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

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘When that failed, the laughter stopped, the gifts stopped. He became an entirely different creature from the man I thought I knew,’ Emma confessed. ‘It was clear he’d married me to get to the plantation. It was a far easier route to landownership than starting up one of his own.’

  ‘There’d likely been nothing to start from,’ Ren put in. ‘Gridley once mentioned there’s no land for sale on the island.’

  Emma nodded. ‘It’s true. The only way to acquire a plantation of any size is to buy it from someone else. But my husband wasn’t interested in buying, only in taking. He thought he could woo Sugarland out of me. Fortunately, Merry was onto him. Unfortunately, too. Once he realised Merry wouldn’t acknowledge him, he took his frustrations out on me.’

  Those had been dark days. She’d tried to hide the bruises from Merry, but her husband had not been careful, or perhaps he had. He’d wanted his mark to be visible, wanted Merry to be coerced into reconsideration. She could feel Ren bristle beside her, his chivalry on full display. Ren’s gentleman’s code would not tolerate such treatment. ‘Tell me how this story ends, Emma.’ His voice was tight.

  ‘Merry ordered him from the house at gunpoint one day. He was a coward at heart. He left. Shortly afterwards, we learned he’d gone to Jamaica and was living openly with a wealthy widow. Some even said he’d married her, but we have no real proof. I didn’t care at the time. I was glad he was gone. Forever only lasted three years, and happy-ever-after lasted even less than that.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Mouldering in a grave, shot dead by a jealous husband. It seemed the wealthy Jamaican widow wasn’t enough for him. He had quite an enterprising career here in the Caribbean.’ This was the more embarrassing part to admit. ‘It’s likely he was married to someone else while he was married to me. I can add bigamy to my list of accomplishments. Not everyone can claim they were a bigamist at eighteen or a widow by twenty-four.’

  ‘You were an unknowing participant. It’s hardly your fault—’ Ren began.

  She cut him off. ‘Are you trying to absolve me or yourself? I don’t need absolution, Ren. I made a mistake and married a bad man against the advice of those who cared for me. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen or excuse it. Society certainly won’t. They feast on it.’

  ‘He’s lucky he’s dead,’ Ren said. ‘If he wasn’t, I’d have to shoot him myself. Even though he was gone, he kept you trapped in that marriage for two years after he left.’

  ‘In name only was far better than having him here. But now you see the whole of me. You understand now why it’s best I remain alone. I’m ruined and I’ll never be anything but trouble to any man.’

  Ren ignored the dismissal. ‘What was the bastard’s name?’

  ‘Thompson Hunt.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He’d known the name before she spoke it. Gridley’s last cryptic comment had been solved. Their walk led them in a loop back home. Ren felt as if their talk had led them in a circle, too. He knew so much more, but none of it brought him closer to resolution. He was still back where he started in all senses of the concept.

  Emma gave a rueful laugh. ‘You’re a contrary creature, Ren Dryden. This morning you were talking of leaving, now you’re talking of staying and marriage.’ Her eyes were sad as she reached up to push an errant strand of hair back behind his ear. ‘You only want me because you can’t have me.’ It was a comfortable, intimate gesture that fired his blood as surely as any erotic touch and it spoke volumes of what this relationship had become, something far more than bed sport, something he did not want to let go of, something he was willing to fight for.

  In that singular moment, in that gesture, was the clarity he sought. She wanted him, she wanted what he offered, but she couldn’t risk it, not just for herself and the fear of making the same mistake twice, but for him, too. She wouldn’t allow him to be dragged down by her past. What woman turned down a countess’s coronet? What woman gave up her own happiness in order to protect a man? That was when he knew. She was pushing him away because she loved him.

  Emma loved him! Ren captured her hand where it lay against his ear, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss against her palm. Elation poured through him. She loved him, not his title, just Ren Dryden the man. His decision was made—go or stay, he wasn’t letting her get away. When a man had a woman like Emma Ward, he had something worth fighting for.

