Playing the Rake's Game

* * *

Partnership, her foot! This was a slippery slope to dictatorship if it was anything at all. Emma glared out over the smoky fields, arms crossed. If he was going to begin as he meant to go on, she should, too. His ‘partnership’ would have to be nipped in the bud, but that nipping would have to wait until they could return to the house. She was not petty enough to argue in front of Mr Paulsen and Peter.

Nor was she naive enough to think she was going to get away with nothing more than the veiled scolding of Ren’s last remark. That remark had been a warning and now he was making her wait for the other proverbial shoe to fall. She was not a patient person by nature and he’d already tried what little patience she possessed over the past four months waiting for him to arrive or not. Apparently, she was not done waiting.

She waited until the burning was nearly complete and could be left in Mr Paulsen’s capable hands. She waited through the walk back to the house. She waited while they filled their plates with a late breakfast and sat down at the table. She waited as he took a few bites of his eggs and buttered his toast.

Ren took a bite of that well-buttered toast and looked a question at her with an arch of his brows. ‘Yes? Do you have something you want to say?’

‘No, do you?’ Emma sipped at her coffee in hopes of disguising her agitation. She wanted him to engage first.

‘I have nothing to say that you do not already know.’ His eyes held hers, blue fire simmering in them. ‘You tried to play me for a fool this morning.’ His tone was even, neutral. ‘We both know it. You deliberately didn’t tell me about firing the fields.’

Emma gathered her practised defence. ‘By the time I remembered, I had already undressed for the evening.’ It had sounded better in her head. Out loud, it only proved to be provocative and Ren had indicated already he wasn’t above innuendo. He would not let such a reference pass.

‘Were you now?’ His gaze was steady but the faintest ribbon of a smile played across his mouth, bringing to mind images that were entirely too intimate for the breakfast table, images that left her stripped bare beneath his gaze and not the least bit protected from the direction of his thoughts and hers.

Emma looked down at her eggs. ‘I couldn’t very well traipse around the house in my nightgown.’ That was even worse. She was making a mess of this. Usually, she was considered quite the wit. Not today. Not with this man.

‘I, too, had retired for the evening,’ Ren said drily. ‘In fact, I was wearing far less than a nightshirt. Had you come, you would have been overdressed.’ The last comment brought her eyes up, her cheeks starting to heat. ‘I sleep in the nude, Emma. In case you were wondering.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Emma snapped in mortification. It was absolutely a lie, however. She had been wondering, her mind filling rather quickly with images of a naked Ren Dryden.

‘More to the point, I awoke naked and nearly ran out to the fields in my altogether. I wonder who would have looked foolish then—me, for running out naked in concern for my crops, or you for having overlooked the simple courtesy of notifying me?’

Emma’s cheeks were twin ovens now, her mind a riot of inappropriate images of her guest. She tried to sound oblivious to the implications of his words. ‘I think we’re being a little dramatic about a harmless episode.’ Hot cheeks or not, she positively refused to let him turn this into an inquisition. Nor would she let him turn this into a favour he’d done her in which he’d saved her from embarrassment.

Ren’s eyes were shrewd when they met hers. ‘A harmless episode, but not an isolated one. In the past...’ he stopped here and flipped open a pocket watch, doing a quick calculation ‘...eighteen hours since my arrival, you’ve made it clear you don’t want me here. But I am here and this will be a partnership. There will be no more of these attempts to dissuade me.’

‘My apologies if you feel that way,’ Emma replied, but her tone was unrepentant. He’d proven to be a worthy opponent at present, catching on far too quickly to her strategy. That didn’t mean she had to admit to it. It did mean, however, she would need another. Simply ignoring Ren Dryden wasn’t going to work.

Her brain began to recalibrate. The new gambit would have to be something more subtle, something that would bind him to her without arousing his suspicions. After all, if he was going to stay, how could she best use him? Could she make him an ally against Gridley? He’d been quick enough to support her yesterday.

Emma studied Ren, well aware that he was watching her, waiting for her to cede the terms of their partnerships. Watch me all you like. He was not entirely immune to her. He knew very well what he was doing with his innuendo and his eyes. A man didn’t play such games with a woman he wasn’t attracted to. She was used to men watching her, men like Arthur Gridley and Thompson Hunt. Men who were always wondering about her, thinking they knew how best to manipulate her for their own gains.

