Playing the Rake's Game

by Bronwyn Scott

  They were standing toe to toe, chests heaving with emotion. She could see a tic jump in his cheek. He was keeping himself barely leashed, the imprint of her palm red on his cheek.

  ‘Answer the question, Emma,’ Ren growled. ‘Did you seduce me?’

  Oh, mercy. She had hurt him, and in doing so she hurt herself, too, something she hadn’t thought possible when he’d arrived. He’d been an object then, a stranger. The realisation that he had become more made her uncomfortable. She was a good person, she wasn’t in the habit of scheming, of perpetrating evil, that was Gridley’s market. Even more than that, she didn’t want to hurt Ren, not even to protect Sugarland.

  ‘It wasn’t like that, not last night...’ Emma began, resuming her seat. The heat of the fight had left her. How to do this? Did she dare the truth? It would expose her entirely in ways that left her vulnerable. She drew a breath to steady her voice, her decision made. She would risk the truth if it meant keeping Ren. ‘All right, maybe in the beginning I thought I might be able to use our attraction to my advantage.’

  ‘Aha!’ Ren accused.

  ‘Let me explain,’ Emma protested the interruption. ‘If you want answers, you can’t twist the facts.’

  Ren nodded, backing off, giving her space while he opted to pace by the window and listen. ‘That night when you claimed your forfeit, you wanted me, it was there in your eyes. I thought I could do it, I thought I could use that desire to keep control of Sugarland. But when it came right down to it, I couldn’t.’

  ‘And yet, we’ve had quite the last three days.’ Ren’s tone was cynical. ‘I’m having trouble believing you had difficulty doing it. You seemed to be “doing it” quite well.’

  Emma crossed the room, coming up behind him, her hands on his arms, her lips pressed to his back. ‘Then believe this. I couldn’t do it for the reasons I’d set out to do. I’d meant to use you, to bind you to me. But when the moment came, I only went forward because I wanted you for myself too much. I couldn’t be neutral, detached. Everything that has happened, happened because I wanted it, not because it furthered some hidden agenda.’

  He had to believe her! She’d given him the truth—what more was there to give him? If he refused to accept it, something valuable would be lost, broken beyond repair even if Sugarland was saved.

  He turned, his body as stiff as his tone as he disengaged her hands and stepped away from her. ‘All right. I will take that into consideration.’

  It wasn’t what she was hoping for. Desperation galvanised her. ‘Ren, this is Gridley’s divisiveness at work, I feel it.’

  Ren merely nodded. ‘I will take that into consideration, too. If you will excuse me, I have to go into Bridgetown.’

  ‘Why?’ Panic gripped her. He couldn’t leave, not now when everything was a mess. She hated feeling this way. She was not one given to panic. It was testament to how deeply he’d affected her, how quickly his opinion had come to matter.

  He fixed her with a steely stare. ‘The way I see things, there’re two problems at work. We have a plantation and a burgeoning relationship, both in jeopardy. I think I can save the former. I’m not sure about the latter. The plantation is worth my effort, I don’t know if the relationship is.’

  His words made her feel small and petty. She’d misplayed her hand with him from the start and now she had to pay. ‘I’ll come with you. We can talk over your ideas for the plantation on the way. I can help.’ Emma stood up and smoothed her skirts, eager to mend fences, eager to earn back his trust and respect, assuming she’d had it in the first place.

  Ren shook his head. ‘No. I want to go alone. I think you’ve helped enough.’

  Emma stood in silent shock, watching Ren walk away. It was the most complete dismissal she’d ever received. Goodness, it hurt. Never mind that she might have deserved it. In all fairness, he had walked into a viper’s pit. There was much she had deliberately held back and even when the revelations had come out one by one, he’d borne each one reasonably. Except today. The money had bothered him greatly, the proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back. Why had the money mattered so much? At the moment, it seemed to matter more than her, more than her soul-exposing disclosure.

  To her credit, she had meant what she’d said today. She had not given herself to him in the hopes of playing his desire against him. She welcomed his passion, welcomed the fire he raised in her. She’d taken him to her bed because she’d wanted him, because her body cried out for him. He made her feel alive, free.