  The hall was unnaturally quiet. There was no one around, no maids polishing the bannister, no one moving in and out of rooms cleaning. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘They have the day off. It’s Crop Over. Everyone has gone into Bridgetown for the celebration.’

  A thought struck him. ‘Did you want to go? I didn’t mean to ruin any plans.’ He’d been so excited about the rum still he hadn’t stopped to think. ‘We could get rooms at the hotel, you could shop.’ Bridgetown was only five miles away, but life out here was so entirely consuming it might as well be fifty. If he could get her away, where it was just the two of them without constant reminders of the past, maybe he had a chance. Now that he’d made his mind up, he wanted that chance more than he wanted anything else except Emma herself.

  He took her hands and danced her around the hall. ‘What do you say?’ He gave her a boyish grin. ‘You deserve some fun, Emma and maybe we can think of something to celebrate.’

  She was laughing, a sign she was starting to crack as he swung her about in a fast country-dance step. ‘All right!’ she conceded with a breathless gasp. ‘I can be ready in half an hour.’

  * * *

  Bridgetown was a city besieged by revels and the atmosphere was contagious. Emma hugged Ren’s arm spontaneously as he carefully navigated the gig to the livery off the crowded main street. ‘I haven’t been to the festival in years!’ She twisted around on the seat, trying to take it all in at once. Street vendors filled every available space, calling out their wares, delicious smells peppered the air, there were handmade toys to buy, and street entertainers on stilts dressed in bright colours.

  Ren laughed. ‘You’re going to fall off the seat if you aren’t careful! There’s plenty of time to see everything.’

  They parked the gig and the horse at the livery and went to the hotel to claim rooms for the evening. Most people would be staying with friends or sleeping out in the open. There were plenty of rooms available and Ren insisted on getting two for propriety’s sake, but they both knew one bed would be cold. No matter how things ended, Emma wanted whatever she could have. Oh, she knew what Ren thought he wanted and she knew what she had to do to protect him from his own chivalry. She hoped she had the courage to do it when the time came. Until then, however, there was no room for sad thoughts. Bridgetown at Crop Over was to be enjoyed, it was a time to be carefree.

  Out in the streets, music was everywhere, on every corner; guitars and shak-shaks played as they wandered the bright market. They stopped to buy fishcakes wrapped in plantain leaves and fried dumplings, washing them down with tumblers of falernum. ‘These are delicious.’ Emma peered into her leaf wrapper, disappointed. ‘I’ve eaten them all.’

  ‘You’ve devoured them!’ Ren laughed and bought her some more. ‘This is quite the festival. Have you folks been doing it long?’ His hand was at her back, ushering her towards a slightly less populated portion of the market.

  ‘It’s Crop Over, or Harvest Home, and we’ve been doing it since the sixteen hundreds,’ Emma explained between bites of fishcakes. ‘It’s the celebration of the sugar-cane crop being in.’

  ‘I love it, it makes our English fairs looked positively staid.’ Ren took the last dumpling out of its wrapper and popped it in her mouth with a smile. ‘I saved it for you since you like them so much.’

  * * *

  He spoiled her the rest of the day, dancing with her in the streets, buying her an endless supply of sweets, winning her a
pretty green hair ribbon at a knife-tossing game and stealing a kiss when he did, much to the cheers of the crowd gathered around them. By the time they headed back to the hotel several hours later, her stomach was bursting from the food, her feet had started to hurt from all the dancing. She was tired and she was happy.

  Best of all, they hadn’t run into any of her neighbours. There hadn’t been a sign of Devore, or Gridley, or any of the others. Ren was having fun, too, she realised. These efforts were not designed to entertain only her. This was what it must feel like to be courted, she thought. What it must be like to be honestly in love with someone. Did she dare trust that feeling? Did she dare reach for the happiness Ren offered? She believed she’d felt this way for Thompson Hunt once, too. But that had been blind infatuation. She hadn’t known him, hadn’t spent time with him the way she had with Ren.

