A Lady Dares (6 page)

‘I understand your meaning quite well and I respectfully disagree.’ Her chin went up a fraction in defiance.

‘You
will
have to choose,’ Dorian insisted. ‘My being here or not is the least of your worries if you’re thinking about your reputation. Building your blasted yacht is enough to sink you in most circles. No pun intended.’ Instinctively, he moved close to her, his hands going to her forearms in a gentle grip to make his point, to make her see reason.

She swallowed nervously, the pulse at the base of her throat leaping in reaction to his nearness. ‘Again I disagree,’ she said with quiet steel. ‘I think this yacht will be the making of me.’

‘If it is, it will be the making of a lady most
improper.’ Dorian gave a soft chuckle, breathing in the tangy lemongrass scent of her just before his mouth caught hers.

‘R
owland’s back.’ Maxwell made a grimace before taking a swallow of his brandy. He and Damien Tyne had the corner of the coffee house to themselves in the late afternoon. He preferred it that way. The conversation he wanted to have with Tyne might possibly become too dark for the others.

Tyne raised slender dark brows in interest. ‘Really? I wonder if his father knows? Gibraltar must have finally got too hot for him. Still, it’s gutsy of him to come back here where he’s got a number of enemies waiting for him, you and me included. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t mind a shot at him after what he did?’

Maxwell gave a thin smile. ‘We will get our chance. It will be an opportunity to kill two
birds with one stone.’ He dangled the thought before Damien like bait.

‘And how is that? We’re rather busy with the Sutton project at the moment. It doesn’t seem like the right time to go after Rowland.’

Maxwell’s thin smile turned into a grin as he dropped the news. ‘He’s working for our Miss Sutton. She told Charles herself over lunch.’

‘And he scampered back here like a good boy and told you.’ Tyne leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on the table top beside him. Maxwell could almost see the thoughts running through Tyne’s mind.

‘You were right,’ Maxwell offered, wanting to be included in those usually lucrative thoughts. The fastest way to get Tyne to open up was to compliment him. Tyne was a smart man and a bit of an egomaniac. Tyne liked others to recognise his intelligence. ‘Miss Sutton does mean to give it one last gasp. She’s hired Rowland to do something.’

‘But we have no idea what that is?’ Tyne asked.

‘She wouldn’t tell Charles.’

Tyne snorted. ‘She probably didn’t get the chance. Charles would have been too busy
lecturing her about Rowland’s unsuitability. I do hope he told her to fire the reprobate.’

‘Charles served his purpose today,’ Maxwell reprimanded lightly. Tyne thought Charles was a silly young pup. ‘He’s our best connection to the inner workings of Miss Sutton’s life at the moment without spending money on people to watch her. Charles is happy to do it for free.’

‘He’s infatuated with her,’ Tyne grumbled.

Maxwell idly stroked the short stem of his snifter. ‘Yes. If he’d marry her it would be all the better for us, get her out of the business for good. For the record, Charles did tell her to let Rowland go, but I doubt she’ll listen to his advice. She hasn’t listened to anyone so far.’ Certainly not the investors who’d come to her after the funeral and encouraged her to sell. She could have made this much easier on all of them, herself included.

Tyne’s eyes glinted. ‘Maybe it’s time to make her listen.’

Maxwell leaned forwards with keen interest. He and Tyne had been partners in questionable commerce practices before, but those notorious practices were conducted far from home where their countrymen were less likely to notice what they were up to. Going
after someone in London would be different. They’d have to exercise extraordinary caution—something Tyne was not always good at. ‘What exactly do you have in mind?’

‘I think a nocturnal visit to the shipyard is in order so we can figure out precisely what she’s doing behind those walls. It doesn’t take a genius to speculate about what she might be doing, but we can’t take an appropriate course of action until we know for sure. I know just the men to do it.’

Maxwell nodded his approval. ‘I like the way you think. In the meanwhile, I’ll tell Charles to continue his courtship.’

‘Miss Sutton, there’s a gentleman to see you.’

Elise looked up from her reading, more than surprised to see Evans, the butler, in the doorway of the sitting room. It was after seven and she’d given the staff permission to retire for the evening. ‘I’m not expecting anyone.’ The house was quiet tonight. She’d seen William off earlier in the day and dinner had been a lonely affair, one of many, she supposed. Mourning and the absence of
a decent chaperon made attending any social functions out of the question.