  A tear slipped down her cheek. Now he was gone. What had she done? ‘Is that why you did it, Merry? Is that why you wanted him to come? To protect me?’ she said aloud to the empty room. From the start, she’d seen Ren Dryden as a nuisance while Merry had seen him as something more. Not just for Sugarland, but for her, too. Emma had the sinking sensation that in her desire to protect the plantation, to protect herself, she’d inadvertently chased away the one man who could save them both.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘I need a secondary export to save Sugarland,’ Ren said over ale in one of Bridgetown’s less glamorous public houses where he’d found Kitt Sherard. When he’d left the plantation he’d known only that he needed to talk, needed to be listened to and needed to listen in return. In short, he needed a friend and Kitt was it. He’d hoped the entire five miles into town that Kitt would be in port.

  ‘Is it as bad as all that?’ Kitt eyed him over the foaming tankard.

  ‘It will be. Sugar prices have continued to drop, the cost of labour will rise. The books are already showing the effects.’ Ren pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I think diversifying is an obvious answer. A second export would give us something substantial to fall back on in hard times.’

  ‘May I suggest rum?’ Kitt offered. ‘Sugarland has its own still, if I recall.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Around here, most planters produce rum for themselves and for local businesses. But I’m talking about mass-producing the rum. Sugarland is large enough to have the molasses to do it. A lot of places don’t have the resources to go big.’

  ‘Where do I sell all this rum? It wouldn’t be enough to just sell it here on the island.’

  Kitt laughed and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘To the British navy, you numbskull. They’re the world’s largest consumer of rum. I also think you work on a special line. Sell the regular stuff to the navy. Their rum doesn’t have to be fancy. Then start to make another rum designed for a finer palate, something that might appeal to all your snob friends back home. Run up the price on that. Snobs like to pay for their pleasures.’

  Ren nodded slowly, processing the idea. They could start right away. With the harvest finished and the cane just now going to the mill, there would be fresh sugar-cane juice, a fresh supply of molasses. ‘I don’t suppose you could arrange for me to meet with the naval quartermaster?’ Ren asked drily. He didn’t think for a moment Kitt had offered this out of sheer humanitarianism.

  Kitt’s grin widened. ‘Stay over in town with me tonight and you can see him tomorrow. I have an appointment to discuss other business with him.’

  Ren leaned back against the wall, studying his friend. ‘Is this what you’ve been doing for five years, Kitt? Running rum?’

  Kitt nodded, unashamed. ‘Pretty much. It’s not illegal any more. But everyone in the islands needs it, wants it. Not everyone can produce it. The best rum in the islands comes out of Barbados. What I’ve discovered in these parts is that transportation is the key. It takes time to get from one point to another. The first thing I did when I arrived was buy myself a boat. I just started hauling whatever people needed delivered to wherever it needed to go.’

  Ren didn’t want to ask what some of that might have been. Kitt’s code of ethics was a little different from his. But at least Kitt had one. Ren was starting to think that was a rare commodity on the island. He
reached across the table and gripped Kitt’s forearm. ‘Thank you for this, my friend. I won’t forget it.’ One problem was potentially resolved if he could deliver the rum.

  ‘What else is on your mind?’ Kitt asked quietly. ‘Is there more to this than finding a secondary source of income?’

  Ren stared into his emptying tankard. Why not tell Kitt everything? It was surprisingly hard to talk about this latest intimacy, even with Kitt. They’d shared talk about women before plenty of times back in London, but those had been casual liaisons, society games. He and Emma were...different. What they had shared was sacred somehow, more personal, something he had just begun to realise before the doubts had set in.

  Ren braved the disclosure with a carefully couched sentence. ‘Things with Emma Ward have become complicated.’ An understatement if ever there was one.

  Kitt gave an embarrassingly loud hoot of laughter that drew stares towards their table. ‘You bedded her! After all your protests about how you didn’t think you had time for a woman.’ He winked at Ren. ‘There’s always time for a woman when she’s the right woman, isn’t there? Emma’s as pretty as they come and as prickly, too.’

