Playing the Rake's Game (Rakes Of The Caribbean Book 1)

by Bronwyn Scott

  Ren rolled his dice and let out a whoop. Emma stared in disbelief as double fives tumbled out. Emma shook her head. ‘You have the devil’s own luck. I’d thought to have you trapped on the bar a little longer.’

  Ren gave a confident grin and moved his marker off the bar. ‘Now I have a chance to catch up, I might make a match of this yet.’ There was a warm twinkle in his eye and Emma realised he was having a good time. Whatever Gridley had imparted, it hadn’t dampened his spirits.

  ‘And your forfeit?’ Emma asked, bearing off her first pips.

  ‘I think I’ll hold on to it a while.’ Ren’s voice was low and mysterious, conjuring up images of a decadent forfeit. ‘It will give you something to worry about besides Gridley’s visit.’

  Emma gave him a sharp look. ‘I’m not worried about Gridley’s visit.’

  Ren took his turn. ‘Yes, you are. You’ve been worried all night.’

  ‘As I told you, I have Arthur Gridley under control.’ Emma rolled a disappointing two-three combination that slowed her march towards victory. She reached out to move her pieces.

  Ren grabbed her wrist over the board, his eyes boring into hers, the sudden ferocity of his move startling her. ‘No, you don’t have him under control. You have a rejected suitor who isn’t taking your refusal as final. It makes me wonder what motivates his perseverance.’

  Emma swallowed, her heart sinking. Gridley had told him! Goodness knew how Gridley had cased that particular story. ‘That’s private business. He should not have told you.’ She pulled her wrist from Ren’s grasp.

  ‘Probably not. Nonetheless, I was glad for the information. It adds a certain layer of understanding to the local dynamic.’ There was an accusatory edge to his response. He’d asked what Gridley was to her and she’d prevaricated. But Gridley had not. Gridley had seized the advantage and told the story first, no doubt to his advantage.

  Ren played, rolling another set of doubles and neatly evening out the game. ‘The way I see it, a man would only share such personal information with a stranger because he was still wounded over the rejection and not thinking clearly, or because he has another agenda to advance. What do you think Gridley’s reason is?’ He was more serious now, the fun-loving Ren from a few moments ago had disappeared.

  She tossed the dice. Another disappointment. ‘I think Gridley has overreached his ambitions.’ It was a non-answer, but she wasn’t about to voice her suspicions of what Gridley really wanted or what he’d done to get it. She hadn’t any proof of it. Even so, she didn’t know if she could trust Ren Dryden to side with her. He had done so briefly today because it had suited him. Gridley’s revelations might have changed that.

  Ren made his last play, claiming victory with another miraculous roll. Emma shook her head. She’d had that game right up until the end. ‘You play like Merry. He was always coming from behind for spectacular finishes. Whenever I thought I had him, he’d surprise me. The dice never failed him. If he needed doubles, he got them.’

  Ren laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I have to confess I didn’t know my cousin all that well. He was here, I was in London. There was an ocean between us in distance and in age. I enjoyed his company the few times he visited, though. The last time was when I’d completed my studies at Oxford, about ten years ago.’

  Emma gave a soft smile. ‘Merry was a good man, one of the best people I’ve ever met. He was always thinking of others.’ Ten years seemed a lifetime. She’d have been fifteen, her father still alive, their own arrival to the island new.

  She hesitated and then took the plunge while the moment was poignant and they were both feeling charitable. There was unfinished business between them. She didn’t want to put it off any longer. ‘I hope Arthur Gridley said nothing today that would undermine Merry’s memory.’

  Ren began stacking his pips. ‘It seems Gridley and Cousin Merrimore were close friends, especially at the end. I must confess to finding it an odd friendship. Gridley is younger by several decades. I would not think they’d be natural companions, but perhaps one cannot be choosy about who one’s friends are out here?’ It was a question, not a commentary. He was the one probing now, daring her to confirm or deny Gridley’s assertion.

