Breaking the Rake's Rules

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘He runs cargoes between the islands. He has a fast ship, the Queen of the Main. Most of his cargo is rum, so you can imagine the people he deals with.’ Oh, she could imagine. James would be stunned by the vivid images that conjured up: Kitt at the helm of a boat, wind his hair, his shirt open at the neck.

  ‘It’s all very unsavoury.’ James’s distaste was written in the scowl on his face.

  Very dangerous, too. That explained the knife. The image of Kitt naked and wielding a knife was engraved on her mind for obvious reasons. It had not occurred to her until she’d got past the ‘obvious’ part of that image how odd it was he’d had a knife handy while getting a massage. Who kept a knife with them when they were relaxing?

  Now she knew and the answer wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she’d hoped. It merely spawned other questions and more curiosity. She’d been able to justify her interest in Kitt as purely business at first. But this new flare of interest was far more personal. Who was he? She knew so little about him. And you should keep it that way. What could knowing more about him do but cause trouble?

  She was still debating this when her father walked over, smiling broadly to claim her. It was time to make their farewells to their hostess. Her father was still smiling as they left the Selbys.

  ‘What has you so happy? Did your discussion go well?’ Bryn asked, opening a parasol as the open barouche headed back towards town.

  ‘Yes, I think the group is forming well. We should be able to send a preliminary report back to England on the next mail packet in a week or so. But I’m smiling because of you. I saw you with James. Do you like him? He’s a solid young man with great potential.’

  Bryn hated to spoil her father’s good mood, but there was no sense in prolonging a lie or creating false hopes. ‘He’s nice enough, a perfect gentleman, but he’s not for me. I don’t think anyone is right now. It will take me some time.’

  Her father nodded and leaned over to pat her knee encouragingly, misunderstanding her remark. ‘There will be someone.’

  ‘Maybe, some day.’ She smiled to assure him. Until that time, there was Kitt Sherard and his audacious kisses. It occurred to her that perhaps the reason she’d behaved so badly with Kitt was that she knew nothing could come of it. In that regard, he was safe. There would be no professions of love. Just physical pleasure, just coming alive. And that was enough, more than enough. In short, there would be nothing to break: no engagements, no hearts, nothing. Just life. Just living. He offered a far simpler arrangement, which was, unfortunately, quite appealing to a woman who felt chained by complicated promises.

  ‘You’re smiling, Daughter, and that’s a start.’ Her father’s voice held a laugh, something she hadn’t heard from him in a while. ‘Whatever has put that smile on your face, I’m glad for it. We are coming alive again, you and I both.’

  Now if only the reason for that smile would come back, Bryn thought. Where was her pirate prince?

  Chapter Ten

  Kitt took the helm of the Queen, feeling alive at sea in a way he never quite achieved on land. The ship moved beneath him, gently bucking over the waves, like a woman finding her pleasure. He never tired of either image, the woman or the ship, although these days the image of the woman had taken the very definite shape of Bryn Rutherford as she’d been on the rock, as she’d been on the balcony: hot, curious and willing in his arms.

  There were other images, too: her storming down the path full of righteous indignation only to find him nude; her untying the ribbon of her hat and lifting it from her head, her hand on him. For a woman he was trying to avoid, the list of images he carried in his mind was rather long and colourful. In short, arousing.

  Of course, that might also have something to do with the fact that he’d been without one for far longer than he was used to. This trip had not allowed enough time to avail himself of his usual port-to-port favourites. There’d been business to handle, which had been hectic due to the impending cane harvests. There’d been extra business, too, like arranging another trade for Ren’s rum barrels. And, as always, there’d been information to gather, which involved a lot of listening, head nodding and a judiciously placed question here and there on his part, sometimes accompanied by judiciously placed coins. The good information was never free.

