Читать книгу A Lady Dares - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 9

In Dorian Rowland’s opinion, the ruckus outside the carriage was entirely unnecessary. Some people were simply unreasonable. Yes, he was late with his payment but he was good for it and Halsey knew it. Another cargo, which he’d been trying to negotiate when he’d been so rudely and violently interrupted by Halsey’s bullies, would have seen it right within the week.

The carriage hit a mud-filled rut in the street and sent a spray of water up, dousing his pursuers. Dorian could hear their curses outside as they gave up the chase. It served them right. They’d got what they so richly deserved and so had he. He was sitting in a plush town coach across from a finely dressed lady and her brother.

He definitely didn’t know the woman. He remembered pretty women and he’d have remembered her: all that inky black hair, alert green eyes and a bosom to die for. As for the young man, Dorian didn’t quite recall him, although there was something of the familiar about him. He was apparently supposed to know him from somewhere. He racked his brain for the last decent party he’d been to. In these cases of questionable identity, he’d found it worked out well to play along, especially when he sensed he was on the brink of an exciting new opportunity. Halsey could wait.

‘So you’re the best?’ The princess was talking, words forming from those kissable pink lips of hers. What a lovely mouth she had, far too lovely for that tone of voice. The way she said it made it sound like an accusation. The princess struck him as a bit high in the instep.

Dorian grinned and slathered his response in innuendo. He might have even shifted his posture ever so slightly to better display the ‘goods’, not that he’d admit to such feeble vanity. ‘Depends on what you want, Princess.’

Her pretty mouth set in a firm line and he knew a moment’s regret. Perhaps he’d pushed things a bit too far.

‘Stop the carriage, William,’ she said sharply to the young man before turning back to him with a cold politeness that suggested she could rise above the situation.

‘I am sorry…Mr Rowland, is it? It seems my brother has made a mistake. I’m glad we could assist your escape from imminent danger, but now it is time to part ways. I’ll have our driver put you down at the next corner.’

The brother—what was his name again? She’d just said it. William? Wilson?—intervened patiently. ‘Elise, wait. I tell you he is the best. If you would just listen to me.’ Ah, so she was definitely not in the market for a little blanket hornpipe, because her brother would have absolutely no knowledge of his skills in that regard. His wind didn’t blow that way.

‘Give him a chance to explain himself, please.’ The brother waved a hand towards him, tossing him a beseeching look. Feel free to intervene at any time. Dorian opened his mouth to assist, but too late.

‘He has explained himself,’ the haughty princess fired back. ‘Just look at him! He’s unkempt, he was in a public house in the middle of the day and he was brawling. That’s just in the last fifteen minutes. Who knows what else he’s been doing?’

It was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘the captain’s mistress’. But then he thought better of it. A becoming colour was riding her cheeks. The princess had been provoked enough already.

‘You would entrust our future to that? I don’t even want to know how it is that you know him, William.’ Too bad. He was counting on her making William explain the connection. Now, he’d just have to keep guessing. But that last comment set him on edge. Pretty princess or not, no one could talk about him as if he weren’t in the room, or worse, as if he were an object in the room.

‘I hate to interrupt this lovely example of sibling quarrels, but please note, I’m still here.’ Dorian stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. ‘I think it would be best if you tell me what you really want and then I’ll tell you if I’ll do it. I find business is usually much simpler that way.’

The carriage turned on to the docks and stopped before a barred gate. His haughty princess shot him a glare as she leaned out to give a password to the guard. ‘You might as well see what I have in mind.’

First pistols, now passwords. This was growing more interesting by the moment. What was a young woman doing down on the docks, throwing around entrance codes like she belonged here? For that matter, what was she doing roaming Cold Harbour Lane in search of him? She wasn’t his usual type, that type being a bolder, brassier woman, a less-well-dressed sort. Not that she wasn’t bold. She had come armed, after all. Hmm. A girl with a gun. Maybe she was his type. By the time she led him into the shipyard his curiosity, in all its healthy male parts, was fully engaged.

‘There it is,’ she announced with a proud wave of her hand, indicating the hull of a racer. ‘That’s the yacht I need finished.’

She needed a finished yacht? It just so happened he needed one, too. That meant the shipyard was her place. Very impressive. Dorian began a slow tour around the yard, attempting to assimilate the various pieces of information. He made note of the supplies lining the perimeter: the casks of pitch, the piles of timber, the buckets of nails. He peeked under heavy tarps. Everything was new and well organised. These were not supplies that had lain in the weather so long they were rotten or rusted.

He took in, too, the silence and the absence of men. Whatever had transpired had brought work to a halt, an interesting concept of its own given the scarcity of jobs. Plenty of men were out of work these days. It made one stop and wonder.

‘There’s no one here. Why is that?’ He stopped in front of Miss Elise Sutton, his tone far more serious than it had been in the carriage. This was no longer a laughing matter. ‘I think it’s time you tell me what you really need and why.’

That got her attention. She stepped back instinctively, but her eyes were as unflinching as they had been outside the tavern. Lord, she was magnificent. ‘My father passed away recently and left this boat. I want to finish it and sell it.’ It was a succinct tale, but Dorian took nothing at face value. In his world it was best not to if one wanted to live long enough to collect payment.

