Breaking the Rake's Rules

by Bronwyn Scott

  * * *

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’ Bryn asked between bites of sweet breakfast ham and toast. The five minutes had come and gone. Kitt had said nothing, trying to reroute her curiosity with food. Kitt’s cook was more than competent and his larder was far better stocked, she suspected, than the standard ship’s, but it would not be enough to distract her from the business at hand.

  ‘It’s not your concern.’ Kitt’s voice contained a quiet force that heavily suggested the conversation was to go no further. There was something he wasn’t telling her, yet another sign the trouble was beyond trifling. She worried more when people didn’t tell than when they did. Her parents had kept her mother’s illness from her until it simply couldn’t be denied. While she’d understood their reasoning, she didn’t agree with it any more than she agreed with Kitt’s choice now.

  ‘Ignorance does not protect.’ Bryn pushed her plate away and met him with a hard gaze over the wooden table. ‘If there is danger posed to a ship I’m on, it is definitely my concern. Peril to my person is always my concern.’

  Lucifer’s balls! She wasn’t going to let it go. ‘It could be nothing.’ Kitt blew out an exasperated breath. How was he to tell her that he hadn’t come out here just to look for an island? How did he tell her he had men out to kill him quite possibly in retribution for an altercation last year? Keeping such company hardly recommended him. He’d asked her to trust him and yet there was so much he needed to hide from her.

  It most certainly was a stain on his credibility, too, when it came to her father. He needed the board to believe his opinions, to be swayed by his advice rather than Selby’s at this juncture. It was bad enough that she suspected him of some involvement in a previous land swindle, even if she didn’t understand what that involvement had been.

  That rationale sounded a bit thin even to him. Perhaps that’s not all, a little voice inside him spoke up. Perhaps it’s not the bank you’re worried about so much as her. What would she think to see your roguish life up close? It’s one thing to know about it, another to see it in action.

  He wanted her safe, that was all, just as he would want any passenger on his ship safe. This had nothing to do with the fact that his body craved her, that he knew when she was in a room, that she permeated far too many of his thoughts these days.

  ‘Kitt? I demand an answer. If our positions were reversed, you would, too. The only difference is that I would give you one. Yesterday was proof enough of it. I told you more than you told me. You owe me.’ Her tone was sharp, her gaze challenging. She believed her words for now because it suited her purpose. Kitt doubted she’d feel that way if the shoe was truly on the other foot, if she risked his good opinion. And yet, she’s risked her virtue, something far more valuable. What more does a woman have to risk when it comes to her reputation?

  ‘We don’t know it’s anything at all, just another boat out sailing.’ Kitt tried his last line of defence, but it was weak and she laid siege to it with devastating ferocity.

  ‘Yes, I heard that part on deck. I also heard your response to it. You don’t believe it’s nothing, ergo, you believe it is something and you have an idea of what it is.’

  Kitt rose from the table. ‘Come walk with me. I don’t want to discuss it here.’ He wanted to be back on deck to check the ship’s progress and to gain a measure of privacy. The next shift would be getting ready to go on and men would be drifting down for food.

  Outside, the intruding ship had made no move to sail closer, keeping its distance and giving every appearance it was going about its own business. Bryn leaned against the rail, her face showing the glorious effects of a hatless day in the sun. A small trail of freckles brushed the arch of her nose. She looked fresh and vibrant, except for the shrewd look in her eyes, a reminder to Kitt that he was up against a most enticing equal.

  ‘Are you concerned the ship might be some of your enemies?’ Bryn asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter. ‘I know your business is sometimes dangerous, although if it’s simply the matter of trading I don’t pretend to understand why.’ There was a scold in there for him, that he’d somehow not been forthcoming when he should have been.

  ‘Rum is not my only cargo,’ Kitt answered. ‘Last year I ferried four men into exile after they tried to burn down a plantation and force a cartel in order to leverage sugar prices. Two of them took the situation poorly. I would not put it past them to have revenge on their minds and designs on my person.’ Although he wished they’d picked a better time to come after him than when he had Mr Bailey Rutherford’s daughter on board. But perhaps they knew and had done it for just that reason. Bryn would certainly limit his options for dealing with them if they made a move.

