Читать книгу A Lady Dares - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 11

His shirt was off! It was the first thing Elise noticed when she arrived at the yard late in the morning. For the first time since her father’s death, she’d actually slept late. And look what happened. Her master builder was running around without his shirt on. Her mother would have shrieked it wasn’t ladylike to notice, but how could she not? The sight was just so riveting.

Elise knew she was staring, but she could hardly look away. His chest was nothing like the average Englishman’s. Gone was the pasty skin and skeletal lankiness, replaced by a smooth, tanned expanse of torso. It was quite possibly the most perfect chest she’d ever seen. Not that she was a connoisseur of men’s chests, but working around the shipyard, she’d caught accidental glimpses on rare occasions.

She might have been able to pull her gaze away if that had been all, but it wasn’t simply his chest. There were arms and shoulders to consider, perfectly moulded with muscle, to say nothing of his lean hips where his culottes hung tantalisingly low on his waist, revealing the secret aspects of male musculature and hinting at even more. All this masculinity had been pressed against her yesterday. It was somewhat shocking to see it on such bold display without the buffer of clothing to mute the reality. She was still gaping when he sauntered over, an adze dangling negligently from one hand, that impertinent grin of his on his face.

‘Good day, Miss Sutton. Is everything to your liking?’ He motioned towards the yard, the veneer of the gesture narrowly saving the comment from being outright indecent. She knew very well he’d caught her staring, and ‘liking’ hadn’t only referred to the yard. Elise looked around for the first time, trying hard to ignore the distraction beside her.

There were workers! There was the noise of industry. Not nearly as much as the yard was used to, but it was better than the silence that had marked the past months. ‘Where did you find them?’

Rowland shrugged, thrusting the adze through the rope belt holding up his culottes. ‘Here and there. It hardly matters as long as they know their job.’

In other words, don’t ask, Elise thought. She shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Men were here, willing to work on her boat and willing to take future payment. That should be enough. It was more than she’d had yesterday.

‘As you can see, all is well in hand. Is there anything else I can help you with, Miss Sutton?’ Rowland said briskly, impatience evidencing itself in the shift on his stance.

Elise bristled at his tone. He wanted her gone. ‘Are you dismissing me from my shipyard?’ His audacity knew no bounds.

Rowland lowered his voice and jerked his head to indicate the workers beyond them. ‘They’re starting to look, Miss Sutton. They’re wondering what a woman is doing here. You’re distracting them.’

Elise was incredulous. ‘I am distracting them? I’m not the one strutting around the yard half-dressed. You might as well be naked the way those trousers are hanging off your hips.’

‘You noticed? I’m flattered.’ Rowland, damn him, grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘And here I was thinking you didn’t like me.’

‘I don’t like you,’ Elise said in a loud whisper. People were starting to look, but she would not take responsibility for that. She wasn’t the one dressed like…like him. No wonder society demanded a man wear so many layers over his shirt. No one would get anything done otherwise; they’d be too busy staring.

Rowland laughed. ‘Yes, you do, you just don’t know what to do about it.’ The man was insufferable.

‘I want to see what progress you’ve made.’ Elise tried to put the conversation back on a more professional level. It was just her luck her brother had found the best-looking shipbuilder in London. She’d come down here with the express purpose of overseeing the project. She wouldn’t leave until she’d done that, half-naked master builder or not.

Rowland had other ideas. He took her arm, drawing her complete attention to the strong tanned hand that cupped her elbow and steered her out of the yard. ‘If you want to watch,’ he drawled with a grin that made watching sound like a decadent fetish, ‘I suggest you adjourn to the office. You, Miss Sutton, are bad for business.’

Elise shot Rowland a hard look. She’d had enough of these games. ‘I am their business.’ The slightest shake of his head caused her to reassess.

‘These men answer to me, Princess. They’ll build your boat because I tell them to.’

Elise entrenched, ready for battle. She’d let such reasoning go yesterday. But it would not work twice. ‘Is that your mantra? I should accept your decrees simply because you’re building my yacht? Do you think that puts paid to any questions I have? This is my shipyard and everything that happens in it is definitely my concern.’

‘Upstairs, now,’ Dorian growled. It was all the warning she had before a firm hand gripped her arm and propelled her up the stairs to the office. The door slammed behind them. Dorian Rowland’s blue eyes blazed with a temper she’d not suspected. His grip on her arm tightened. ‘How long do you think these men will work if they think they’re working for you? You are the owner’s daughter and nothing more as far as they’re concerned.’

‘You lied to them!’ She saw all too clearly what he’d done. He’d set himself up as the boss, the chief. The man with all the power.

He raised a blond eyebrow in exaggerated query. ‘You are not the owner’s daughter? Did I misunderstand yesterday?’

‘No, but—’ She didn’t get to finish.

‘So you are the owner’s daughter. Good, then I’ve told no lies,’ he said as if this were the worst sin he had to worry about.