  Ren rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I think she seduced me to minimise my power. I think she hoped if I bedded her, I wouldn’t contest her authority.’ He didn’t want that to be true. Hearing the words out loud made them sound so cold, the complete antithesis to what he and Emma had shared.

  ‘That you’d be too caught up in her charms?’ Kitt nodded knowingly. ‘That’s no good, my friend.’ He thought for a moment before leaning back in, his voice thankfully lower again. ‘Why do you think that? Did you come up with that idea on your own or did someone suggest it?’

  ‘In part, both. You know me, I’m an analyst. I’m always thinking of things from different angles. She wasn’t pleased to see me the day I showed up and then a couple weeks later we’re in bed. One might say that’s quite an about-turn.’ Only he hadn’t seen it that way. He had been caught up in her flirtation and he’d been so sure of himself he hadn’t thought to question things.

  Kitt shrugged. ‘You know how to turn a lady’s head, Ren. I’ve seen you do it countless times in a ballroom. Even the stiffest old matron melts for you. I wouldn’t underestimate your charm. Perhaps she saw your, ah, “potential” and changed her mind. But you said in part. What else influenced your conclusion? It wouldn’t be Arthur Gridley, would it?’

  ‘I had a rather unpleasant interview with him this morning,’ Ren said. ‘The subject came up, not for the first time.’

  ‘Gridley’s hot for her, has been for ages. He won’t like her choosing you over him. I wouldn’t let his opinion colour mine too much since he’s got an agenda.’ Kitt had made his point. ‘As for me, I don’t think it seems like something Emma Ward would do. If anyone in these parts has a social conscience, it’s her. She supports an honest application of the apprenticeship programme, she pays a fair wage. She doesn’t use people, but Arthur Gridley does.’

  Ren thought about the day the chicken coop burnt down, how Emma had understood the request for time off and a chance to practice local customs. He thought, too, about his earlier argument with himself. She could not have feigned such passion.

  He thought, too, about what she’d told him regarding Gridley. She didn’t merely loathe the man, she feared him. She stood to lose more than a home if Gridley succeeded. She stood to lose her freedom, maybe even her life. Under those circumstances, even if she had used him, he could hardly blame her. In her situation, he might have done the same, although she’d suggested this morning that she’d not gone through with it for those reasons.

  He might have lied to Kitt when he’d told him Emma had thought to prevent his usurping of her authority. He saw now that she hadn’t set out to emasculate him, far from it. She wanted him to be her buffer. She didn’t want him to run, she wanted him to stay. And he’d done just the opposite. He’d left her to fend for herself against Gridley. But perhaps he could remedy that situation ,too.

  ‘Kitt, what do you know about Arthur Gridley...?’ he began hesitantly—he’d already asked Kitt for so much.

  Kitt shook his head. ‘Nothing good. His background is a little murky, but that’s true for a lot of folks out here looking for new beginnings. Beyond the obvious, why do you ask?’

  ‘I have reason to believe he killed my cousin. I’d like to investigate, but...’ Ren let the implication hang in the air.

  Kitt nodded knowingly. ‘I’ll look into it and see if Gridley has the magistrate or the police force in his pocket.’ Before they could bring charges, they had to determine if it would be safe to do so. If the officials were bribed, it would be dangerous and futile.

  He’d done what he could for now to help Emma, a mere peace offering after their quarrel. Guilt swamped Ren. He’d been too hard on her. He’d been in financial shock, upset over the reality of Sugarland because it wasn’t what he needed and he’d channelled some of that disappointment in her direction. He groaned when he thought of the hot words they’d spoken, the things he’d accused her of. They were not things a gentleman accused a lady of ever. ‘I may have some apologising to do,’ Ren murmured into the last of his ale.

  ‘I know someone else who might have some to do, too...’ Kitt began slowly. ‘I know you have lady problems of your own. I hate to add one more, but there’s something you need to see. Just don’t kill the messenger.’ Kitt slid an opened letter across the table. ‘This came in my post. I happened to intercept the mail packet a little sooner than the rest of you.’

