A Lady Dares. Bronwyn Scott

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      ‘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.’

       Chapter Three

      He was the last thing she needed! And if he needed her, which would be the more likely case, she’d be in her office, a fact Elise demonstrated by loudly stomping up the stairs and slamming the office door, an effect which was ruined by her brother immediately opening the door and quietly shutting behind him when he entered.

      ‘Did you see how he just came in here and tried to take over?’ Elise steamed, pacing the square dimensions of the office with rapid steps. ‘He’s the builder, not the owner. Five hundred pounds, my foot. This is my yard and he’d better remember that.’

      ‘He’ll build the yacht, Elise, you’d better remember that.’

      The firmness of her brother’s tone stopped her steps. William had never spoken to her harshly. ‘What do you mean?’ Elise faced him slowly. He lounged against the wall, casual and elegant, a subtle reminder that he wasn’t the adolescent boy she was used to after all these years. The mantle of manhood was starting to settle about him in the sternness of his features. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

      ‘I mean, I will be away at university. Mother is gone. There’s no one to help you if you lose Rowland. Pay him what he wants, get the boat finished and let’s be done with this.’

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