  Kitt turned the wheel to put the ship’s nose to the wind, the sails full against the blue sky as he headed for Bridgetown and home. That was a dangerous word. Home made a man weak just as friends made a man vulnerable. It was a sign he’d been here too long. He was starting to feel comfortable. He was starting to feel hopeful. There were signs of that hope sprinkled throughout his life. He had his villa, his ship, he had Ren and soon Bridgetown would have a bank. Civilisation was coming to him and Bridgetown both. There was no escaping it and it was not the time to start feeling ‘comfortable’. He should be feeling increasingly vigilant. With civilisation came more opportunity for his past to be exposed.

  Perhaps he should consider leaving. The western Caribbean was still fairly untouched by the English, still fairly lawless. It would be hard to find him there. It would keep him from entertaining fantasies about Bryn Rutherford. She’d definitely be out of reach then. He was going to have to see her again. He couldn’t communicate with her father by letter for ever if he wanted to be part of the investment group.

  The ship entered the bay and his blood hummed. He told himself it was because he was eager to talk to Ren. Something was definitely afoot. The islands were brimming with activity. There’d been reports of new plantations trying new crops. It sounded very industrious, very interesting, even very lucrative. Plantations were the backbone of the Caribbean economy. Since the sixteen hundreds, people had been cultivating a variety of new crops, some with success, some not. These islands were seedbeds of innovation for those willing to risk it.

  Kitt also knew these islands were seedbeds for other more notorious activities. When innovation was of a less-honest nature, it was called swindling. That was what had him worried. He wanted word of James Selby’s plantation. When he’d been approached by an acquaintance of a regular connection on one of the smaller islands, Kitt had listened intently. The Sunwood project, he’d called it, a chance to experiment with new strains of cotton and cane. Perhaps this was the one Selby had spoken of. It would be something to start from.

  Why do you care so much about what Selby invests in? his mind prodded. Selby was welcome to his own mistakes, but this time those mistakes involved Kitt’s money. If he was going to invest in a bank, it had better be a good one. He wasn’t going to throw money after poor investments. That was the easy answer, the one that didn’t require any further thought.

  The harder answer was that Bryn’s father was involved, at the very least by association. Selby’s foolishness would reflect poorly on the bank. If her father was involved, then she was involved, too, and that was intolerable to Kitt. He’d seen too many innocent bystanders brought down by the foolishness of others. He hadn’t been able to save them. But he’d be damned if he stood by and watched it happen again if he could help it.

  That was all. He put a firm lid on that analysis. It had everything to do with the past and nothing to do with Bryn personally. With that, his thoughts came full circle, back to the woman who’d started them. It was nearly impossible for him to think about the pending bank without thinking of Bryn. Had she missed him? Had she noticed he was gone? Stupid questions both, and hardly worthy of a man who’d refined the art of physical pleasure without emotional attachment.

  Is that what he meant by ‘Had she missed him?’? Miss as in she was sorry he was gone? Did he want her to miss him? Why? He liked her well enough. She was out of the ordinary, a challenge. But to what end? To see if he could have a woman like that without the trappings of his old life to recommend him? To see if Kitt Sherard, rum runner, could win a cultivated woman of high birth—the sort of woman who, by rights, should
never look twice at such a man, a woman who was reserved for a lord? Or was she more than a game he played with himself? Neither proposition was answered easily or comfortably for a man who prided himself on remaining unattached and emotionally aloof.

  Had she spent her time wondering such things, wondering about him? Or had she spent the week deciding James Selby was a better choice by far? She would have had ample opportunity to make the comparison. There would have been parties and meetings—had she sat in on any more of those? He couldn’t imagine Selby finding her attendance at meetings a womanly behaviour.

  In England, he wouldn’t have even viewed Selby as competition. But that life was over. Here, Selby had the advantage. For all her protests to the contrary, perhaps Bryn would see that. Again came the question—why did he care? There were plenty of women who were glad to warm his bed and make no demands, yet she was the one who made his blood heat with anticipation when he thought about this evening, the reason he was back in Barbados so soon. The banking board would be announced tonight at the gala. He would be there for that, as would Ren. And Bryn. He’d see her tonight, perhaps tonight he’d test his many hypotheses about the attraction she held for him and sort this out once and for all.