‘He has a card, Miss Sutton, and he says he has business to discuss.’

Not Charles, then. That had been her first thought. But Charles would never have called on her so late at night, knowing her brother was gone, or have come to discuss something as dirty as business. Unless, of course, he wanted to remind her of the impropriety of a lady living alone. Elise took the card from the silver salver. The paper was a heavy white affair of cardstock with simple black letters in crisp block print. It was of good quality. The name on the card wasn’t. Lord Dorian Rowland. Just seeing the name was enough to make her stomach flutter for any number of reasons: a reminder that she’d hired a man who outranked her socially to
work
for her, a reminder that same man kissed liked the very devil whenever the fancy struck him and reduced her insides to jelly.

‘Did he say what he wanted specifically?’ Elise fought the urge to check her appearance in the little mirror on the wall. She’d obeyed his order not to go to the shipyard today and apparently he’d obeyed hers. Evans didn’t
look too offended. She could assume Dorian had come with his shirt on.

‘No, miss, just business.’

‘Then I suppose I shall have to see him.’ Elise tried to sound cool. She rose and paced a few steps, trying to gather her thoughts, but to no avail. They continued to run amok. Why had he come? Was something wrong at the shipyard? Had there been an accident? Had something happened to the boat? Surely if something was seriously wrong he wouldn’t have come in person and waited patiently in the hall. He would have stayed to oversee the situation and sent a note, or he’d have come barging up the steps, shouting for her. Elise smoothed her skirts in an effort to quiet her nerves.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Evans announced the guest. Dorian stepped into the room. Her hands stilled in the folds of her skirts at the sight of him. Dorian had put on far more than a shirt to make this call. Dark breeches were tucked into high black boots; a claret-coloured coat was tailored to show off broad shoulders and the gold-patterned waistcoat and pristine linen beneath. She could almost
believe the man standing before her was a lord. Almost.

There were other tells that gave him away. His thick sun-gold hair might be neatly pulled back and tied, but it was still too long for convention. His blue eyes were still too bold when they met hers. A gentleman would never look at a lady in a way that made her mouth go dry.

‘Lord Rowland, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Dorian, please,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve come as I promised to give you an update and because I have questions about the plans.’ He held up the long roll of paper in his hand. ‘I hope my visit isn’t inconvenient? You don’t have plans this evening?’

‘You know I don’t.’

‘London’s loss, I think.’ Dorian smiled and their eyes held in the moment. She felt her face heat. She really shouldn’t let him get to her like this. Nothing could come of it and this was absolutely the wrong time to become involved with someone when so much else depended on her attentions.

‘Where shall we unroll these?’ Dorian looked around the room and gave the plans a
little wave, calling her attentions back to the intent of his visit.

‘Oh, yes, the plans. There’s no place to lay them out in here. Why don’t we try the library?’ At the last moment she remembered Evans still standing by the door. ‘Evans, have a tea tray sent up, please.’ She hoped she didn’t appear as flustered as she felt. It occurred to her as they headed towards the library that she’d never entertained anyone alone and certainly not a man. Her mother or father had always been with her. The servants were here, of course, but it wasn’t the same.

In the library, they busied themselves spreading out the plans on the long reading table and anchoring the corners with paperweights and books to keep the edges from rolling up. Dorian stirred up The fire while she lit lamps. The tea tray came and they found a place for it at the end of the table. The little tasks helped her regain composure. She designed yachts and ran a business, for heaven’s sake. It was silly to be daunted by a simple task and one handsome man.

When everything was finally settled to their satisfaction, Dorian pointed to the area
in question. ‘Here’s the problem—I think the centre of the hull is too narrow. It will increase the chance of capsizing. Do you know what your father was thinking when he established these dimensions?’

‘These aren’t solely my father’s plans. We designed this boat together,’ Elise said slowly. Even now, no one quite grasped her level of involvement in the shipyard. ‘This is my boat, too. I simply don’t know how to build it, but in theory it should work.’

Dorian swore softly under his breath and she braced herself for the worst. But it didn’t come. He didn’t harangue her for the idea that she thought she could build a boat. ‘In
theory It should work?
Do you have a model? Did you do any kind of trial?’

‘No. It will work. I modelled this after Joshua Humphreys’s work, only we’ve used his design with more intensity. This boat is longer, lower and leaner.’ She could see he was unconvinced. ‘We’ve installed extra buoyancy bags on the port and starboard sides to compensate for any drastic heeling.’ She warmed to her subject now, making her argument with passion as she pointed to the various adaptations they’d made. ‘So you see
there was no need to test it. Humphreys’s design works. We’ve just modified it.’