Like them, perhaps Dryden’s own confidence could be played against him. But how to do it? Perhaps a temporary show of agreement was in order until she sorted things out.

Emma stuck her hand out across the table, evincing appropriate reluctance. Her about-turn would have to be convincing. Ren Dryden would not find complete, immediate capitulation compelling. ‘Very well, since it seems I have no choice, I agree. A partnership it is.’ She would honour that partnership until it was no longer judicious for her to pursue a course of assumed equality. Her next gambit, whatever it was, needed to be something more. Her first gambit had not worked, based as it was on faulty assumptions about who Ren would be. She needed time to think the next one through. Agreement bought her time and this time she had to succeed. She wouldn’t get another second chance.

Ren relinquished her hand, but his eyes didn’t stray from hers. ‘Perhaps we should seal our partnership with a tour of the property. I would like to start learning about the plantation immediately.’

A little spark of excitement travelled down her spine, a most unwanted reaction. She had the distinct impression he wasn’t necessarily referencing the plantation. Her pulse raced, oblivious to what her mind already knew: it was only a game. Ren could flirt all he liked, but in the end, she needed to be the one in charge. If this was to be a game, she preferred it to be one played neutrally, at least on her part.

‘I can arrange to have Peter or Mr Paulsen show you around.’ After a morning of sharpening wits with him, a little distance was in order. She needed time to plan. Emma rose to make her departure, but Ren was ready for her. He rose with her, blocking her access to the door.

‘I’m sure they’re capable, but I’d prefer you. We can go right now.’ He held his arms wide, showing off his riding attire with a laugh. ‘Fortunately, I am dressed for it and so are you.’ He gave her a conspiratorial grin at the inside joke. ‘You’re not in your nightgown and I’m not in my altogether, so there’s no excuse.’

Emma recognised defeat. She’d been flanked. She would not be able to dismiss him as easily as she had yesterday by pawning him off on her servants. She smiled tightly. She had to capitulate, there was no way out of it and he knew it, he’d orchestrated it that way. ‘Very well, I’ll call for the horses.’

His grin widened. ‘No need, I’ve already done that. I told the groom to have them ready at half past.’ Not your groom, but the groom. Beneath his casual manner there was a sharp reminder that while Sugarland was her place, it was also his. Theirs. Together.

Emma let the comment pass and led the way out to the drive. Sharing would take some getting used to. It would demand she reshape the way she viewed him entirely. At least temporarily, she had to move away from seeing him as the interloper, someone who was here only on Merry’s posthumous good grace. Still, she had to be strong. Otherwise, Ren would think she was soft. Men exploited softness.

Horses were indeed waiting outside and Ren gave her a leg up, tossing her into the saddle with ease as he had done yesterday. He adjusted her stirrup and checked her girth one last time. It was either quite gallant of him, or quite patronising. Emma shot him a wry look, assuming the latter. ‘You should know, Ren Dryden, I don’t like high-handed men.’

Ren gave her stirrup a final tug and looked up, blue eyes sparking with amusement. ‘You should know I don’t like scheming females. I think that makes us even.’

He swung up into his saddle with athletic grace, the heels of his boots automatically going down in the irons, his thighs naturally gripping the stallion, a bay Merry had bought from an officer who was returning to England. She felt a sharp stab of heat at the memory from yesterday of those thighs gripping her.

‘You’re a horseman,’ Emma said as they turned their mounts out behind the house to begin the tour.

‘I love to ride. My family prides themselves on their stable. We all grew up in the saddle.’ Ren drew his horse alongside hers, his tone easy, inviting conversation as the path widened to easily accommodate two riders abreast.

‘Do you have a large family?’ The way he’d said ‘all’ implied that he did. She’d not imagined him having siblings. She’d spent her time planning for the arrival of an old man with few ties.

‘Big enough. Not as large as some,’ Ren answered. ‘I have two younger sisters and a younger brother. How about yourself, do you have siblings?’

She shook her head. ‘I barely had parents, let alone brothers and sisters. It was mostly my father and me. He was in the military and we travelled.’