  He watched Bryn cock her head to one side, a habit she had when she was thinking. He could nearly see her mind fitting all the pieces together. It was only a matter of time now. ‘Is that why you climbed my balcony? You never did tell me.’

  Kitt nodded. ‘They were waiting for me when I stepped ashore.’ Perhaps knowing would be for the better, a very real reminder that the life he lived was unsuitable for her, just in case she was entertaining ideas to the contrary. Now she knew. He must always be vigilant in his line of work; vigilant for opportunity, vigilant against danger.

  ‘Now you are paying for having done your civic duty and rid the parish of rotten scoundrels,’ Bryn surmised with an arch of her dark brow. ‘Assuming you’re right about the nature of that ship, of course. It was quite selfless of you, knowing you’d be the one to draw their fire eventually.’

  That set off alarm bells. ‘Oh, no, you don’t, Bryn. Do not make me into a hero.’ That was the last thing he wanted. What he needed was for her to understand the danger in associating with him. ‘It can’t change anything.’

  Bryn’s voice was dangerously quiet. ‘I don’t want to change anything, I just want to understand it.’

  ‘For your father’s sake?’ Kitt asked sharply, feeling as if he was about to be in over his head. The moment she acknowledged this inquest had stopped being about her father’s banking and had become more personal, he would be.

  ‘No, for mine.’ Bryn speared him with her stormy eyes, her gaze pinning him to the rail with their intensity. ‘Is it so wrong to want to know you, Kitt Sherard?’ There it was, the admission that proved it.

  He did not hesitate to answer. Better to say it now than to say it later. ‘Yes, it is if it leads you to think differently about our situation. When we get back to Bridgetown, this will be over.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ Bryn looked out over the water, her jaw tight in the wake of his harsh words. She refused to meet his gaze, perhaps realising she’d gone too far, maybe even further than she’d meant to go. Goodness knew he had. He had not meant to be so blunt.

  ‘It’s what I want. It’s what has to be.’ He wanted to add that she’d agree if she really knew him, but that would give her an opening he couldn’t afford. He could not let her know him.

  She had no response for that. In the distance they watched the worrisome ship veer off, sailing away from them. ‘Too bad it didn’t sheer off a few minutes earlier. You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble,’ Bryn said drily. ‘I guess there was nothing to worry about after all.’

  ‘Bryn, you knew when we started this—’ Kitt began, only to be interrupted by a cry of ‘land ho’ coming down from the crow’s nest, a reminder that their second island loomed. He didn’t hold much hope for this discovery. The island was too remote. It would be too difficult to populate it, to support it. Great, the morning was just full of fraud. ‘Get a towel and whatever you need, we’re going ashore.’ Kitt pushed off the rail and went to join Passemore at the helm.

  Other than not being the home of an innovative, new plantation, the island held promise in other ways. With luck, maybe he and Bryn could get back to what they did best: sex on a beach one more time bef
ore he had to pull away from her entirely for her own good.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Why did we pull away? We could have taken them on that island!’ Hugh Devore’s fist came down on the captain’s desk, rattling the inkwell and other accoutrements. ‘What’s the point of following them out here only to turn back?’ When he’d decided to follow Sherard’s ship out of the harbour, he’d not bargained on being gone so long. Three days out and he was growing impatient. He had other business that demanded his attention.

  ‘It’s called protecting my ship,’ the captain, a big burly Jamaican he’d hired because the man’s size and temperament matched his, growled, unfazed by his surly manner. ‘Besides, it’s what Sherard wanted. He was too ready for us. His crew has been watching us all morning. They’ll see us coming, they’ll be prepared. I won’t wreck my ship for your vengeance.’