Dorian was starting to thaw. ‘We’ll have to be careful through here and here.’ His finger drew invisible circles on the plans. ‘But it could work, I guess. It’s just that I’ve never seen it done. Once we get the frame timbered, it will be too late for any alterations. It’s almost too late now.’

A little thrill ran through her at the prospect of the fully timbered hull. ‘How long?’

‘Two days. Then there will be the rigging to discuss.’ He gave her a wry grin. ‘I don’t suppose you designed the rigging, too?’

‘Perhaps you’d like to discuss rigging over tea?’ Elise smiled, feeling relieved. There’d been a moment when she’d thought he might quit the job.

With tea and biscuits on plates, they settled into the big chairs in front of the fire to discuss the merits of sloop versus ketch and cutter-rigging styles. It was an animated discussion and, for a while, Elise forgot she was entertaining alone, forgot what a scoundrel Dorian was. It felt good to talk about boats and sailing with someone who knew something about it. It had seemed ages since she’d
had this sort of discussion. She and her father used to talk boats all the time. They’d talked about yachts the day he’d gone out on the test run. It was the last conversation they’d had.

Dorian broke off in mid-sentence. ‘What is it? It looks like a shadow has just crossed your face. Have I offended your sensibilities with my position on ketch rigging?’ he joked.

‘No.’ Elise looked down at her hands, embarrassed over having been caught with her mind wandering. ‘This talk of boats reminds me of my father. We had conversations like this all the time. In fact, we’d talked about new ways to increase windage the day he went out.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Dorian’s tan hand covered hers where it lay in her lap. He gave it a warm squeeze. ‘You must miss him.’

Elise nodded, not daring to trust her voice. She’d not expected such a tender gesture from the king of insouciance himself. It threatened to undo her. She managed a smile and then a few words to turn the conversation away from herself. ‘What about your family? Do they enjoy boats and yachting as much as you?’

Dorian gave a harsh laugh. ‘Hardly. My father is a horse man and my brother, too.
My father is always quick to remind me that horse racing—the sport of kings, mind you—didn’t have such plebian beginnings as yachting. He is also quick to point out that the black sheep of the royal family, Cumberland, was the one who went slumming in the first place.’ There was a naughty glimmer of mischief in Dorian’s blue eyes. ‘To which I say, “My hero”.’

She could well believe it. Dorian and the previous Duke of Cumberland likely held many traits in common. The latter had been known in his lifetime as a ‘loose fish’, a scandalous womaniser who had taken his mistress riding in Hyde Park, and the former was no doubt following down a similar path.

‘Your family is not close,’ Elise ventured, feeling a little sorry for him even if he didn’t feel sorry for himself. He was alone, too. ‘Does your father know you’re…?’ What were the words she was looking for—‘working on the docks’, ‘running questionable cargos for the dockside underworld’, ‘overseeing a shipyard shirtless’, ‘threatening workers with knives to their throats’?

He seemed to divine her dilemma and saved her the indelicacy. ‘Maybe. He’s the
Duke of Ashdon, he knows everything he has a desire to know. I stopped caring about what he thought a long time ago.’

Elise could hear the hint of resentment behind the words. She should probably leave it at that, but curiosity propelled her forwards. ‘When you became the Scourge of Gibraltar?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Will you tell me?’ The late hour, the fire, the warmth of the tea were all conspiring to create intimacies, pushing her to take chances with the blond stranger who’d fallen into her life a few days ago.

Dorian gave a slight shake of his head, a scold, a warning. ‘No, I will not. You’re better off not knowing.’

‘And the
Queen Maeve?
Will you tell me about your ship one day? She was a legend even up here for those of us who appreciate such things.’ Stories of his ship had circulated throughout polite society: how fast it was, how fearless the captain, how the
Queen
had outrun French pirates by manoeuvring them up on to a reef and sheering off in the nick of time to save herself from the same fate.

Elise wondered if she mentioned that tale would it provoke him to reminisce? But she’d
left it too late. He rose and set down his tea cup, a prelude to farewell. She felt deflated. She’d pushed too far, pried too much and now He was leaving. Never mind that leaving was the right thing to do. It was late and they were alone. He had no business being here.