A Lady Dares. Bronwyn Scott
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scandal to my business simply by being here. If anyone finds out, I’m finished.’
Dorian’s smile faded. ‘Only if you care about such things.’ This was dangerous ground. Had she come here to let him go? The thought sat poorly with him. It had only been two days, but he’d invested effort in this proposition of hers, beating the docks for any worker he could find. He fiddled with her paperweight, a pretty amber piece with an insect inside, giving her a chance to think. ‘And do you, Miss Sutton? Do you care?’
He had her there. The look on her face suggested she wasn’t sure how to answer. He answered for her, pushing off the desk and pacing the floor like an Oxford professor delivering a lecture. ‘That’s the thing about scandal, Miss Sutton. It only has teeth if everyone playing agrees to give it power. Frankly, I don’t see how you can care and pursue this line of work you’ve put before yourself. Surely you see the dichotomy, too?’ He rather worried that she didn’t, though. She was the sort whose boldness came from a combination of naïveté and ideals, a deadly mixture once society got a hold of them. Somebody was going to have to tell her the truth. This venture of hers simply wasn’t going to work. It couldn’t.
Dorian softened his tone. ‘Are you familiar with syllogisms, Miss Sutton? A lady doesn’t build ships. Miss Sutton builds ships. Therefore, Miss Sutton isn’t a lady. Indeed, she can’t be a lady by the very definition of what society says a lady is. Do you see my point?’
Her dark brows were knitted together, a furrow of twin lines forming between her eyes, the look not unattractive. It stirred him to want to do something about it, to erase the consternation. He wasn’t used to such chivalrous feelings.
‘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.
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