  Devore had to admit to the merit of the captain’s thinking and tried to shape it to his advantage. ‘We know where they are and where they’ll be. Let’s lull them into complacency first, let them think we were nothing but another trading ship. We can take them when they leave.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ the captain argued. ‘The Queen of the Main is a fast ship and Sherard’s a canny one.’

  Devore sat down and stretched his leg. His knee was starting to ache from the exertion of being at sea. Sherard had done this to him, caused this pain. He’d shot him in the knee as a show of power. He would extract pain in return from Sherard ounce by ounce until Sherard wished he had killed him outright when he’d had the chance. ‘Nonsense, it’s the perfect set up,’ Devore insisted, helping himself to the captain’s brandy. A battle at sea would have no witnesses. He would have preferred to have stormed the beach and killed Sherard, crew and all, on land. But perhaps the captain was right and it was better to wait.

  It probably didn’t much matter where it happened as long as it did happen. It was perfect and necessary not just for his personal vendetta, but for the security of his other business ventures. He wasn’t certain what Sherard was doing out here, but it seemed ominous that the man had sailed with the banker’s daughter on board just days after Rutherford and Selby had invested in Sunwood Plantation.

  ‘I told you this would happen.’ Elias Blakely spoke up from his corner where he’d watched the whole exchange. Usually, he was a quiet mouse of a man, sharp with numbers, but not much else unless his profit was threatened. Then, Blakely could be as lethal as the next person.

  Devore shot Elias a hard look intended to make the man squirm, but Elias didn’t back down. ‘We should have let the plantation scheme go when Rutherford showed up. The situation was too hot. But you had to go and overreach yourself, taking money from men who were bound to ask questions.’

  ‘Selby didn’t ask questions,’ Devore ground out defensively. They’d decided last year it was much more lucrative to run imaginary plantations than to run real ones. But the money was real enough. Men were eager enough to invest for a quick profit. They paid them, too, a nice sum within the first month to inspire trust and to foster future investment, which of course would be much more than the initial outlay. Men like James Selby were happy to donate to ‘the cause’, never guessing the only thing they made back was money they’d already given. But men like Kitt Sherard were dangerous. They and their questions were avoided at all costs.

  ‘You think he was looking for the island,’ Elias continued. ‘We’re sunk if he tells anyone. He’ll come after us.’

  ‘Yes, you nodcock!’ Devore snapped. ‘That’s why we have to take him before he gets back to Bridgetown.’ There were other reasons, too. He and Blakely weren’t exactly welcome in Bridgetown after the debacle last year. Dryden and Sherard had made sure their presence would not be tolerated. Once Sherard reached Bridgetown, Devore could only rely on hired men to get to Sherard.

  ‘What about the girl?’ Elias asked.

  ‘Sherard owes me a woman, by my count.’ After he’d lost everything at Sherard’s hand, his wife had sailed for England and her family, refusing to follow him into exile and poverty. ‘She’ll have to die, too,’ Devore replied grimly. He’d kill the girl first and make Sherard watch on the off chance the girl mattered to him. She was the banker’s daughter—it was entirely possible Sherard was simply using her to lever his way into respectability. Although, what he’d seen through the spyglass on deck a few nights ago hadn’t looked like play-acting. Perhaps he’d have that chestnut vixen spread for him—a nice consolation prize for all the upset Sherard had caused. Maybe he’d make Sherard watch. That was a better idea yet.

  Who would have guessed one of the plantation investors would actually have known Kitt Sherard, who was in turn carrying on with another investor’s daughter? Fate and coincidence had conspired quite cruelly against him just when he was back on his feet and making money. Devore squeezed the stem of the brandy snifter with such force it snapped in his hand. Having Sherard’s woman would be small consolation for all the upset the man had caused. Damn it! Devore pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped his bleeding hand where the glass shards had bit into his palm. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

  * * *

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way! Kitt’s primal instincts were barely leashed as he thrust hard into Bryn’s welcoming wet core, the waterfall sluicing over them both, Bryn’s cries swallowed up by the pounding cascade. He wasn’t supposed to want her, to keep her. She was supposed to be merely another lover, one of many and one of more to come.

