A Lady Dares (21 page)

‘A race. My yacht against a yacht of your choosing. Winner takes all. A duel on the Thames. My second will call on Maxwell Hart tomorrow.’

‘Done,’ Tyne growled and then he was gone in a surprisingly fluid moment over the rail. She heard the splash of him hitting the water and she lowered the gun to her side, weary. She slid to the deck, her legs turning to jelly now that it was over.

‘What have you done?’ Dorian half-staggered, half-crawled to her side.

‘Saved your life.’ She thought he’d be a
bit more relieved. Frankly, he sounded ungrateful.

‘You’ve risked the boat, Elise.’ Dorian lay on his back, catching his breath.

‘I had to do something. You weren’t having much luck,’ she said briskly. She fumbled with his shirt, dragging it off him. Her first thought was to stop the bleeding.

‘How does it look?’ Dorian tried to peer down at the gash.

‘It could be worse.’ Elise fought back bile to look at the damage. It was bloody, but the gash was not as deep as it might have been. ‘It hasn’t hit bone,’ she assured him.

‘It hurts like hell,’ Dorian groaned.

‘I’m sure it does, but you’ll live.’ It wasn’t said glibly. A few minutes ago she hadn’t been so sure either of them would.

‘You could have shot him.’ Dorian groaned as she wiped at the blood.

‘I could have, but that requires bullets. I only had a boat.’

Dorian tried to sit up. ‘God, Elise. You faced him with an unloaded gun? What were you thinking?’ Dorian bent his head to hers. He was warm and sweaty and he smelled of life.

She put her hand against his cheek. ‘I was thinking I loved you, silly man.’ She didn’t give him a chance to respond. ‘Let’s get you on your feet and down below where I can take care of you properly.’

It was cumbersome work getting him below, but she managed. The yacht was stocked with staples for the day voyage. There was alcohol for cleaning the wound and fresh bandages for any incidental injuries. Once below, Elise made quick work of bandaging.

‘How’s your head?’ Elise said, tying off the bandage.

‘Still reeling.’ Colour had returned to Dorian’s face. That had to be a good sign.

Elise reach up, fingers in his hair to search out the damage from Bart’s club. Bart had certainly got the worse end of that deal. But Dorian’s hands closed over hers and drew them away. ‘I’m not reeling from the bump. Sit down, Elise.’

‘What is it? Are you sick? Feeling nauseous?’ Elise asked anxiously, searching his face for a sign.

Dorian shook his head. ‘It’s not from any injury. It’s from you.’ His hands tightened over hers. ‘It’s not every day a man hears “I
love you”. It’s not every day a woman risks the thing she holds most dear for him, either.’

Elise flushed. ‘Well, it’s done. Now we have a race to win.’ She paused, the enormity of what she’d done sinking in. ‘We will win, won’t we? You said the yacht was fast, that it was unstoppable. Is it true?’

Dorian gave a half-smile. ‘I guess we’re going to find out.’

Elise nodded. There was going to be a lot of ‘finding out’ in the next few days. She loved Dorian Rowland. She’d confessed as much tonight. But how far would she go for that love? How much of what Tyne had said tonight was true? Could she live with a man who had no national loyalties? Most of all, would that man even ask her to? Had she risked it all for a man who couldn’t love her back once again?

‘Y
ou’ve been up a while, Dorian. I missed you.’ Elise joined him at the rail where he stood watching the morning come alive. Sunrise was his favourite time of day, a luxury he’d seldom been able to afford himself. They’d stayed on board last night, trying out the new bed. There’d been no question of trying to dock the boat in the dark with the fog and him sporting only one good arm, even though they were just across the water from the shipyard.

Elise had wrapped a blanket about her shift and her hair hung loose and dark about her. His groin tightened. Sunrise was his favour-ite time of day for other reasons, too. There wasn’t anything quite like making love in
the morning. It got the day off to the right start. She stood beside him in silence, taking in the quiet of early morning with him. If only life were this simple, waking aboard a boat each day with her. Neither of them spoke. He knew both their minds were full, although he doubted her mind contained the erotic thoughts plaguing his.

