A Lady Dares

The possibilities should have been limitless, Maxwell Hart mused dispassionately as he listened to young Charles Bradford report his latest news concerning the Sutton shipyard. Elise Sutton had become a thorn in his side instead of bowing to the dictates of the inevitable. Her father was dead, her brother not prepared or interested in taking over the business, investors withdrawn and no obvious funds to continue on her own. All the pieces were in place for her to abdicate quietly, gracefully, to those with the means to run the shipyard. Instead, she had not relinquished the property, had not sought out a buyer for the plans to her father’s last coveted design. In short, she had done nothing as expected. Now there was this latest development.

‘There were lights at the shipyard tonight,’ young Charles Bradford told the small group of four assembled.

‘Do you think it could be vagrants?’ Harlan Fox suggested from his chair, looking around for validation. Fox had pockets that went deeper than his intelligence. Those pockets were his primary recommendation for inclusion in this little group of ambitious yachtsmen. ‘It’s been several months, after all. It’s about time for the vultures to settle, eh?’

Maxwell shook his head. ‘No, she’s been going to the office regularly. She probably worked late.’ He spat the pronouns with distaste. The best thing to do with thorns was to pluck them.

Charles Bradford interrupted uncharacteristically. ‘I beg your pardon, sir. It couldn’t have been Miss Sutton. She left around five o’clock and she was the last to leave. There were two other men, her brother and a man I didn’t recognise. But they’d both gone by then.’

Damien Tyne, the fourth gentleman present, said, ‘Any of them could have come back.’

‘It wasn’t likely to have been her or the brother,’ Charles pressed. ‘There was no carriage. Whoever returned came back on foot.’

‘I still vote for vagrants,’ Fox insisted.

But Damien Tyne leaned forwards, curiosity piqued. When Damien was intrigued, Maxwell had learned to pay attention. He and Tyne had made a tidy profit off those instincts and they were unerringly good. ‘What are you thinking, Tyne?’

Miss Sutton needed to be prodded in the right direction and in short order. He wanted that shipyard. It held a prime spot on the Thames and he’d coveted it for years. It would be the perfect place to move his own more obscure yacht-building operation and his warehouses. A good location would garner him the notice which to date had eluded him from his current locale in Wapping.

Obtaining the shipyard would just be the start. Hart also wanted to get his hands on the plans to Sutton’s last yacht just as badly for the future of his more private, less legitimate side of business with Tyne. Tyne could have the yacht. He wanted the plans. The key to any business venture was the ability to reproduce success.

‘I’m thinking,’ Damien drawled, his dark eyebrows looking particularly satanic in the coffee house’s uneven lighting, ‘our Miss Sutton is not going quietly. Nothing she’s done in the last months has suggested she is closing up the business as we’d hoped.’

‘She has to, there’s no money, no workers,’ Charles protested. Young and smitten with Miss Sutton, he was also a bit obtuse, a literal fellow who saw only the obvious. ‘I should know. My father was a former investor. We were at the funeral.’

Damien smiled patiently at the young cub. ‘We know that, but does she? Maybe there’s something she knows that we don’t, which seems likely.’ He nodded towards Maxwell. ‘She’s held on to the two things that matter most right now: the property and the last yacht. It seems to me that she means to try something before the end.’

‘Impossible. The yacht isn’t finished,’ Charles argued sceptically. ‘There’s nothing to try.’

‘Unless she has a builder,’ Maxwell put in bitterly. That would drag things out. He had no doubt Miss Sutton would fail in the end, but prolonging that end didn’t help his cause. The group had wanted to be in position by the time yachting season opened in May. Back in October when the opportunity had first presented itself, the objective to take over the shipyard had seemed perfectly reasonable. Now, with a month to go, it seemed far more unlikely.

Maxwell pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘We have to be certain. Charles, of all of us here, you are closest to the family. Perhaps it’s time to pay a friendly visit to see how the daughter of your father’s friend is coping with her grief?’ He winked at the young man. Everyone in the group knew Elise Sutton had set aside mourning weeks ago, but the subtle sarcasm had flown right over Charles.

Maxwell hoped Charles’s decent good looks and refined manners would encourage Miss Sutton to disclose her plans. Even beyond that, he hoped Charles would be able to give Miss Sutton a gentle nudge in the right direction through whatever means of persuasion possible.

Maxwell preferred to accomplish his goals subtly and without any overt force. He was happy to play nice until it was time not to, and that time was rapidly approaching. He and Tyne had money, time and pride wrapped up in this venture the others knew nothing about. He meant to see it succeed. Failure meant he’d lose a lot more than his shirt.

Chapter Four

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?