changed the nature of the game. If he wanted his hands on that property and Sutton’s last yacht by April, things would have to progress faster and more covertly than planned. For his part, Maxwell didn’t want Rowland or anyone connecting
him with Tyne while play was in motion. He wouldn’t admit it to Tyne, but he was anxious. He couldn’t afford for this gambit to get too messy. He was the legitimate face of their questionable business. He had to stay as clean as Tyne was dirty.

Across from him in the other chair, Tyne didn’t appear the least perturbed by the latest developments. He gave his brandy an indolent swirl. ‘It was unfortunate Rowland chose that moment to return.’

‘What was
unfortunate,’
Maxwell said with emphasis, ‘was that
two
men were overpowered by one. Two men, I might add, who specialise in violent living. They should have been more than enough for Rowland.’

Tyne shrugged. ‘Our Miss Sutton is building a boat and Rowland is helping her. Don’t belabour it. In the end we got what we went for.’

‘Yes, and at a great price,’ Maxwell groused, unable to be as glib.

Tyne leaned forwards, clearly undaunted by the scolding. Then again, he didn’t have an identity to protect. Anyone who knew Damien Tyne knew exactly what he was. ‘Maybe this can work to our benefit. Rowland will have
told her. She knows it’s me. That should scare her, perhaps enough for you to make an offer she’ll listen to.’

‘She rebuffed the investors when they first offered to buy her out.’ Hart had been a quiet, invisible party to that negotiation. He’d been shocked when the lucrative offer had been turned down, even more shocked when the investors had offered it a second time after threatening to force a refund of their monies if she didn’t sell. She’d refused and she’d paid their threat.

‘She wasn’t scared then. She was in the throes of mourning and wrapped up in sentimentality. Such emotions can make a person brave and stupid,’ Tyne said silkily. ‘Now, she’s had months of realities. Now, she’s alone, her funds are depleted and she knows with definite certainty there’s no white knight riding to her rescue. She’s far more desperate than she was earlier and she’s about to be more so.’ Tyne gave an evil smile that raised even the hairs on the back of Maxwell’s neck.

‘What have you done?’ Maxwell asked cautiously. He was just as ruthless as Tyne, but far more subtle. Tyne didn’t appreciate finesse.

‘Don’t worry, nothing much. There’s a disgruntled worker at the shipyard who doesn’t like our Mr Rowland. It seems Mr Rowland put a knife to his throat for looking at the lady wrong, which is interesting enough in itself. Seems Mr Rowland has developed a fascination for the Sutton girl.’ Tyne sighed dramatically. ‘The man would have left, but I’m paying him to stay. He will be useful not only for information, but for the odd bit of sabotage when the time comes. If I were you, I’d get my bid ready within the week.’

It had been a week since their outing to Vauxhall and Elise suspected she’d have gone round the bend before the morning was out if the note from Dorian hadn’t arrived. She might still go crazy from the excitement the note had stirred in her. The boat was done! Well, not precisely
done
. The hull was timbered and caulked. There was still plenty to do, but this was an enormous step forwards.

Elise glanced at the mantel clock in the sitting room, the note clutched in her hand. Dorian would be here within the hour. There was just enough time to change. She rang for her maid and headed upstairs.

It was ridiculous to be so giddy over the prospect of Dorian’s call and the subsequent journey out of the house, but she could understand it. In the past week she’d written countless letters, cleaned the attics and still had plenty of time left over for her thoughts. She’d thought about everything and anything in the interminable days since Vauxhall.

Never had she felt at such loose ends while she waited for news. By her efforts she’d become a prisoner in her own home. She was on her own for the first time in her life, had more freedom than ever and yet the very aloneness constrained her. Oh, heavens, just listen to her! She hated sounding like Charles. Worse, she hated
acting
like Charles. She could almost hear Dorian’s mocking laugh in her head, chiding her for prudish notions. In fact, she’d been chiding herself over such behaviour this week. This was
not
who she was.