He passed her the cup of coffee he held in his good hand. She smiled as she took it. Perhaps that was a good sign she wasn’t angry. She’d told him she loved him and he’d not given the requisite response last night. Or maybe it was a bad sign? Maybe she’d rethought that confession and no longer cared? ‘What happens now, Dorian?’ she asked in the stillness.

He looked at her, taking in her chemise and the blanket. He let a wicked grin play across his mouth. ‘I take you back to bed and make good on my promises from last night before we were so rudely interrupted.’ A man had to try, after all.

She smiled in spite of the shake of her head. ‘We can’t keep going to bed instead of resolving our issues, as delightful as the option is.’

Dorian leaned on the railing, looking out
over the water. ‘What’s on your mind, Elise?’ It would be one of two things: him or Damien Tyne.

‘There are some things Tyne said last night,’ Elise began hesitantly. ‘He sells arms to anyone who will buy, even the French. He sells them good English guns to shoot English soldiers. Do you?’ she asked in a tight whisper. ‘Are you of the same mind? Was he right about that?’ She was watching him, holding her breath. That had to bode well. She hadn’t given up on him. She wasn’t regretting her efforts last night, but she was deciding. He knew that much. Elise was a businesswoman. She would be weighing what she could live with and what she could live without.

‘I’ve run arms in the past. I’ve told you as much. There’s good money in it and in my youth the thrill was quite extraordinary,’ Dorian admitted. ‘But never, Elise, never did I sell to The French or to anyone knowing beforehand that those arms would be used against England.’ The discrepancy hadn’t been enough for his family. Would it be enough for her?

‘What do you run these days?’ She still hadn’t looked away.

‘Expensive items others aren’t willing to risk. It’s hard to explain, Elise. These days it’s about speed. Britain might have tamed the Mediterranean, but people will pay well to get their items to market faster than anyone else. There’s still danger. There are those who will pay to stop goods from reaching markets in order to enhance their own profits. It’s simple supply-and-demand economics.’ Dorian shrugged. ‘We have an expression in the Mediterranean. If the sea belongs to no one, it belongs to everyone.’

Elise nodded. ‘That phrase has been bandied about Britain quite regularly in the last decade. My father even used it in his own conversations with investors.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I think it might be the Navy’s secret motto.’ Elise paused. ‘I’m starting to see why Giovanni was so grateful to you; why it was so important you took his wine to market.’

Now it was his turn for questions. ‘Why do you care, Elise, if I ran arms to enemies or not?’

‘Because I have to know how much loving you will cost me and whether or not I can pay that price, just in case you might love me, too,’ she said softly.

He should have said the words last night. But even now with a second chance before him, he couldn’t say them. ‘Don’t you know the answer to that already?’ He’d like to take her below and show her.

‘I’m not sure I do.’

‘I can’t change for you, Elise, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ He might as well get it out in the open. If she thought he’d reconcile with his family and stay living in London, she’d be severely disappointed. She had to know that already. ‘My family believes I am a traitor. As for myself, I have no wish to rejoin society’s fold. I have no desire to stay in London
ever
. I was only here because I had a cargo to deliver and I’ll be leaving as soon as I can arrange a ship back.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to change. I thought I’d made that clear.’ Elise looked away, but not before he sighted tears in her eyes. She’d known his answer and had still been disappointed by it. Had he somehow misread what she was fishing for? Was there something else she wanted from him?

Elise straightened her shoulders. ‘Well, we have a race to win. I imagine we both have
business to take care of before then. How’s your arm?’

‘It will be fine.’ Dorian threw out the rest of his coffee into the river. ‘I’ll get us ashore.’ So much for a morning tumble. So much for a second chance. Maybe it was better this way. What good could saying ‘I love you’ do if he couldn’t be there for her? An impossible relationship would hurt all the more when he sailed away after the race. He really couldn’t stay any longer.