  Her probe had not resulted in a direct answer. Emma opted for a different tack. She wanted to know where Gridley stood in Ren’s estimation before she committed. ‘And you? How did you find our neighbour? Will he be your friend?’ They were both dancing around the conversation gingerly.

  ‘I suppose he could be,’ Ren answered vaguely, closing the case. ‘I can’t say I know him well enough after one visit. I think in large part that decision depends on you.’ Ren paused ‘Do you want me to be his friend? Is there something useful we might cultivate there for Sugarland?’

  She noted the reference to we. Something useful we might cultivate? It was a reminder he meant to be an active participant in the plantation. Still the question remained: did he mean to partner her or usurp her? In that regard, what made him different from Gridley? She’d had indications of both today.

  ‘I fear I have upset Gridley,’ Emma ventured cautiously. ‘My choices are not his choices and it has become a contention between us, one that has created irreconcilable differences.’ She was sure Ren would press her for more. Her answer was both descriptive and oblique.

  Ren seemed to ponder her words. He moved towards the open French doors, his back to her. Without his coat, he presented a nice view of his backside, evening trousers pulled tight over firm buttocks, the tailoring of his waistcoat delineating the outline of broad shoulders before tapering to a trim waist. Not only did he possess a handsome presence but a commanding one, one that inspired confidence, even trust if she dared. She had to admit, it was easier to dare such a thing in the intimacy of the evening.

  ‘I suspect Gridley is not a complacent loser,’ he said at last.

  She stood and went to join him at the doors, hoping the pleasant evening breeze would dispel the hot images in her mind. She needed to focus on the conversation, not on undressing her guest. He was fishing for something with his questions and she might inadvertently give it up. ‘Yes,’ Emma said carefully, ‘Gridley likes to win.’

  ‘Do you like to win, Emma?’ His voice was quiet in the darkness.

  ‘I like to protect what is mine. I think that’s a fundamental difference between men and women.’

  ‘You’re very direct. Such directness has wounded Gridley’s ego a bit.’

  Emma let out a sigh. They were back to that dratted proposal. ‘How much did Gridley tell you?’

  ‘He explained he’d felt moved to act swiftly out of loyalty to Cousin Merrimore, but that you were in no state to properly assess the benefits of that proposal.’ He turned his blue gaze on her in full force, his voice low and private, moving a business conversation into something more intimate, just as the removal of his jacket had turned a simple backgammon game into a domestic fantasy. ‘Gridley indicated he meant to ask you again. Would his suit be welcome now that you’ve had time to settle and reconsider your situation?’

  ‘That is a bold question,’ Emma prevaricated. Her answer would be no. Gridley’s suit would never be welcome, but telling Ren Dryden that on the acquaintance of a day would be giving away too much. It might even be encouraging him to pursue his flirtation. She did not know if she could trust Ren any more than she’d been able to trust Gridley. But who to play off against whom? If she said yes, would the gentleman in Ren feel compelled to back off? If she said no, would the seducer in him pursue and could she could use his interest as a buffer against Gridley?

  ‘It’s meant as a business question,’ Ren answered. ‘Who you marry affects me greatly. I’ll have to work with them, trust them with forty-nine per cent of my livelihood.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll never marry for exactly that reason. I, too, have to trust them with my forty-nine per cent.’ At so
me point in the conversation, Ren had picked up her hand and was tracing circles on the back of it with his finger. It was idly done, but the gesture was doing warm, tingling things to her arm.

  ‘Then Gridley will be refused?’ Ren brought the conversation full circle. ‘I sensed there was some tension between you this afternoon and yesterday.’ It was all she needed to be reminded of the favour he’d done her, taking her part without being asked. For literally stepping up. Now, she owed him and he wanted payment in the form of an answer.

  ‘Yes. Gridley will always be refused.’ She did not offer the reasons why. She’d paid her debt. Ren would have to judge the rest on his own.

  Ren nodded. ‘The neighbourhood might not take kindly to that.’

  ‘I know,’ she said simply. There were advantages for everyone if she married Gridley, not the least being the cessation of her version of the apprenticeship programme. ‘Your presence should appease them for now. They want a man in charge and now they have one—at least nominally.’