  Her legs were wrapped tight around him, her body balanced between him and the water-smoothed surface of rock wall under the falls. Her neck arched back, her body bucked. Perhaps she, too, felt the wrong rightness of this, perhaps she knew as he did that this had to be the last time. Practical realities demanded it.

  He buried his mouth against Bryn’s neck, his climax fierce and powerful as he pumped into her one final time. Kitt let the climax claim them both, giving himself over to these last minutes of peace. He knew full well in the clarity that accompanied the intensity of release, his mind would be swamped with all that needed doing in the aftermath of this journey.

  There would be a new voyage to plan, one full of danger and without Bryn. He would find the bastards who had set up the land scheme and bring them to justice before they could ruin any more bank accounts and reputations. He’d seen first-hand how families suffered from schemes such as this. It was clear now that the plantation was a swindle. There was nothing on this island except jungle and falls. It was beautiful and lush, like the woman in his arms, but it was not home to an investment property. The best they could do now was set a fast course for Bridgetown before her father returned and be there to prevent him from investing any more money.

  Against his skin, he could hear the pounding of Bryn’s heart starting to slow into its usual rhythm. These last moments of intimacy would have to do, would have to last. Even if he hadn’t proven it to her, this trip had proven to him what he’d already guessed in theory: there was no place in his life for a woman like Bryn—a woman he could easily become attached to, a forever woman. His life was far too unpredictable, too dangerous. And he liked it that way, Kitt reminded himself. He’d made this choice long ago. He wasn’t going to give it up, risk it all for a woman. He’d have to give up the woman, this beautiful, vibrant woman.

  Separating himself from Bryn would be tricky. There would be her father and the bank, a partnership that would potentially put him in contact with her from time to time. Much of that business could be conducted by letter. Eventually the bank would set up formal offices on Bay Street and there would no longer be a reason to call at Rutherford’s house, a situation Kitt thought he could help along when he returned. He had a currently vacant property that would do well for the office, something he’d acquired in a card game a few months back.

  ‘Come back to me,’ Bryn whispered at his ear, her hands combing
back his tangled hair. ‘You’re a million miles away.’ She held his face between her hands, her eyes meeting his. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find the people responsible and make things right. For a man who says he cares about nothing, you take too much on yourself.’

  ‘It does me no good to see the bank’s reputation tarnished before it even opens.’ Kitt stepped out of the falls and reached for a towel. Perhaps waiting to put distance between them was a bad idea, perhaps he needed to start that process now. It would be easy enough. A swift journey home would demand his attention on deck. He’d not have time to worry about the chestnut beauty lying in his bed. He wasn’t comfortable with this version of Bryn Rutherford who saw too much. It was simpler when he was just a rogue on a balcony with no history. That was the problem with relationships. You got to know someone, façades were stripped away until all you were left with were truths.

  Bryn would not like those truths when she came to them. Right now she saw a hero, but soon she’d see a man who had broken with his family, a man who was loyal to a few rare friends, but mostly loyal just to himself. In short, she’d see in him all that she wasn’t and she’d abhor him for it. All he would be able to say for himself was that he’d been honest about it, he’d warned her.

  Kitt watched her wrap the towel around her hair and reach for her clothes. He watched her glorious nakedness disappear beneath the fabric, memorising each curve, each line. He was going to miss this. He slipped on a pair of loose culottes and held out his hand to her. Best to get it over with. ‘Are you ready? It’s time to go.’

  * * *

  Time to go home. Bryn reluctantly took Kitt’s hand and let him help her over the rocks. The idea did not appeal at all. Time to go home meant the end of this adventure, it meant confronting her father about Selby’s mistake. Most of all, it meant the end of this interlude with Kitt. Everything would change when they reached Bridgetown. It was changing already. She wasn’t entirely convinced Kitt’s thoughts had only been about the land swindle, but about them, about her. He was already leaving, trying to distance himself from her.