  The letter was from London. Ren swallowed, his heart starting to race. There would only be a few reasons why Kitt would show him a personal letter. ‘It’s from Benedict,’ Kitt supplied as Ren scanned the contents. Ren felt his nerves ease. Benedict DeBreed was wild, always up to something crazy.

  ‘What has Ben got himself into this time?’ Ren gave a chuckle.

  ‘Matrimony.’ Kitt answered. ‘To your sister. It’s all in there. He even included the announcement from The Times.’

  Ren looked at the newspaper clipping in disbelief.

  Mr Benedict DeBreed announces his engagement to Lady Sarah Dryden, sister to the Earl of Dartmoor.

  ‘Apparently, Benedict has come into some money, a tin mine or something.’ Kitt said tentatively.

  Sarah was going to marry one of London’s most notorious bounders? How had this happened? But Ren knew. Rumour of their finances must have got out. ‘I asked Benedict to watch over the family, not to marry into it,’ Ren muttered. Benedict was a good friend, a loyal one, but that didn’t mean he wanted a rake marrying his sister. Sarah must have felt forced to it, must have felt there was no other choice. Ren looked at the postmark. They might be married already if Benedict had proposed in haste. Even so, there was nothing he could do at a distance.

  ‘This is my fault.’ Ren groaned. He should have been there. He was feeling selfish. He’d come for a lot of reasons, but especially to escape his own matrimonial entanglement. Now, his sister had gone and done the unthinkable. ‘I should have come up with a better solution.’

  ‘Short of marrying that horse-faced heiress out of York, I don’t know what that solution would have been.’ Kitt reminded him.

  ‘Perhaps I should have. Then Sarah wouldn’t have had to marry DeBreed.’

  ‘Maybe she wanted to. DeBreed’s handsome, now he’s rich. He’s a legend in bed.’ Kitt shrugged, not taking the issue with half as much seriousness. Then again, Kitt didn’t have sisters.

  ‘Shut up, Kitt,’ Ren growled.

  ‘What? You don’t want your sister to enjoy marriage?’ Kitt was brimming with laughter. ‘If I had a sister, I’d want her to enjoy certain aspects of marriage.’

  ‘Well, you don’t, so you hardly know what you’re talking about.’ Ren tried to keep a straight face. The conversation was so ridiculous it was h
ard to scold Kitt for his crassness. Ren lost the battle, his face breaking into a grin. ‘I had forgotten just how pathetic you are, Kitt. Thanks for reminding me.’

  Kitt reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. DeBreed might be wild, but deep down inside, and when I say deep, I mean pretty deep, it is DeBreed we’re talking about after all, he’s a decent fellow. Besides, Sarah’s a big girl. She can take care of herself and you have your new rum enterprise. I think you’re missing the silver lining here. Sarah’s married money and you’re making money. The great Dartmoor line will be in the black in no time at all.’ Kitt raised his hand and called for another round. ‘Tonight, you should be celebrating.’ He grinned. ‘And I’ll help.’

  * * *

  It didn’t help matters that Ren hadn’t come home the previous night from Bridgetown. How could she apologise? How could she win him back if he wasn’t here? Emma looked out the front-room window for the millionth time since the sun had started to sink. There was no sign of life in the long drive. To hell with peeking out the windows. She was going to sit on the porch and stare down the road until he showed up. And she did, until it was too dark to see. So much for that idea.

  The sun was completely gone and even with the assistance of a lantern, there was only so much visibility. That was when she decided it: she would wait for him in his bed. That way, even if she fell asleep, she wouldn’t miss his return and he wouldn’t be able to overlook her. For the first time since his arrival, she was regretting putting him in the garçonnière. It would be far more convenient to have him in one of the bedchambers in the main house near her.

  Emma smiled when she entered his rooms. At least this would be private. Privacy would be welcomed if everything went well. She changed into her nightgown, a filmy white confection of lace and chiffon. She took down her hair and brushed it out. Then she settled into his bed to wait, knowing full well it would be hard for him to resist. She’d seen herself in the long mirror in the corner, her hair loose, her gown doing little to conceal her feminine assets.