A Lady Dares (22 page)

The Thames Tavern point came into view through the rain, the last spot before the Thames gave out into the open ocean. A few carriages waited on shore. Elise thought she could see the Commodore and the flag. The
Phantasm
was close, though. She could see the crew. She imagined she could hear Tyne cursing over the wind. But it didn’t matter, they were almost there. Then they were, sailing past the flag, victorious and whole. They had won!

She turned to throw her arms about Dorian in celebration and screamed. She couldn’t believe it. Tyne was breaking the rules! The
Phantasm
had turned too sharply and was aimed at the stern of the
Hope
. At these close quarters there would be no escaping. ‘Dorian, no! Don’t slow the boat! Full speed!’

Dorian let the sail fill, they shot past the Commodore, the
Phantasm
close behind. A new race was engaged, a race with no rules and the open sea ahead of them. Dorian was grim at the wheel, the sails were open in spite of the dangers. There was no margin for caution now. He was desperate for speed, calling on all his expertise to marshal the wind to his advantage.

‘Grab hold of something, Elise, we’re going to tack hard to starboard!’ It was all the warning she had before the boat lurched, waves rising grey and menacing as the yacht took to its side.

Dorian tacked again and again, creating a zig-zag pattern through the water, each pass drawing them closer to land. ‘Isn’t it dangerous to get so near shore?’ she shouted.

‘That’s the plan! We want to lure them in and turn sharp enough to avoid the rocks while they get stuck on them.’

In a flash of insight, Elise understood. ‘But we could wreck!’

‘Not if your design holds. She’s tacking beautifully, Elise.’

But the rocks neared and Elise paled. Dorian had nerves of steel, but she did not.

‘Does Tyne guess?’ It looked like the
Phantasm
was keeping up fine.

‘Oh, he guesses.’ Dorian smiled. ‘But he thinks he’s smart enough to avoid it.’

Dorian tacked, once more, twice more. The
Phantasm
neared. She could see Tyne’s dark eyes, they were that close. Tyne drew a gun. At this angle, with their side exposed, Tyne would not miss. ‘Dorian!’ she cried out. Dorian turned, but not fast enough. The shot fired. She threw herself at Dorian, knocking him aside. They went down, sliding across the tilting deck. The bullet whistled overhead, the boat was listing, waves rose, slopping the deck. Dorian scrambled to the wheel, struggling to right the yacht. Balance was slowly restored.

Elise scrambled upright, sopping and wet. ‘Look!’ Behind them the
Phantasm
had run aground, the yacht caught up on the rocks. ‘He’ll be arrested.’

‘I don’t know about that.’ Dorian breathed heavily, his clothes dripping.

‘I do. Your father’s there. That’s his carriage, isn’t it?’ Elise pointed in the distance at the entourage on the coastal road converging
on the grounded yacht. ‘He followed us the whole time.’

Dorian laughed. ‘Well, I’ll be.’ Then he sobered. ‘We’re well past the finish line. Shall we go back and claim your prize?’

Elise wrapped her arms about his waist. ‘Why go back? The ocean is right there. Seems like we should just keep going. We meant to anyway in a few days.’

Dorian’s blue eyes looked down at her. ‘Do you mean it? What about all your things?’

Elise smiled up at him. ‘Everything I need is right here.’ And it was. She reached up and kissed him. Her practical side couldn’t resist asking, ‘You do have the five hundred pounds from your last job though, right?’

Dorian laughed. ‘Tucked away in my wife’s reticule.’

His wife
. She liked the sound of that. It was almost true. She’d be his wife in truth just as soon as they reached Gibraltar. ‘Good, it’s right where it belongs then.’

‘And you are right where you belong, in my arms.’

Two weeks later, Elise stood on the beach in Gibraltar, her hands clasped firmly in
Dorian’s grip, the gauzy white fabric of her dress fluttering against her legs. Her feet were bare, her toes curled into the warm sand while she listened to the vows that would bind her to Dorian Rowland for life. They were pronounced man and wife as the sun sank over the sea as if on cue. There could be no more perfect wedding in the history of the world, even if this one was attended by more waves than witnesses. Her heart was full.

Dorian bent to kiss her. ‘You have succeeded in living most scandalously, Mrs Rowland.’

‘I have succeeded in living well,’ she replied. Life had become infinitely simpler the moment she’d stepped on to
Sutton’s Hope
with nothing more than Dorian’s trunk and the money in her reticule. ‘Thanks to you.’ She meant it. With Dorian, because of Dorian, she was who she was meant to be.

Dorian drew her away from the priest, taking her to the water’s edge and letting it lap their toes. ‘Is it all you’d hoped?’

‘You’re all I hoped,’ Elise answered honestly. Dorian was something of a modern pirate, racing the tides and merchants to market for the best prices. There were definitely those
who were jealous of his success. But he was also something of a king here in this part of the world, she’d discovered. People came to him, asking for favours, asking for help. And he gave it. Some of those people were farmers like Giovanni’s relatives; some were diplomats looking for ways to broker alliances through goods and trade. Wherever Dorian went, life would always be exciting and it would always be fast—she’d see to the last part.

‘I think this turned out pretty well, Mrs Rowland,’ Dorian said as the last rays of light disappeared on the horizon. ‘You needed to be lost and I needed to be found.’ It was true. She’d had to lose everything to find the one thing that mattered. Now that she’d found him, she’d never let him go.

‘Our wedding night awaits,’ Dorian whispered naughtily. ‘Shall we?’ He gestured towards the stairs leading up the cliff to the Spanish-style villa.

Elise smiled. She was about to be royally screwed. Funny how her adventures kept coming back to that same point. This time quite literally and with the emphasis on the screwed.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

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First published in Great Britain 2013
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited.
Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

© Nikki Poppen 2013

eISBN: 978-1-472-00398-0