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

by Bronwyn Scott

  * * *

  They reached Gridley’s in record time, pistols out as they took the front steps, their horses left at the ready. Servants fell back at the sight of their weapons out. ‘Where’s Gridley?’ Ren barked, stepping towards a servant he remembered from the dinner party.

  The man hesitated. Ren cocked the pistol. ‘He’s in his office, second door on the left,’ the man stammered.

  ‘Nothing buys loyalty like a loaded pistol,’ Kitt muttered under his breath.

  ‘Whatever it takes,’ Ren responded.

  ‘Remind me never to get on your bad side.’

  ‘Sirs! Sirs!’ the man called out to them from behind. ‘He’s not alone. The others are with him. They’re having a meeting.’

  Ren shot Kitt a wry glance. ‘How’s that for gunpoint diplomacy?’

  ‘I’d say Gridley’s employees don’t like him very much.’ Kitt chuckled. ‘How do you want to take them?’

  ‘By surprise,’ Ren said grimly. Surprise would be their great equaliser. Devore would fight if he could. Devore would be incapacitated from Kitt’s wound. He might not even be there. Gridley would fight. The others he wasn’t sure about. ‘There’ll be five, no more than that.’ He remembered what Emma had told him. ‘They’ll be selfish bastards, every last one of them. Perhaps they’ll turn on each other in order to save their own hides.’

  Kitt nodded. ‘I’ll get the door and you fly right on in.’ With that, Kitt raised one long leg and gave the door a thunderous kick. The door fell in, coming off its hinges with a crash. Ren ran through, his pistol training on Elias Blakely.

  Elias was the weakest link, the one most likely to cower before a show of force, especially if that threat was aimed at his personal health. ‘Was it you who set the fire?’ He knew good and well it wasn’t, but if Elias thought he was implicated in any way, he’d go on the defensive.

  ‘No, of course not.’ Blakely’s body was against the back of his chair as far as he could squeeze it, his palms up as if he could ward off Ren’s pistol. ‘It was the others, not me. I didn’t want anything to do with it.’

  ‘Then you knew of it?’ Ren growled, not giving Blakely any quarter. He saw fear register in Blakely’s eyes. The man recognised too late his mistake. In an attempt to defend himself, he’d panicked and had implicated himself as an accomplice.

  Ren’s gun swivelled about the room. ‘How about you, Cunningham? Did you set the fire? Blakely says you did, he said “the others”. Is “others” you or would you like to rat out your friends as well?’

  ‘That is quite enough!’ Gridley roared in outrage. He reached beneath his desk, Ren pivoted, but Kitt was already there, his pistol sighting Gridley.

  ‘Quite enough what?’ Ren said coolly. ‘Quite enough tattling from your so-called friends? Are you afraid they’ll confess it was strictly you and Devore who set the fire, you and Devore who attempted to rape Emma Ward while her plantation burned. You and Devore who planned to kill me if Emma didn’t comply with your unholy wishes.’ The very words fired his blood, his anger surging. If it had been his pistol on Gridley, the man would have been dead by now.

  Cunningham looked repulsed. ‘You said no more murders, Arthur. I told you it was too risky.’

  Ren moved his gun to Cunningham. ‘No more murders? Explain. You have thirty seconds.’ He knew what was coming, but a public confession would make Kitt a bona fide witness now, a third party outside of himself and Emma.

  Cunningham shot a look at Gridley and looked back at Ren. ‘Merrimore. The man was on his way out anyway. He only had a couple of days at most. Gridley thought the will had been changed to grant him ownership of Sugarland. He didn’t want to risk the old man changing it back before he passed.’

  ‘You will never be safe here again, Cunningham.’ Gridley was positively livid, half rising out of his seat before he remembered Kitt’s pistol levelled at his chest.

  ‘Neither will you,’ Ren reminded him. ‘Emma is ill, ill unto death because of you. If I do one thing for her, it will be to rid this island of you and the others like you. Murder, arson, assault, attempted murder—the list grows long, Gridley, and we have witnesses, too. I am sure the court will deal favourably with those who assist the case.’ Ren eyed the other three in the room.

  Gridley paled, slowly realising his defences were being eroded. But he wasn’t done fighting yet. ‘Elias prefers men, the younger the better, don’t you, Elias? I don’t think you’ll like that coming out in a court of law. It would certainly discredit your testimony. And you, Miles.’ Miles had yet to say anything, but Gridley was determined to bring them all down. ‘You’ve been wanting to sell your plantation for over a year. I’d say this was a conflict of interest. Perhaps Dryden has offered to buy your place in exchange for a little perjury on the stand.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Miles spluttered.

