The Summer Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) Read Online Free PDF

I’mbuilding a business here, and so I’m working every hour God sends.” And then a bit more.
    “I see. Business is brisk, I take it.”
    “Certainly is.” She forced a grin. “Can’t hardly keep up with the orders.” Couldn’t keep up with them at all, if the truth be told, but she wasn’t going to admit that to a soul.
    “That’s grand then. If you’re so tired, grab a bit of kip. I’ll wake you when we get there.” He stretched out his long, booted legs, leaned back comfortably against the leather squabs and gazed out of the carriage window.
    Daisy had no intention of dozing off when Flynn was right there beside her. She pretended to stare out of her window but watched him from the corner of her eye. He was one good-looking man, Flynn. His breeches fit nice and tight, his legs were long and powerful, and he smelled delicious—clean and manly, not like so many posh gents who drenched themselves in perfumes and smelled like a blooming flowerpot.
    No, Flynn was all man. She fancied him rotten—always had, from the first day he’d come swaggering into Lady Bea’s parlor, as brash and confident as if he owned the place. Those bold blue eyes of his had summed up every female in the room, a perfect invitation to sin.
    From the very first he’d been danger wrapped in shades of masculine elegance—he’d just come from Freddy Monkton-Coombes’s very exclusive tailor—all the while complaining about having to dress like a peahen—not a peacock—in drab colors. With a gold earring in his ear, like a bloomin’ pirate. He was wearing it today; it glinted in the dim light.
    He’d flirted with her that first day, just a bit—and she’d flirted back.
    Daisy sighed. In the old days she’d have gone after him like a shot, but she’d turned respectable now, and so had Flynn.
    He was planning to marry the finest young lady in London, and Daisy was starting up a business of her own. They were on different pathways, and a romp between the sheets wasn’t on the cards for either of them. More’s the pity.
    Besides, Flynn was her friend, the first man she’d ever beenfriends—real friends—with. The men she’d known in the past were users—pimps, predators, thieves and swindlers—all crooks of some kind.
    Flynn was different, and she wasn’t going to risk spoiling their friendship with a bit of rumpy-pumpy, no matter how tempting it was. That sort of thing never lasted—and the breakup always ruined the friendship.
    So it was look but don’t touch.
    She eyed his long, muscular thighs in their gleaming boots, and smiled to herself. Lucky he was such a treat to look at.
    The carriage wended its way through the streets. She could tell when they arrived at the docks by the smell—dank, wet, stinky, salty river mud. She shivered.
    “Cold?” Flynn asked her.
    “Nah, just . . . that smell.”
    “Ah.” The carriage pulled up and they climbed down. While Flynn paid the driver, Daisy looked around. The fog was still thick here, lying like a sullen, dirty pall over the Thames. Beneath it she could hear the lapping of water, and above it the
pip-pip-pip
of some seabird. She pulled her pelisse more tightly around her.
    Half a dozen big boats were moored along the wharf, their hulls caressed by the swirling fog, their masts etched sharp and dark against the silvery sky.
    “Which one’s your boat?”
    “Ship,” Flynn corrected her. “Out there.” He pointed to a distant shape, a ghost ship floating on fog. He put two fingers to his mouth and let out a long complicated-sounding whistle. From the depths of the fog, another whistle answered him.
    Daisy frowned. “What’s it doin’ out there? I thought you said it was in port.”
    “It is. I always inspect the cargo before we moor the ship.”
    “Why? Wouldn’t it be easier to do it on land?”
    “Aye, but quicker to do it on board, while we’re making arrangements for our men to unload and transfer the cargo to our own warehouses. I prefer to spend