This week, she’d come to recognise that her father’s death had left her in no man’s land. She couldn’t go out and socialise and yet she didn’t want to stay home alone, hidden away. Young daughters weren’t required to wear black, but she was too old to be considered in that category. Even her clothes
were in fashion limbo, she thought, staring at the muted lavender and grey gowns. They weren’t strictly appropriate for this phase of her mourning, but it was all the concession she was willing to make. Luckily, she looked fair enough in those shades. But she looked
better
in deep, rich jewel tones. With that erroneous thought, the ideas that had chased each other around her mind all week began to coalesce into one momentous decision.

‘Perhaps this one, miss?’ Her maid, Anna, held out a lavender gown trimmed in a thin black-velvet ribbon. Standing in front of her subdued gowns, everything changed. It wasn’t just the dresses, although they’d certainly been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

‘No, Anna.’ Elise drew herself up with squared shoulders. ‘Bring me my other gowns. I am done with these. Have them packed up after I’ve gone today.’ It had occurred to her during her dreary week that she owed the rules nothing. She’d already broken so many others. What had obedience to rigid strictures ever got her? Her best moments had come from breaking the rules: working with her father, designing racing yachts. If
she meant to see her boat succeed, she could not let herself become marginalised.

Anna looked at her as if she’d grown two heads, or maybe four, and her skin had turned green. ‘Miss?’

Elise stood her ground. ‘Bring my other gowns. I want the green carriage ensemble with the black frogging on the jacket.’

The ensemble was wrinkled from storage and it took a bit of time to press it into decency but it was worth it. Elise smoothed the snug jacket over her hips. The outfit was perfect. People couldn’t truly complain. There was a touch of black trim to lend respectability and the dark green was hardly garish or the classic lines ostentatious. Anna had recovered from shock and twisted her hair up neatly beneath a jaunty little hat that sat cocked on her head, more ornament than actual ‘hat’.

Elise reached out a hand and took Anna’s in appreciation of her efforts. ‘Thank you. I’m not sure I can explain it, but I wasn’t myself in those other dresses and there are things that need doing for which I most definitely need to be me.’ There was a scratch at the door, a
footman informing them of Lord Rowland’s arrival.

Anna nodded. ‘Truth is, we’ll all be glad, miss. It’s no good, you shutting yourself up in the house. It’s not right, no matter what the rules are. Young ladies should be out in society.’

‘I couldn’t agree more. But there are bound to be people who will take issue with that sentiment,’ Elise cautioned with one final look in the mirror. Her decision had been about more than putting on a dress. The dress was merely a public announcement. If people only speculated she’d set aside mourning by continuing about her business, her lack of mourning dress would take the guesswork out of it. Charles would have an apoplexy, and Dorian? Well, she would see what he’d do in just moments. Her heart was hammering as she took to the stairs.

She saw him first. He was in the hall looking at a painting, a minor work of Turner’s, a nautical theme that had impressed her father. Today Dorian had chosen buff trousers and blue jacket along with high boots. His thick blond hair was once again pulled back at his neck into a luxurious tail.

He turned at the sound of her half-boots on the stairs, his blue eyes registering his surprise, the smile on his mouth suggesting he was enjoying it. ‘If I’d known timbering the boat would get this sort of response, I’d have finished it earlier. What brought this on?’

Elise smiled and raised her head a notch higher. ‘I have decided to be scandalous.’

Dorian’s grin widened. ‘You look enchanting.’ He bowed over her hand. ‘Scandal becomes you.’

‘If you must know, it’s probably your fault. I lay all blame at your feet.’

Dorian tucked her hand through the bend of his arm. ‘I am glad to be of service, most glad.’ An all-too-familiar tremble shot through her at his words, at his touch, at the mischief dancing in his eyes as he teased and flirted. It wasn’t the man who raised such a flutter in her, she told herself resolutely, taking her seat in the carriage. It was the freedom he represented that explained her intense reaction to him. That was what she craved, not the man himself. Any interest in the man sprang from knowing he was not part of the rules. He was something else altogether.

Elise had nearly convinced herself of this line of logic by the time they reached the shipyard. She stepped down and let the familiar smells wash over her: scents of fresh timber, the strong smell of tar. Had she only been gone a week? It felt an eon and yet the sights and the smells were not strangers, not faded memories from another time. They were the scents of the present and of
home
. She belonged here. Elise shot Dorian a sideways glance. He’d have a fight on his hands if he tried to ban her again.