  Gridley shrugged. ‘Who decides what true is? Even a shadow of doubt would complicate things enough to condemn your testimony. As for you, Cunningham, I’ll tell them all you were an accomplice, that you knew everything and you condoned it for the sake of forming the sugar cartel. You’ll say anything to save your own hide.’

  ‘Do you want to risk it?’ Ren put in, trying hard to keep his senses focused, trying hard not to give in to the anger raging through him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind wander, couldn’t afford to think about Emma slipping away in a misguided effort to protect him.

  ‘I sure as hell won’t sit here and let you shoot me over that little whore of Merrimore’s,’ Gridley ground out, his eyes lit with a mad light.

  ‘Then leave,’ Kitt said. ‘I have a boat at your disposal, all of your disposals. You have twelve hours to be on it. It will take you anywhere you want to go on the condition you don’t come back here. There will be no charges pressed if you go quietly.’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend England, however.’ Ren looked each of them in the eyes, seeing them weigh their options. ‘I have sent letters to influential friends and family about the nature of your characters. You will not be received.’

  ‘You’ve ruined us!’ Cunningham yelled. Ren couldn’t tell if the comment was directed at himself or at Gridley.

  ‘You’ve ruined yourselves by targeting an innocent woman and bullying her into compliance. If she dies, I will come after you, wherever you are, and I will not offer second chances then.’

  ‘Shall I start shooting, Ren?’ Kitt asked. ‘They seem a little hesitant to make their choice. I’ve already taken out Devore’s knee. Perhaps this time I’ll shoot for a shoulder. Would you like that, Miles? Or perhaps someone is tired of their testicles.’

  Miles cringed. ‘I’ll go. I was going anyway. But what about the plantation? You can’t expect me to give it up, it’s all the wealth I have.’

  ‘I do expect it. You were party to evil for personal gain,’ Ren said simply. ‘Walk out with what you can carry and consider yourself lucky. I won’t let the plantation go to waste. I seem to recall being told there wasn’t enough land in Barbados for the free peoples to start their own farming. Perhaps now there will be, at least enough to make a beginning.’

  ‘You would not turn this land over to those slaves!’ Gridley exclaimed.

  ‘I would. They’re free, Gridley, and they have been for two years now, not that anyone in your employ would recognise that. Your treatment is abominable.’

  Gridley had been pushed too far. With a mighty lunge, he threw over the desk, sending paperweights and inkwells flying. He leapt for Ren, a knife flashing in his hand. Ren darted to the side, barely missing the slice of the secreted blade. The bastard must have had it up his sleeve. Gridley came at him again. In close quarters, it was hard to get his gun aimed. Ren would have to take the shot anyway. It was Gridley or him and Gridley was a fighting with a fiend’s madness.

  Gridley ran at him, Ren levelled his gun, a
shot firing before he could get one off. Gridley crumpled with a cry, his eyes sightless before he hit the ground. Had he fired anyway? Ren gave his gun a quick check for powder marks, for smoke, but there was nothing. He glanced at Kitt, following Kitt’s gaze to Amherst Cunningham.

  ‘I always carry my special friend,’ Amherst said calmly, putting the small gun, the type a gambler expecting trouble would carry, back in his coat pocket as if this was an everyday occurrence. ‘I’ll take the offer of a boat, Sherard. I trust all debts are paid? I’ll be at the docks at midnight.’

  Ren gave the man a curt nod as he exited the room with a sangfroid that sent a chill down Ren’s spine, the other two following sullenly. Dash it, Emma had been more right than she’d known when she’d said these men checked in their morals at the dock.

  Ren nudged Gridley’s still form with the toe of his boot. ‘I’ve asked you for so much already, Kitt. Can you look after things here? I want to get back to Emma, I want her to know it’s over.’

  * * *

  It was over. There was only peace, only calm in this place. Emma was floating. It felt good and cool. There was no worrying, no fighting, nothing to fight against. There was nothing at all. It was empty.

  That bothered her. Something should be here, surely? A sense of wrongness pricked at the perfection, at the calm. Ren. Ren should be here. No, she was giving him up. Why? Her mind was fuzzy. The emptiness became more menacing than peaceful, dragging on her memories, dulling them before she could retrieve them. She was forgetting something very important, something she didn’t want to forget.

  She struggled to retrieve that memory. That was it...Ren loved her. Ren was going to marry her, but she couldn’t...why? Because Gridley would kill him, because Gridley would not rest until she was his. Because she loved Ren too much to have him die for her...so she was going to die for him. Was that what she was doing here in this peaceful place? Was this part of dying?