‘I’m more than someone’s curious daughter. Did you tell them that? Without me there’d be no project.’ Elise wrenched her arm free and stepped away. She needed space where her logic wouldn’t be distracted by more masculine charms.

‘Allow me to be blunt. With you, there will be no project if you don’t let me do this my way. I am trying to help you. You have nothing without me.’

He advanced and Elise fought a losing battle to retreat. Her back hit the wall. He leaned forwards, one arm bracing himself on the wall over her head. He seemed bigger at close range, not menacingly so, but overwhelmingly potent. Even the smell of him, fresh lumber and salty sweat, was all man—all nearly naked man. It was hard to forget that one thing with his bare chest mere inches from her. She’d like to forget it, though. Handsome men had proven to be her weakness in the past.

Elise tried to look anywhere but at him. She could see every intimate detail of his skin: the fine dusting of blond hair, the thin white scar beneath his right breast. Lord, it was hard to concentrate! Even her breathing seemed more erratic.

‘Have I made you nervous, Miss Sutton?’ He smiled. ‘I can’t help but notice the inordinate amount of time you’ve spent staring at my chest.’

Did she imagine it or did he puff that chest of his out intentionally just then?

Elise opened her mouth to respond and then shut it. Had she really just seen his breast jump? Flex? Whatever one wanted to call it. ‘Stop that!’

‘Stop what?’ Pop! There it went again. He was doing it on purpose.

‘That thing you’re doing with your chest!’

‘Oh, this? Flexing my muscles?’ He straightened up and treated her to a bawdy show of alternately flexing each side of his chest.

‘Yes, that.’

He laughed. ‘Do you know what your problem is, Princess? You don’t know how to have any fun.’

Elise crossed her arms over her chest to make a barrier of sorts between them. How dare he think she was a stick in the mud just because she wore all of her clothes to the office? She knew how to have fun. ‘And I suppose you do?’

Another smile split his face. ‘Absolutely.’

Elise felt her breath catch. His eyes lingered indecently on her mouth. She was acutely aware of his nearness, that he still bracketed her with his arm leaning against the wall. She licked her lips self-consciously. ‘I’ll have you know I’ve had plenty of fun.’

‘Really?’ he drawled, doubt evident. ‘Well, maybe you have. I suppose I could be wrong. Let’s see, hmmm. Have you kissed a man?’

‘I most certainly have,’ Elise said indignantly, although why it should matter what he thought was something of a mystery. There’d been a few safe kisses in gardens after dancing, but that had been before society had made her choose between it and the shipyard. It had been before Robert Graves, with whom she’d done far more than kiss.

‘Unh-unh.’ Dorian wagged a finger. ‘Let me finish. Parlour games don’t count. Have you kissed a man just for fun in the middle of the afternoon in a public place where you might be caught at any moment?’ He was definitely flirting now, the images conjured by his words causing a slow heat to unfurl low in her belly.

She fought it, trying to sound more affronted than aroused. No good could come from letting him see how he affected her with his teasing. ‘What, exactly, are you suggesting?’ No gentleman would imply her virtue was in question.

A slow, wicked smile curved on his lips, his voice low and intimate in the small gap of space between them. ‘I’m suggesting you try it. With me.’ His mouth took hers then, without waiting for a reply, the press of his lips gently insisting that she give way to his greater experience. His tongue flicked over the seam of her lips and she opened to him, to the heady pleasure rising inside her at the leisurely decadence he invoked: mouth on mouth, tongue to tongue, body to body, cloth to skin. This was a naughty exploration indeed. Of their own volition her hands went to his shoulders, kneading the exposed muscles. He was right; she’d never been kissed, not like this. Those other kisses seemed childish by comparison, nothing more than play, pretend. But this was real, this man was real. And the consequences would be real, too. She’d been down that road before.

That was enough to wake her senses. Elise pulled away. She would not repeat the mistakes of the past; this had to end now. She had scandal enough to worry about without being caught kissing her master builder. ‘Mr Rowland!’ She hoped her exclamation carried enough chagrin for more words to be unnecessary.

‘How about we dispense with the “Mr Rowland” bit?’ He made no move to back up and release her. ‘You can call me Dorian and I’ll call you Princess.’

‘My name is Elise,’ she snapped, realising she’d been manoeuvred too late.

‘Well, Elise it shall be, then, if you insist.’ He shoved off the wall. ‘Now you can say you’ve had fun.’ He winked. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must be back to work if you want your yacht done by the deadline. Have a nice rest of the afternoon, Elise.’

She could not stay in that office a moment longer. It took all her patience to wait until Dorian was safely engrossed in his work before leaving. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded in driving her off her own property.

How dared he? Elise strode through the crowded streets surrounding the docks, burning off her excess energy and anger, if that’s what it was. He’d kissed her in broad daylight and for no apparent reason other than the fun of it. One thought overrode even that: he’d been audacious, but she’d liked it! Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Robert? Handsome men were not to be trusted. They knew they could barter on their looks to take what they wanted unless a woman was careful. Elise was so wrapped in her thoughts, she nearly ran into Charles Bradford before she noticed him.