‘I’ll see that you have your money, Dorian. Will you be able to pay the workers for me? I will need a day or two to get the funds.’ She halted. ‘Seeing as how the boat isn’t going to sell, I’ll need to speak to someone about our art collection. It should bring enough to cover expenses.’

‘I can make those arrangements.’ If they were in Gibraltar he could have given her the money. But he had no funds here. Here, he was a veritable pauper. It was better this way, he repeated to himself. Gibraltar beckoned. In Gibraltar, he was a king and he was free. He turned from the rail to watch Elise walk back to the cabin, her hips swaying beneath the blanket, her hair gently buffeted by the
breeze. Something new inside him, something that had just begun to live since he’d met her, was starting to die. And he knew,
just knew
, it would never be resurrected if he didn’t save it now. It couldn’t end like this.

There was only one thing he could think of to say. ‘Come with me, Elise. Come to Gibraltar.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could think. She turned. His world stopped.
Let her answer be yes
. He closed his eyes and waited for Elise Sutton to seal his fate.

Say yes
. Her fate hung in the balance. Conventional wisdom would have her reject the proposal out of hand, but the realities of the past months suggested otherwise. She didn’t belong here. Yesterday had made that clear. She could build the fastest ship the world had seen and it wouldn’t be enough. At the beginning of this adventure it had seemed straightforward: build a ship and everyone would respect her. She would pick up where her father had left off.

But yesterday’s outing had proved otherwise. She would not be allowed to. There was no place for her here. Society had spoken.
Richard Sutton’s daughter would not be permitted to build her boats here. The race with Tyne would be the final scandal. After that, any bid for respectability would be over. Still, she wouldn’t go with Dorian simply because there was no place here for her. There was her heart to consider as well.

‘Say yes, Elise.’ Dorian held her gaze intently. She could not be swayed by that gaze.

‘Say yes to what, Dorian?’ She took a step towards him. Women couldn’t go haring off to foreign ports with men without certain guarantees, guarantees she didn’t think he could give.

‘Say yes to building your yachts in Gibraltar. We can sail them up to England for those who want them and there’s a market down there from the Spanish, the French—everyone, really. People need boats for business, for pleasure. And no one would care about the silly things. Think how grand it would be, Elise—you and me, bashing about the Mediterranean, building yachts, racing yachts, the sandy beaches, even the dolphins. I have the most beautiful house in the hills.’

She gave a little laugh. He could make her laugh at the most inopportune times. ‘I’d been
warned you might try that line of reasoning.’ She’d moved within arm’s reach of him, her body unable to resist what her mind felt compelled to argue against.

‘It’s a good line. Is it enough, Elise, to convince you to be my wife and live in Paradise forever? I love you. I should have told you last night.’

In that moment, she knew what she wanted and it stood before her, even though accepting it broke every rule left to her. Elise Sutton threw caution to the winds. ‘Yes, it’s enough.’ She twined her arms about his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. Why not? What had the rules ever got her?

‘Does everyone understand the rules?’ Commodore Harrison stood on a bunting-draped dais above the crowd assembled for the race. In the days before the race, rumour of the event had spread throughout fashionable London. Elise shaded her eyes against the sun and looked up at the dais. ‘The race shall begin here at Blackwell and shall end at the Thames Tavern. The course shall pass Erith, Rosherville, Gravesend and Lower Hope Point. There shall be no foul play, no
cutting across the other’s bow or the like. This is to be a fair match, gentlemen.’

Across from
Sutton’s Hope, Phantasm
, Tyne’s personal yacht, bobbed black and sleek on the water. The breeze was good today, and both boats’ sails billowed eagerly. Elise looked away, trying not to concentrate on the fine lines of Tyne’s boat. Dorian stood at the helm of
Sutton’s Hope
with Drago beside him. He radiated confidence and her own confidence soared. Dorian would not fail them.