  They stepped into the hotel with its wide lobby and made their way up the curve of the staircase, both of them too tired for any more adventures in the streets. The hotel was full of whites, planters who’d come to town for the celebration. But still there was no sign of her neighbours. ‘Does Gridley come to town for this?’ Ren read her mind as he fitted the key into the door.

  ‘Sometimes. He feels it’s a bit beneath him.’ Emma slipped through the door in front of him. Ren followed her in and shut the door behind them, shutting out the noise of the hotel. It was just the two of them. The room was cool and dark, quietly intimate after the exuberance of the streets.

  ‘Ren, this has been the most amazing day...’ Emma began, unsure of what she meant to share. The silence was unnerving after a day of noise and sound.

  ‘An amazing day, with an amazing woman.’ Ren moved towards her, a finger on her lips. ‘Shh, Emma. Just enjoy. We could have many more days like this. Did you think about that today? What it could be like next year with our rum venture underway and no worries? I did, I thought of nothing else.’ He kissed her neck and she shivered. His touch could undo her in short order.

  ‘Ren...’ She wanted to protest, but could find no arguments. Of course she’d thought about it. It had been there in the back of her mind. This man could be hers if she would give up the fight. That fight had started out as a struggle to resist him, but it had since become a battle to protect him from her, from the scandal she’d bring and the danger. ‘It’s not a good idea.’

  He had her in his arms now, peeling away her clothes with his hands, his mouth at her neck, at her ear, his voice thick with persuasion. ‘I’m not him, Emma. I am not Thompson Hunt or Arthur Gridley or any other man who has wronged you. I promise. I will cherish you forever, starting tonight if you’ll give me a chance.’

  He pushed her dress from her shoulders, stripped away her chemise and undergarments until she stood naked before him, his gaze hot on her, devouring. He’d seen her naked before and in better light than this. But this time was different, this time he’d done the undressing. She felt claimed, the act marking her as his. Would he look at her the same way once the scandal started? If only she could be his without destroying him.

  Ren’s voice was hoarse when he spoke. ‘Get on the bed, Emma.’

  There was a hint of wickedness to his suggestion and a tremor of anticipation took her as she complied. Ren tugged at her legs, drawing her forward until her legs dangled over the bed, her derrière resting on the edge. He knelt between her legs, his hands resting on her thighs. ‘When one finds something worth cherishing, one wants to start right away.’

  He caught her eye, his intentions becoming clear. Oh, mercy, he meant to... Emma’s mouth went dry. Never had she been approached so intimately, cherished so erotically. His breath was warm against her damp curls. Her head fell back on the bed, her legs utterly open to him. There was no point in resisting. She wanted this, wanted him. Neither of which were new revelations, but the intensity of them was.

  His tongue flicked over her secret nub and she cried out, again and again as he repeated the delicious caress, each cry louder than the one before as pleasure rose, hope rising with it. Ren would stay for her—was she brave enough to let him? Could she believe in the fairy tale one more time? Her last cries were sobs, her control wouldn’t last much longer. Then Ren was whispering to her, calling to her from somewhere within her pleasure, ‘Emma, let go.’

  She did. It didn’t occur until later that if she let go, she might fall forever.

  * * *

  The morning came too soon, although it was more like late morning before Emma managed to rouse. She might have slept longer if her body hadn’t subconsciously registered the absence of Ren’s beside her. How quickly she’d become used to him, to his presence. She raised up on an elbow and searched the room, finding him by the open doors of the chamber that looked out into a quiet courtyard.

  He seemed lost in thought as he gazed into the yard. From below, the sounds of a fountain burbled up. The quiet, the pose of her man, elbows resting on the railing of the small balcony, struck her as a moment out of time, a piece of serenity in this little paradise of theirs. Emma held still, closing her eyes tight to capture the image in her mind. No matter what happened, she’d always see him like this.

  ‘Good morning,’ she called from the bed. ‘What has you up and about?’

  He turned from the railing, a sheet of paper in his hand. ‘I went out to get breakfast. There’s coffee and rolls.’ He gestured to the little table where he’d laid everything out. ‘I brought the post, too. The mail packet came in yesterday in time for the celebration.’

