A Lady Dares. Bronwyn Scott
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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.
Chapter Six
‘Rowland’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