The men had known she was coming. Dorian had prepared them. Threatened them was more like it. Every one of them stood at taut attention like a staff receiving their lord, work clothes clean, eyes respectfully averted. Mostly. The man Dorian had drawn a knife against wasn’t quite obedient. His eyes kept straying although his body held rigid.

‘You told them,’ she said in low tones after they’d passed the line of employees.

‘Yes. I expect order on land or sea from my men,’ Dorian said simply. ‘No one is required to work here. They all had a chance to leave.’
His hand was firm at her back, guiding her towards the form of the yacht.

‘There it is, Elise. Your hull.’ There was no mistaking the pride in his tone as he presented it, or the seductive tone in his voice as his tongue ran over her name.

Her hull
. The beginning manifestations of her dream come to life. tears threatened, but she held them back. There’d been too many tears lately. There would not be tears now, she silently vowed.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Elise managed. She bent under the prow, running a hand along the smooth side. ‘It’s just as I envisioned it.’ Long, lean and low in the water, every ounce designed for efficiency, every angle destined to drink the wind and ride the waters. ‘How much more time do you think?’

‘Two weeks, assuming all goes well.’ Dorian was watching her face and smiling softly as if he could read her mind—which would be a bit embarrassing because her first thought was that this meant two more weeks of Dorian.

What She said out loud was, ‘The middle of April, in time for the Royal Yacht Club’s opening trip.’ She knew the club’s calendar
as well as she knew her own. Her father’s life had revolved around the club and yachting season. The racing matches would begin soon afterwards. She’d been part of the boating trip since she was fourteen. She wasn’t going to miss it this year.

Suddenly she brought her head up, her reveries interrupted by a smell, a smell inappropriate for the surroundings. At the same moment, a howl went up from the corner of the shipyard. Dorian’s dog, the identity registered briefly with her as she shot a look at Dorian. ‘Do you smell that?’

‘Smoke.’ Dorian’s eyes were alert, quartering the yard. She followed his lead and scanned, looking for signs of that smoke or, worse, flame. Fire was anathema to shipyards. Whole forests of lumber could be lost and coal-based tar burnt nastily and thoroughly, spreading fire of its own when ignited. Elise didn’t even want to think about what it did when it exploded. Her eyes went immediately to the barrels of tar lined along the perimeter.

‘There!’ She pointed to the beginnings of the flames a mere ten feet from the barrels. With all the other scents of the yard, the smoke had had plenty of time to
gain momentum before they’d noticed it. ‘Dorian, if it explodes…’

She—
they
—would lose everything. Dorian was off at a run, shedding his coat, before her sentence was finished. If the tar exploded, lives would be endangered along with the shipyard. ‘Water!’ he shouted orders. ‘Form a bucket brigade!’

Fortunately, water was in good supply. Two huge barrels expressly for firefighting stood at the ready. But he could see flames travelling towards the tar as if guided there by a fuse. Dorian placed himself at the head of the line and threw the first bucket. If there was to be an explosion, he’d bear the brunt of it. He reached for a second bucket, positioning himself between the flames and the tar. ‘Faster!’ The water was slowing down the flames, but not dousing them. It wasn’t until the third bucket that he realised who handed them to him. Elise. She should have been ushered to safety by now or had the good sense to seek safety on her own.

‘Elise! Get out of here,’ he shouted. ‘There’s no guarantee we can stop the flames.’

For an answer, she thrust a bucket into
his hands. ‘We’ll stop them. Now, come on.’ Water sloshed on her green habit and her hair had come loose with the exertion of passing buckets heavy with water. She looked intent and wild, and really quite scandalous. That would please her. He’d tell her as much
after
he’d finished shouting at her.

Ten minutes later, the fire was out, the remains nothing more than a smoky smoulder. The damage was thankfully minimal; a perimeter fence had been scorched where the fire had started, ostensibly the product of kerosene-soaked rags left out in the open and a carelessly dropped match.