  ‘A letter from home?’ Emma asked, trying to sound casual.

  ‘From my sister. She wrote to tell me about Benedict DeBreed and their hasty engagement.’ A little smile played at the corners of his mouth. ‘It seems all’s well that ends well. You and Sherard were right.’ He folded the letter into squares and tucked it into his pocket. ‘She has found happiness in a most unlooked-for place and with an unlooked-for person. I would not have imagined her with Benedict. It appears I was wrong.’

  ‘I’m sure that doesn’t happen often,’ Emma teased, relieved there wasn’t bad news, nothing to take Ren away from her before decisions were made. She wanted those decisions to be made between them and not because external circumstances dictated them. There’d been too much of that already.

  ‘Of course not.’ Ren smiled, picking up on her joke. ‘After we eat, there’s one place I want to stop before we head home.’

  * * *

  That place turned out to be St. Michael’s Cathedral with its tall bell tower. If it wasn’t the most perfect cathedral, it was understandable. ‘It’s survived quite a bit.’ Emma stepped ahead of Ren into the dim interior. ‘There was the hurricane of 1780. It took nine years to rebuild and then there was the hurricane of—’

  ‘1831,’ Ren finished for her. ‘I wasn’t even here for it and I feel like I know that storm personally.’

  ‘It’s how we define time in these parts,’ Emma said seriously. ‘If I understand my history correctly, London marks time around the Great Fire, is that not true?’

  ‘Touché.’ Ren laughed, putting a hand to his heart. ‘Your arrow has hit its target, my dear.’

  ‘Why did you want to come here? I’m guessing it wasn’t to assess the storm damage.’ Emma led him over to a stand of candles. Only a few were lit. The church was quiet the day after the festival.

  ‘I don’t want to go back.’

  The words seared her. She’d not been expecting that. He was leaving now. Of course, the mail packet was in port. It was just so much sooner than she’d thought. It wasn’t going to be her decision after all, even after everything he’d said.

  ‘Not go back to Sugarland?’ she stuttered through the words, stepping away. What had she misunderstood about yesterday, about last night? Just yesterday, he’d been talking about forever and she’d been the one hoping she’d have the courage to let him go, but it seemed
that courage wouldn’t be required. He’d seen reason. He understood her limitations whatever his fantasies dictated to the contrary. It shouldn’t be a surprise. Earls didn’t marry possible bigamists.

  Ren gripped her hands, pulling her back towards him. ‘I don’t want to return to Sugarland and go back to how things were between us before we left. I want to go forward. I want to return knowing how things stand between us.’

  In the candlelight, she could see for the first time the signs of strain on his face, how much this was costing him to ask. He wasn’t sure of her, of how’d she answer. He might be the bravest man in the world, taking such a risk, sailing his soul into unknown waters. His next words confirmed it. ‘I would like to go back to Sugarland knowing that you will be my wife and that we’ll build a life together here in Barbados.’

  She stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t leaving. He was staying for her, with her, because of her. ‘Why?’ She barely breathed the word, her eyes never leaving his face.

  ‘Because I love you and I want to stand up with you in this church, in front of God and everyone, and say, “You are my choice. This life is my choice.” Will you marry me, Emma? Not because it’s good for Sugarland, not because it will subdue Gridley’s advances, not because I have money, because I don’t, not right now at least. And not because I’m an earl, but because you want to, because you love me and I love you and that means something.’

  It was to be her decision after all. Her knees threatened to give out. Could she throw caution to the wind? Could she grab a bit of happiness for herself with this man? He’d been brave moments ago, asking for what he wanted, knowing that his future hinged on her answer. He would go or stay on her choice. Now it was her turn to be brave in a far different way than the one she’d imagined yesterday. It required one sort of bravery to send him a way. It would require an entirely different type to let him stay, to let herself be happy. Emma seized her future with two hands and one simple word. ‘Yes.’