  It had been a difficult decision to sail with so much going on, but he had a business to continue and he wasn’t worried about being left off the board. His money spoke for itself, as did his business sense. The good women of Bridgetown might look down their noses at his unorthodox methods, but their husbands were all too happy to make money with him.

  Kitt called for the anchor to be lowered. As eager as he was to be home, the trip had been incomplete in some ways. There’d been no news about anyone who might be stalking him and that was decidedly unnerving for two reasons. First, he usually had a good idea of who his enemies were and why. Second, because of the first reason, it affirmed the suspicions he’d voiced to Ren. Ghosts of the past had come back to haunt them. But not for long. When he got things settled on land, he’d go do a little hunting of his own by sea. It was necessary and it might even give himself a chance to purge this growing obsession with Bryn Rutherford.

  * * *

  It occurred to Bryn that she might be developing an obsession for Kitt Sherard. Bryn’s eyes hunted the lantern lit gardens for him, searching the crowd with her gaze from the darker perimeter. He should be here. Tonight was the bank’s celebration gala and his ship had been sighted in the bay that afternoon. Not that it did her any credit to admit she was looking for him, it was just something to pass the time, a reason to disengage from the crowd for a moment.

  She’d done her duty as her father’s hostess and greeted all the guests. Now, she wanted a moment to step back and see the results of her planning. Although invitations had only gone out a week ago, this party had been conceived of months before. The supplies for it, including the cases of champagne, had crossed the Atlantic with them in anticipation of this precise outcome; the assembling of the bank’s charter members.

  Across the garden, she could see him deep in conversation with Selby and Harrison, his face animated as he spoke. Bryn couldn’t help but smile. Her father had done it. Tonight was his triumph—a triumph that went beyond banking, although she was the only one present who knew it.

  A server passed by, bearing icy glasses of champagne on a silver tray, the bubbly liquid sparkling like gold diamonds in the lights. She reached for one, but someone behind her was faster, whisking two glasses off the tray.

  ‘Silver and gold, perfect colours for tonight’s party, don’t you think?’ Kitt materialised out of the darkness beside her. He handed her a glass, bemused by her gasp of surprise.

  ‘You do have a way of taking a girl unawares.’ Bryn took a sip of the sharp, fizzy champagne, trying not to give away the excitement his presence raised in her or the fact that he’d succeeded in catching her off guard. She’d expected to see him first.

  ‘You were looking for me. Miss me, did you?’ Kitt chuckled, taking a swallow.

  ‘Were you gone?’ Bryn answered coolly, annoyed that he’d been spying on her. He’d been here longer than she’d thought and he’d been watching her. She’d wanted to have all the control.

  ‘Minx.’ Kitt smiled and it went straight to her knees. He was even more handsome than she remembered. A week aboard ship had served to deepen his tan and bleach his hair to a sleek white-gold. He fairly vibrated with potent good health, his presence more intoxicating than the champagne. She was definitely developing an obsession.

  ‘I must confess, I was worried,’ Bryn said casually. ‘You were the first asked and the last to sign.’ Worried, because she’d feared somehow her secret indiscretions had affected Kitt’s decision and her father’s success would pay for her indiscretions, although they were hardly her fault, at least not the first one. She hadn’t asked Kitt to climb her balcony and she hadn’t known who he was at the time.

  ‘I had business,’ Kitt offered vaguely.

  ‘Rum?’ Bryn guessed. ‘I suppose we’re lucky you came back at all. The way Selby tells it, rum is a most dangerous business.’

  Kitt laughed outright at that. ‘It used to be—it’s far tamer these days in most cases.’ But he would say nothing further about what he’d spent the last week doing, and Bryn sensed there was far more to it than simply trading barrels of rum for farming supplies. Kitt Sherard was not a simple man, why would he lead a simple life?