  ‘More than nominally,’ Ren corrected with a wry grin. ‘Perhaps this means you’ve revised your opinion of me. Under these circumstances which have newly come to light, I’d think you would be glad to see me. Although yesterday, you led me to believe otherwise.’ There was a teasing quality to his words, but the topic was serious: where did they stand with each other? And why?

  Emma felt as if she were fighting a battle on two fronts. On one side, she had Gridley to contend with, an enemy she knew in full measure. On the other, there was Ren, a man who could be either enemy or friend. That decision was up to her.

  She did need him. She needed him to stand between her and Gridley’s proposals. She needed him to stand between her and the neighbours who felt a man, even a man who didn’t know a thing about sugar cane, would be a better manager of the plantation than a woman who knew everything. He’d aptly summed up the battles that had consumed her since Merry had died. She so desperately wanted to do this on her own, to show everyone who doubted that Sugarland could be run by woman, that a woman could do anything a man could do. Maybe then she could be left alone.

  Emma clenched her fists covertly in her skirts, her nails digging into her palms, frustration mounting. She’d been managing decently until Ren Dryden had come along, now she had Gridley on her doorstep persistent as ever, obeah magic threatening her workforce and exploding chicken coops. How would she ever convince Ren she had it all under control when that control seemed bent on slipping away? The noose around her independence was tightening.

  ‘The truth is, Emma, you need me.’ He made the pronouncement sound like an invitation to sin, the way he’d made their discussion of cane crops on the bluff sound like foreplay. They were standing close, no longer side by side staring out over the dark lawns, but face-to-face, having turned during the course of the conversation. Ren’s knuckles skimmed the curve of her jaw, his touch warm against her skin.

  Emma felt the door frame hard at her back. He had her effectively trapped. There was no escaping his hot blue eyes or the thrum of her pulse as it raced in anticipation. ‘What are you doing, Ren?’ she murmured, although she knew very well. He’d been staking his claim all day in little ways, pushing all other claims out of the way by her own denial of them.

  Ren’s mouth bent to the column of her neck. ‘I’m claiming my forfeit.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Give over, Emma.’ His mouth was close to her ear, whispering his decadent suggestion, the feel of his body intoxicating as she arched into him, giving him full access to her neck, letting him trail kisses up its length to her earlobe. She let his teeth nip the tender flesh, his breath feathering against her ear. She couldn’t give over any more without giving over entirely and that would be foolish. She knew what this was. The game of seduction he’d begun on the bluff was adding another delicious layer.

  Tonight she seemed helpless to resist, even knowing better. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it was best to get this first initial contact out of the way, remove all the anticipation and curiosity that often motivates first kisses. And perhaps she should play a little after all? She wouldn’t know what Ren intended if she didn’t let him advance. At least that’s what she told herself as his mouth closed over hers, his tongue running over the seam of her lips. She gave him entrance, her own tongue eager to duel, eager to taste.

  Surely, there could be no harm in letting her guard down just for a moment. She had been fighting for so long, been on constant alert to the hidden agendas of others. Ren was no threat to her forty-nine per cent, he already held the majority and she knew what he was playing for. His agenda was not nearly as secretive as those who’d come for the funeral. They’d come to assess the spoils, to assess how they could best use her for their own advancement. But Ren’s agenda was clear even if she didn’t agree with it.

  Ren’s hands were at her waist, strong and firm. It would be a very little thing indeed, only a matter of inches, to raise her hands to those broad shoulders. It didn’t have to mean anything, just a few moments of freedom, a few moments for herself. That decided it.

  Emma slid into his arms, revelling in the feel of his mouth, the caress of his tongue as it claimed hers with the confidence of an expert lover, a man sure of his reception, her mouth drinking him in as much as he drank her. He tasted faintly of dinner’s wine, smelled of vanilla and clean, healthy male.