‘Let me guess—the work crew left because there was no one to run the company?’ Dorian surmised immediately. Things were becoming clearer: a brother too young to assume responsibility and a woman with too much on her hands. He was starting to remember the lad, too. Sutton. William Sutton. That elusive first name of his was more familiar when paired with the last. There’d been a house party near Oxford last autumn. Perhaps they’d met there during one of his own brief forays into the fringes of society?

‘Yes, but I assure you I am more than capable, I—’

Dorian held up a hand and shook his head. ‘Enough, Miss Sutton. I am sure you are very capable, but men won’t work for you. However, they’ll work for me for the simple fact that I am male, although they’ll be glad enough to take your money. I trust you’ve thought about how to pay them?’ He’d bet his last piece of gold she wanted to sell the yacht because she needed money.

‘From the proceeds of the sale,’ she said shortly, irritated by his insights.

‘I might know some men who’d be willing to work for a future profit.’ Dorian shrugged, but his mind was racing. He’d need five men who knew what they were doing and another dozen skilled in carpentry. The promise of delayed payment meant he might have to look harder and in less-savoury places for seventeen adequate workers.

‘Would you care to see the plans before you take this any further?’ Elise offered coldly. ‘This is not just any yacht. It’s been designed with several new innovations in mind. It will be important that you understand them.’

Dorian smiled. There wasn’t a ship he couldn’t build, couldn’t sail and couldn’t steal, for that matter. ‘I can build your yacht, Princess. You can innovate all you like. The bigger question is—why should I?’

Elise put her hands on her hips and a wry smile on her lips. ‘Because you need money. The bullies at the tavern intimated as much. Who is it you owe? A Mr Halsey?’

Dorian stifled a laugh. ‘Black Jack Halsey hasn’t been called “mister” his entire life, Princess. He’s been called a lot of other things, but not that.’

‘I’ll pay you one hundred pounds from the sale to finish the yacht on time.’

‘Five hundred,’ Dorian countered. A man had to live and pay his debts. If he could make a little extra that was fine, too. It wasn’t his fault part of his last cargo had been confiscated for non-payment of port fees. He’d told Halsey they’d not pass inspection and he’d been right.

‘Five hundred! That’s highway robbery,’ Elise retorted, outraged by his exorbitant fee.

‘Have much experience with highway robbery, do you?’ Dorian chuckled.

Elise chose to ignore his question and stood her ground. ‘I’m asking for one month’s worth of work, Mr Rowland. You can’t earn that much in three years of honest labour.’

‘Honest being the key word there, Miss Sutton.’ He’d make more than that on his next cargo, but he wouldn’t attest to those goods all being legal.

‘All right, two hundred.’ The sharp point of her chin went up a fraction.

‘Let me remind you, you came looking for me.’

‘Two-fifty.’

‘Three hundred and I get three meals a day and that shed over there.’ He jabbed his thumb at a wide lean-to on the perimeter of the yard.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want with the shed?’

‘That is none of your business.’

‘I won’t tolerate anything illegal on these premises.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Or illicit.’

‘Now, you’re parsing words, Miss Sutton. Do you want me to build your ship or not?’ No doubt they could disagree on the nature of ‘illicit’ all day.

‘We still haven’t established why I should let you,’ she challenged.

‘Because I’ve built boats for the pashas and the Gibraltar smugglers that rival anything your Royal Thames Yacht Club can put on the water. Have you ever heard of the Queen Maeve?’ He was gratified by the flicker of recognition in her eyes. So the princess wasn’t just desperate for money. She knew something about boats, too. ‘Fastest racer on the Mediterranean and I built her.’

Built her and lost her, much to his regret. She’d been his dream, but in the end he’d had to let her go. There would be other boats, other dreams. That’s what he told himself anyway, although there hadn’t been that many opportunities since coming back to England. Not until now. This boat could be his ticket back to Gibraltar, back to the life he’d built there. But that life was based on having a fast ship.

Dorian ran his hand over the smooth, sanded side of the hull where it was finished. The yacht had good lines. The familiar magic started to hum in his veins; the itch to pick up tools and shape something into sleekness thrummed in his hands. Best not let the princess see that longing. It was better they assume she was the only desperate party here.

‘You built the Queen Maeve?’ she queried in sceptical disbelief.

‘And others, but she was my favourite.’ An understatement.

‘I told you, Elise, Rowland is the best,’ her brother said, entering the conversation for the first time, apparently happy enough to let his sister handle negotiations. Dorian wished he could remember the young man more clearly.

Miss Sutton studied him. She was weighing hope against desperation. Dorian could see it in her eyes. Could She afford to let him go? She had to know already she could not. Who else would take her deal? She knew the answer to that as well as he did. She’d had a look at reality. Still, caution carried some weight with her. ‘You’ve spent a lot of time in the Mediterranean, an area known more or less for its lawlessness on the seas.’

‘Less these days,’ Dorian muttered under his breath. If Britain hadn’t been so steadfast in taming the seas, he might still be there, but tamed seas were bad for business, his business at least. Tamed seas forced a man to be more creative in his ventures.

She huffed and raised an eyebrow in censure over the interruption. ‘I must ask, are you a pirate, Mr Rowland?’

‘If I can build your yacht, does it matter?’ He winked. ‘That’s a rhetorical question, Miss Sutton—we both know I’m your last best chance. I’ll start tomorrow.’ He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He strode across the yard to the shed, calling over his shoulder as he opened the door to the lean-to, ‘If you need me, I’ll be in my office.’