‘That must have been exciting.’ Ren was studying her, giving her the full attention of his gaze. It was warming and unnerving all at once. This was supposed to have been a safe conversation but it was proving contrary to her intentions. Was it real or was it merely his brand of superficial politeness? Worse, was it the beginning of a seduction? Was he being nice to capitalise on the truce they’d established over breakfast? She’d seen such niceness often enough from those who had something to gain. If he thought to kiss the plantation out of her, he wouldn’t be the first to try and he wouldn’t be the last to fail.

This was where seduction, if that was what he was up to, became tricky. One had to be careful not to forget the game, no matter how appealing the fantasy. She wouldn’t make it easy for him or for herself. Neither could she appear to be entirely resistant. Resistance would not convince him she’d rethought her position on his presence. Still, things didn’t have to go too far.

Emma decided to put a halt to the moment before she had herself imagining he cared about something other than his fifty-one per cent. ‘It was lonely. My father’s career was all consuming. He lived for it and the adventure of always moving can be something of a burden when one is craving the stability of a normal home and friends. There was no one to fall back on when my father died.’ They reached a fork in the rough trail. She gestured they should go right.

‘There was my cousin,’ Ren answered, swiftly coming to Merry’s defence.

‘Yes, there was Merry and I will always be grateful. He was all that was generous and kind to a lonely sixteen-year-old girl.’ The trail narrowed and Emma pushed ahead of him. They were climbing now. Emma was glad for a reason to proceed single file. Even after four months, her grief over Merry remained raw. Too much sincerity, feigned or not from Ren Dryden, and she’d be a gusher.

They reached the top of the incline and dismounted. Emma went to stand at the edge, using the time to gather her emotions. But Ren did not give her long. He came up behind her, his boots giving fair warning as they rustled the grass. He was close, close enough for her to smell the scent of honest sweat mixed with the scents of horse and morning soap. The combination was decidedly male and not at all unpleasing. There was power to it and strength.

‘This is the highest point on Sugarland, from here you can see everything.’ It was one of her favourite places to visit. She and Merry had come up often when he was well. The last time had been two days before he died. The trip had taken all of his strength. She remembered worrying that he would die on the hilltop, that it had been his reason for coming; he’d wanted to depart the earth where he could see his legacy spread before him. It was the day he’d warned her of his suspicions about Gridley. She wished he’d warned her about Ren Dryden, too.

Ren let out a low whistle of appreciation. ‘That’s an amazing view. I can see why you’d want to come. A man could be a king here, surveying his domain.’

‘Or a queen surveying hers,’ Emma amended. This was her kingdom, a reminder of all she fought for, of all she defended. A reminder, too, of what she stood to lose if she was not a vigilant guardian. Gridley would wrest this place from her if she gave him half a chance. Perhaps Ren Dryden would, too.

‘Tell me about it, tell me everything we see.’ Ren’s voice was quiet, intimate at her ear. It sent an unlooked-for trill of awareness down her spine, so unlike the prickles of hatred, even fear, that Gridley’s presence roused.

Ren pointed in the distance. ‘What’s that building over there?’

‘That’s our sugar mill. Once we harvest the cane, it will be refined there. We’re big enough to support our own mill. We’re lucky. We mill the cane for some of the smaller plantations, too, who don’t have their own,’ Emma explained.

She moved their gaze to the east. ‘That’s the main house. Then there’s the cane fields.’ They were black beneath the sky, the recent firing causing them to stand out stark and naked against the lush background. ‘There are the vegetable fields and the home farm.’ She paused to glance over her shoulder, taking in Ren’s expression. ‘You’re surprised. We’re self-sufficient here. The trick is to balance the land between what we need to feed ourselves and what we can afford to grow for cane. Sugar cane is our money crop, but it won’t do us any good if we starve or if we have to spend our profits on food. Already, so much of what we need has to be imported from England. It would be a shame to have to import food, too.’

Ren nodded slowly. She could almost see the wheels of his mind turning behind those eyes of his. He was interested in the plantation. Well, she’d see how interested he was in the middle of a sweltering summer when there was work to be done, although he’d done well yesterday with the fire. He hadn’t hesitated.

‘Is cane difficult to grow?’ he asked, his gaze going back to the charred fields. ‘From my reading, it doesn’t seem to be.’