‘Miss Sutton. I was just on my way to see you.’ Charles righted her after their nearcollision, tucking her hand through his arm. ‘Whatever are you doing out here in the street? It’s no place for a decent lady.’

‘Lunch,’ Elise improvised, pulling her skirts to one side to avoid a barrel being rolled to a nearby store.

‘Out here?’ Charles had to shout to be heard above the street din. ‘Might I suggest a quieter venue? My carriage is just the next street over. Perhaps I could escort you?’

There was no gracious way to refuse and perhaps it would be better to be with someone instead of fuming alone over her latest interaction with Dorian Rowland. In no time at all, Elise found herself ensconced in Charles Bradford’s open barouche. Of course, it was open. Being alone with a man in a closed carriage was unheard of for an unmarried woman and Charles was first and foremost a gentleman. He’d known he was coming to see her and had planned accordingly. Unlike certain other males of her recent acquaintance, came the unbidden comparison. She doubted Dorian Rowland planned accordingly for anything or even planned at all. He just did or said the first thing that came to mind.

‘I must confess to being surprised to find you here,’ Charles began as the barouche started to move. ‘I stopped at your house first and your butler told me where you were. I didn’t think there’d be anything more to do at the shipyard. If there’s still business to take care of, you should have contacted me. My father and I would have handled it for you.’ There was reproach in the comment.

The Bradfords had offered as much earlier when the tragedy had first happened, but she’d insisted on overseeing it all on her own. She knew what Charles meant. There wasn’t that much to do if she was closing the yard. ‘You might be surprised at what a girl finds to amuse herself with,’ Elise answered vaguely, her thoughts going straight to shirtless men and afternoon kisses. Charles might be all that was proper in a young man with his well-cut clothes, fashionable hair and polished manners, but he wouldn’t understand her latest endeavour or the need behind it. If he had understood, he and his father would never have pulled out.

It occurred to her that this might be a prime opportunity to pull them back in. What if they did know what she was doing? They might re-invest and there would be money again. She wouldn’t have to wait until the yacht was finished. That thought only lasted a moment. Charles was looking at her with his calm, brown eyes and she almost blurted it out. But caution held her back. It had only been a day and Dorian Rowland had amply demonstrated he was uncertainty personified. What if he suddenly quit? What if he lacked the skill to finish the yacht? She’d do better to wait and see if her project could be completed before she told a soul. It wouldn’t do to be seen as a failure just now. If she was to fail, she wanted to do it in secret.

Charles found them an acceptable tea shop where they could have sandwiches and a quiet table. He was solicitous, asking after her wellbeing, her brother’s plans to return to Oxford and her mother’s time in the country. The more solicitous he was, the more the contrast grew. He was nothing like Dorian Rowland. To start with, he wore all of his clothes and he was unlikely to steal a kiss in a public place. Charles was safe. Charles was comfortable. But she couldn’t help but wonder—would Charles’s chest be as muscled beneath his linen shirt? It certainly wouldn’t be as tanned. She blushed a little at the thought. It was most untoward of her to be picturing gentlemen without their clothes on. She could blame that, too, on Dorian.

‘Miss Sutton? Are you all right?’

‘Oh, yes. Why do you ask?’ Elise dragged her thoughts back to the conversation.

‘I asked you a question.’ Charles smiled indulgently. ‘What are you planning to do with the shipyard? My father would be able to help you arrange a sale. I’m sure you’d rather be off to join your mother.’

Actually, that was the last place she wanted to be. How to answer without lying? She opted for part of the truth. ‘I’m thinking about keeping the yard, after all,’ Elise offered quietly, waiting for his shocked response.

To his credit, Charles kept his shock to a minimum. He didn’t disagree with her, but merely voiced his concern. ‘Miss Sutton, your fortitude is commendable. But you have no one to run the place. Surely you can’t be thinking of doing it on your own?’ She knew what he was thinking. To do so was to invite social ostracism for the last time. She’d already skated so near the edge on other occasions. With her father gone, there’d be little pity left for her.

‘I have someone.’

‘Who?’ Charles reached for his tea cup.

‘A Mr Dorian Rowland,’ Elise said with a confidence she didn’t feel.

The tea cup halted in mid-air, never quite making it to his mouth. ‘Dorian Rowland? The Scourge of Gibraltar?’ The tea cup clattered into its saucer with an undignified clunk. ‘My dear Miss Sutton, you must be rid of him immediately.’

She’d hired someone called the Scourge of Gibraltar?

Elise was glad she wasn’t holding a tea cup, too, or it might have followed suit. ‘Why?’ she managed to utter.

The horror in Charles Bradford’s eyes was so exaggerated it was almost comical and it would have been, too, if it wasn’t aimed at the one man she’d pinned all her hopes on.

‘Don’t you know, Miss Sutton? He isn’t received.’