  Kitt nodded in her father’s direction. ‘He’s done well. This is an important night for him and for England. History will mark this occasion.’

  She had not thought of that. It was just the sort of comment Kitt would make when she was convinced he was nothing more than a habitual flirt. Was he the only one who saw it? Did the others see it, too, or had they also lost the forest for the trees? Everyone had been so intent on the immediate gains of banding together for investment and personal profit. Bryn cocked her head to one side, giving Kitt a considering glance. ‘Is that why you’re here? Posterity?’ Goodness knew he didn’t need the group to make money.

  Kitt raised a broad, nonchalant shoulder. ‘Maybe it’s my way of thumbing my nose at all of it, a little bit of irony. In the end I was good enough.’

  A very telling comment and a surprisingly revealing one, too. For all his airs to the contrary, Kitt Sherard wanted to prove himself. It was there in his magnificent house and his private beach and it was here tonight in his decision to join a most respectable group of gentlemen. She did wonder why. Something else she could add to her growing list of questions about the stranger who’d climbed her balcony. She knew shockingly little about the man with whom she’d shared some rather liberal intimacies.

  Across the garden her father motioned for her to join him. It was time for the official announcement. Selby was already with him, standing on at his right shoulder. ‘I have to go.’ It was dratted timing. She’d just got Kitt to herself. She wanted to say something, to arrange to meet afterwards, but that seemed forward. It seemed desperate, too, an admission that she had indeed missed him.

  Kitt’s eyes hardened, looking over to her father and Selby. ‘Who do you go to? Him or Selby?’

  She kept her gaze neutral, her smile mysterious. ‘Who do you think?’ If he really understood her the way he intimated he did, he knew the answer. In the meanwhile, it was a novelty to know that she could summon at least the faintest stirrings of jealousy or covetousness. The idea that Kitt Sherard coveted her just a bit sent a feminine thrill down her back and maybe, just maybe, she walked away with a little more swing in her hips in case she was right.

  * * *

  ‘Is she or isn’t she?’ Kitt muttered, watching her go. Bryn Rutherford would give the devil a run for his money when it came to temptation.

  ‘Is she or isn’t she what?’ Ren sauntered up, a glass of champagne in hand for the anticipated toast.

  ‘You weren’t supposed to hea
r that.’ Kitt took a swallow of his champagne. At this rate, he’d need another glass.

  ‘Then don’t talk out loud.’ Ren laughed. ‘I presume the she in question is the lovely Miss Rutherford? May I also presume the question is: is she a temptress with experience or merely a temptress who has no idea of her skills?’ Ren paused. ‘I am being delicate with my terms, of course.’

  ‘Dammit, yes, that’s exactly what I’m considering. Is she or isn’t she a virgin?’ Kitt blew out a breath. The crowd had obscured Bryn from view and he couldn’t watch those hips sway across the garden.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Ren asked, both of them watching Bryn reappear as she kissed her father on the cheek and smiled broadly at the group assembled around him.

  ‘Only in the sense that it dictates how far I can take things and the price that might be paid for it.’ It struck Kitt that it didn’t really matter to him personally. Virginity had never been something he’d thought much about, but in this case it mattered.

  Ren laughed and slapped him on the back. ‘Oh, that I’ve lived to see the day Kitt Sherard is infatuated.’

  ‘I am not infatuated,’ Kitt argued in firm undertones. ‘I am merely planning my next conquest.’ Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. He was infatuated. Ren had hit it on the head. But nothing more. Infatuation was tolerable on occasion. It wasn’t as base as lust, nor as noble as love, but somewhere in between. Perhaps Bryn was even savvy enough to understand that. Maybe she was infatuated, too, and knew the difference. He might have been watching her from the shadows, taking in every delectable inch of her in that tight-fighting aquamarine silk, but she’d been looking for him, too. He didn’t imagine the way her pulse had jumped when he’d joined her. How interesting, they were both infatuated with each other.