  There was only one flaw to her plan. There would be no Ren, if she died. She’d miss so much: his arms, his touch, the way he kissed her neck, nibbled at her ears, the way he enticed her to wickedness like swimming naked in their underground lake. She’d miss his gentler side, too, the side that walked in the surf and spoke of his father and his family with unmistakable love. She would miss his sense of right. A passionate man, a good man, loved her. Not many women could say that. It would be something to take with her to the other side, that and the knowledge that she’d freed him.

  ‘Emma.’ Her name. Someone was calling her name. Not just someone, him. Ren. ‘Emma.’ The call came again. She hadn’t imagined it. How nice to hear his voice one more time. Strong fingers closed around her hand. She would have his touch once more. It was more than she could have hoped for. She was indeed blessed to have him here at the end.

  ‘Emma!’ His voice was more insistent now, less pleasant. His words tore through the quiet peace. ‘Emma, Gridley’s gone. Dead. Cunningham shot him. He can’t hurt you again, can’t hurt me again. We are safe. I know what you mean to do, Emma. You don’t have to die for me. Come back, my love, it’s over.’

  Emma curled her fingers around his and began the journey back towards the sound of his voice, back towards the litany of his dreams as he spelled them out for her: a home, children, a family. Things she’d given up on long ago. There might not be something to fight against, but now there was something to fight for and that was so much better.

  When her eyes opened, it was to see Ren lying beside her, stretched out on his side, his fingers intertwined with hers. She had known they would be. Her body, her mind, had been aware of his presence long before she could acknowledge it. He was smiling that devastating smile, the one that showed off his dimple, the very one that had nearly undone her the first day they’d met.

  ‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ Ren drawled.

  ‘Are you ready?’ She smiled drowsily at him.

  ‘Ready for what?’ Ren’s eyes danced.

  ‘To start our life together.’ Now that her decision was made, she didn’t want to wait a moment longer to start her happy-ever-after. She understood what Ren had meant the night he’d told her he wanted to cherish her.

  ‘As soon as you can get out of bed.’ Ren kissed her gently. She felt tears start behind her eyes. She’d almost given this up, almost given him up.

  Emma laughed. ‘Out of bed? I thought the best part of forever happened in bed?’

  ‘Minx.’ Ren laughed with her. His smiled faded. ‘Em, don’t leave me again, promise? I don’t want to be that scared ever.’

  She looked down at their hands, locked together, her voice starting to shake with emotion. There was so much she should tell him about how she felt, about how much he meant, but all that came out was, ‘Thank you, Ren.’ He would know all that was encompassed in those simple words because he knew her body and soul. And he loved her anyway. What more could a girl ask for?

  Epilogue

  What more could a man ask for? Ren Dryden could think of nothing as he waited for his bride at the altar of St Michael’s of All Angels. Kitt Sherard stood beside him, hair pulled back and dressed in a respectable jacket and trousers, not so respectably flirting with the pretty girl in the front row.

  The church was full, although there were few people Ren knew personally sitting in the pews. But there were many who knew him at least by reputation. They’d come to his wedding to pay tribute to his efforts and Emma’s. Thanks to their efforts, the abandoned plantations had been broken into smaller farms and given to the freedmen who had worked them for the former owners. People who had given up hope of farming their own land had a chance again and those people, black and white, had come to witness his celebration.

  The doors at the back of the church opened and Ren’s eyes were riveted on the sight of Emma coming down the aisle. The sunlight behind her shone on the filmy gauze of her veil and caught the seed pearls trimming her dress. She’d opted to wear white, an extravagant colour choice and hardly practical, but she’d insisted. White symbolised a new beginning, a slate wiped clean and no one knew the importance of that more than she.

  Ren didn’t care. She’d look beautiful in any colour. As it was, the effect was striking against the foil of her dark hair. Every step she took brought his future closer to him, a future he’d only dared to dream about. When she was close enough, Ren reached out a hand for her, drawing her close and lifting her veil. He mouthed the words, ‘I love you’, and watched her eyes sparkle with tears.

  The ceremony started. There were prayers and hymns, vows and rings, official and meaningful in their own way, a public pledge that mirrored the private one he and Emma had made earlier in front of the witness that mattered most. They’d come early and walked in the churchyard, taking time to visit Cousin Merrimore’s grave and leave a flower offering, feeling the old man’s presence wash over them in blessing as they stood before his headstone, hands entwined in silence as they were now.

  The bishop was nearly done. Only one last instruction remained. ‘Ah,’ Ren whispered as he bent to carry out the bridal kiss. ‘The Caribbean, land of risk, rum and most unexpectedly, romance.’

  Emma smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘Especially the romance.’

  * * * * *

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  ISBN-13: 9781460344781

  Playing the Rake’s Game

  Copyright © 2015 by Nikki Poppen

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