  Her body moved against him of its own accord. This was a kiss that demanded full participation, not just mouths but bodies. She could feel the heat of him, the masculine strength of him where their bodies met, the power of his thighs where they pressed against her skirts, his body fulfilling the promises it had alluded to on the bluff. It was a potent signal that here was a man who understood pleasure was best when shared. Here was a man who would not seek pleasure only for himself. It was also a signal that this had gone too far. This was only to have been the experiment of a moment.

  Emma broke the kiss with a little shake of her head. ‘We have to stop.’ Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears.

  ‘Why?’ Ren rested his forehead against hers, his eyes dark and dancing.

  It was hard to think of a reason with him so close. ‘We hardly know each other,’ she said softly. Even that was a lie. She knew enough about him to know this was the road to no good.

  ‘I think you underestimate how much kissing can tell you about a person, even strangers.’ Ren gave her a wicked grin in the gathering darkness. He had one arm braced against the wall over her head, his body still indecently close to hers, giving her no quarter. ‘For instance, you’re an extraordinarily passionate woman. You do not kiss only with your mouth, but with your hips, your arms, with all you have.’ His free hand had dropped to her waist, his thumb drawing lazy circles low on her hip, pressing firmly, erotically, through the fabric of her gown. ‘You deserve a lover who is worthy of your passion.’ His mouth was at her neck again, his implication blatant.

  ‘You think you are that lover?’ Emma fought to sound aloof when her body was surging with desire. Never had she’d been so overtly pursued and she found the honesty of that pursuit heady in the extreme. She was passionate, yes. An easy conquest? No.

  ‘I could be, Emma. You’ve been alone too long.’ His eyes lingered on her lips. ‘I’ve issued a bold invitation, nothing more. The rest is up to you.’ Then he was gone, levering his weight off the door frame and slipping out into the night, the Caribbean darkness swallowing him entirely the moment he stepped beyond the reach of the lamplight.

  Emma stared after him, thoughts forming, disintegrating and reforming in the wake of his departure. Gridley’s aggressive visit today had reshaped her perception of what Ren could mean to her. Instead of seeing him as a second antagonist to fight, he could be an ally given the right incentive.

  Ren could stand between her and Gridley by virtue of being the majority shareholder. And he would. He’d
demonstrated as much already. But for how long? What if Ren decided to sell in the future, or what if Ren returned to London? How could she entice him to stay?

  What a difference a day made. Initially, selling or leaving were things she’d favoured in order to maintain her independence. But she’d underestimated Gridley. If Gridley had told Ren he meant to push his suit, more trouble than she’d realised was brewing. Being married to Gridley not only put Sugarland under his control, but it put her under his control as well.

  This was her greater fear. Having been under a man’s control before, the experience did not recommend itself as worth repeating. Emma closed her eyes, pushing memories of Thompson Hunt and his cruelties to the back of her mind. Whatever Thompson Hunt had done, she had no doubts Arthur Gridley would be worse.

  Thompson Hunt had been a selfish con artist with a malicious streak, nothing more. Arthur Gridley was a sadist and, in her opinion, a murderer. Those were two claims no one would believe if she made them as his wife, assuming she lived long enough to make them at all. She was certain their marriage would be a short one, just long enough for him to ensure Sugarland was his at last.

  Emma opened her eyes and blew out a breath, refocusing her thoughts on the present. She needed Ren to stay, perhaps in a more permanent capacity than majority shareholder. How to ensure that, especially if he ever learned Sugarland wasn’t as solvent as perhaps he’d been led to believe? Did she dare to risk with him what she would not risk with Gridley? Marriage was the most permanent bond she could think of.

  But even then, marriage wouldn’t prevent Ren from leaving her and sailing back to London, especially if it was an empty marriage done for convenience. It didn’t have to be empty. If she could give him a passion to stay for, a warm bed he’d be reluctant to leave... He was a man unafraid of passion, of his own sexuality. Tonight had proven she could rouse those passions, ignite them. Her past proved sex could be a powerful weapon. It certainly had been when wielded against her. She would never stoop to Thompson Hunt’s level, but she would fight with all she had.