Them! Her heart beat a little faster at the prospect. They’d win this race and then they’d go to Gibraltar and start their life. The future lay just past today. Dorian’s eyes met hers. His hair was down, his eyes glowing with fierce competitiveness. He was dressed for the sea today in his culottes and bare feet, his shirt open at the chest, his shoulders bare of any coat. He’d not wanted to be confined by any concession to fashion today. He’d need all his strength at the wheel. For a moment he looked past her and mouthed the words ‘My father.’

Elise turned to catch sight of the Duke of Ashdon’s coach along the side of the river, in line with so many other carriages ready to follow the progress of the twenty-mile race. She
smiled at Dorian. ‘Better not let him down then.’

‘Gentlemen, at the ready!’ the Commodore shouted out and the crowd stilled. The flag was dropped and they were under way.

The water was smooth in the early going and the
Hope
made the most of the wind. The
Phantasm
sailed beside them, easily keeping pace, the crowd on the river banks cheering them on. Plenty of money would pass hands today. But by Gravesend the weather began to change. The sun of the morning gave way to clouds. The cheering crowds thinned out, daunted by the mounting winds and greying skies. By Lower Hope Point, a full storm was engaged.

Sutton’s Hope
began to rock. Elise prayed the narrow frame and the buoyancy bags would hold. The last portion of the race was upon them.
Phantasm
began to make its move, slicing closer to the
Hope
in the water. Now that witnesses had thinned to almost nil, Tyne was taking more chances.

‘Take the wheel, Elise!’ Dorian yelled over the wind. ‘We need to reef the mainsail, we need a flatter entry point for the wind or we’ll flip.’

Elise took the wheel, feeling the yacht buck beneath her, the wheel fighting her to stay on course. The last thing they needed was to drift too close to shore and chance the rocks. She shot a quick glance at the
Phantasm
. It was pulling ahead and Tyne was refusing to reef his sail, taking a gamble with the wind. Above her, Dorian was in the rigging, working the sails—first the Cunningham to move the draught point. He managed with confidence, unfazed by the height and the wind, but she’d relax when he was safely back on deck.

She felt the results of reefing immediately. The wheel stabilised, the boat no longer pulling against her, but the
Phantasm
was moving ahead. ‘Reefing has cost us some speed,’ she said over the wind when Dorian claimed the wheel.

‘Not for long. The wind will start to work against him,’ Dorian said confidently. ‘By the time he is forced to reef, it will be too late. It’s always easier to bring in the sail before the storm hits in full than during.

‘It’s time to make our move, Elise.’ They’d charted this course in the days before the race. The race would be won in the last miles.
They’d take advantage of the
Hope’s
low hull and the
Phantasm’s
confidence.

Dorian drew up slightly behind the
Phantasm
, using the other boat as a shield against the wind to regain speed. Tyne waved an angry fist their direction. ‘Stop draughting, Rowland!’

Dorian shouted back, ‘You should have reefed your sails when you had the chance!’ When the yachts were even, Dorian swung back out into the centre of the river, using every trick he knew to harness the wind and gain an edge. He needed a slight edge to dominate the river. The plan was to block out the river through serpentines and swerves so the
Phantasm
could not pass them in the curves at the end of the course.

‘Go, Dorian! Now,’ Elise shouted, surveying the course from her post at the prow of the ship. This was critical. If they could manage this manoeuvre, they’d have the race.

Tyne realised his mistake too late. In an effort to hold position, Tyne swerved into the
Hope
. If Dorian veered, he would give up his position on the river. If he didn’t, they would likely collide unless they simply weren’t there
when Tyne’s boat arrived. They needed more speed.

‘Elise! The wheel!’ Dorian was at the ropes, adjusting the sails with swift, sure movements, the wind in his wet hair, his shirt plastered to his chest. He looked primal in those moments, a man against all. He looked triumphant in the next as the
Hope
shot past the
Phantasm’s
intended strike point.