Playing the Rake's Game

‘Not too difficult. The cane regenerates itself.’ She started to explain the process, acutely aware of the potent male presence behind her. Ren was making it difficult to talk about ratoon crops and he wasn’t even touching her. He was just standing there. Only he wasn’t. He was flirting silently with his body.

No, flirting was too superficial of a word. Flirting required witty banter and gay repartee, not an agricultural discussion. This wasn’t flirting, this was sampling. He was letting her sample his physicality—the smell of him, the heat, the sensuality of him as he turned even the most mundane comment erotic by murmuring it near her ear.

There was no doubt he was a man who understood precisely how to use the nuances of space and touch to create a certain appeal. The bigger question was why? She had yet to meet a man who didn’t have ulterior motives when it came to women or when it came to her. She didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what Dryden was after. She’d been alert to that potential ever since he’d climbed down from Sherard’s wagon in all his broad-shouldered, blue-eyed glory.

His subtle flirtation here on the bluff confirmed what she’d suspected. Even being alert for such a move from him, it was disappointing. Perhaps a small part of her had hoped the man she’d seen at the fire would be different. Not that knowledge of his likely game was enough apparently to stop her pulse from racing, or a little frisson of excitement from running down her spine as he abstrusely put his body on invitation. But it needed to be.

She was a smart woman and experience had made her smarter than most when it came to the nature of men. Those experiences would need to be her armour now. Emma stepped forward, away from the heat of his body. ‘We should be getting back. I have work to do.’ Anything would be better than being near Ren and his intoxicating presence without a plan of her own. Too much of him and she’d forget her resolve and his agenda.

* * *

Emma filled the ride back with business. She talked about the native flora and fauna, the seasonal changes on the island, even the hurricane of 1831 which had left much of the island devastated and claimed fifteen hundred lives. All of it done in an attempt to create distance and a reminder they were business partners and would be nothing more. She couldn’t afford to be more with him.

The house came into view and Emma felt a surge of relief. Sanctuary! She would not have to deal with Ren again until dinner. She could bury herself away in the office behind closed doors. That relief was short-lived. As they approached the drive, it was evident she had company. A rider was dismounting from a tall sorrel stallion. Damn and double damn. Hadn’t yesterday been enough for him?

Ren drew his horse alongside. ‘Expecting guests?’

Emma grimaced. ‘Sir Arthur Gridley isn’t exactly a guest.’ He’d probably seen the smoke from the crops and wanted to poke his nose into Sugarland’s business, something he’d made a habit of doing since Merry’s death.

‘A nuisance then?’ Ren joked wryly.

‘Something like that,’ Emma responded tersely. Gridley was more than a nuisance. He was insidious. He liked to portray himself as the nosy neighbour who had her best interests at heart. Only she knew better.

‘If he’s not a nuisance or a guest, what is he, then?’ The protectiveness she sensed in him yesterday gave an edge to Ren’s voice.

‘Nothing for you to worry about. I’ve got him under control.’ She hoped she did anyway. She wasn’t about to admit otherwise to Ren and alert him to the possibility that not all was perfect at Sugarland. Neither did she want to give Ren a possible weapon to use against her.

Arthur Gridley strode down the steps towards them, smiling pleasantly, playing the good neighbour to the hilt, definitely a bad sign. It seemed she was about to trade Ren Dryden for something worse, a classic case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Chapter Five (#ulink_6ef45590-db80-58b0-a282-94e95f33cc8e)

‘Emma, my dear, you’ve been busy!’ Arthur Gridley effused his usual charm and was dressed in the height of luxury. The packet was always bringing him expensive clothes. If the island had a dandy, he was it.

Emma smiled tightly, aware of how dirty she was again compared to Gridley’s pristine neatness. He most certainly hadn’t spent the morning firing fields and touring his land. Gridley wasn’t exactly a hands-on manager when it came to his plantation. ‘Sir Arthur, it’s good to see you. Did we have an appointment?’ She would not give him an inch. She would show no fear in his presence. It would only give him one more weapon.

Sir Arthur grinned, showing even, white teeth. Many women on the island found that smile attractive, including the governor’s wife. Emma did not count herself among their number. Gridley’s appeal had worn out ages ago for her. ‘Since when do old friends need appointments to call on one another?’ He gave her a friendly wink. ‘I came to talk to Dryden. We didn’t have a chance to become acquainted yesterday with all the chaos.’ He said ‘chaos’ as if she’d planned the fire deliberately. ‘It was not the most ideal of circumstances for introductions.’

Emma saw Gridley’s intentions immediately. He’d come to be the serpent in the garden, to woo Ren with a false show of friendship. She should have warned Ren when she’d had the chance. Gridley had the devil’s own tongue and she could easily imagine the tales he would spin now that Merry’s heir was here, a new uninformed target for Gridley’s ambitions to acquire interest in Sugarland. Gridley was not a man to face without forewarning.

‘Albert and I were close. He was a good friend,’ Sir Arthur supplied with a sad smile when she offered nothing to qualify the nature of his relationship. What she said or didn’t say hardly mattered. He was never above a little self-promotion.

Gridley’s smile softened and fixed on her just long enough to create an impression of caring before turning back to Ren. ‘I’m not just a friend to Merrimore, but to his dear Emma too, I hope?’

‘You must forgive my manners, it’s been a long morning,’ Emma ground out with the barest of civility. It was the only demur he was going to get from her. Proper etiquette required she say something like ‘I did not mean to imply otherwise’ when she really did. She would not play the politeness game with him and avow him publicly in any form.

‘Yes, I see you fired the fields.’ Gridley raised a scolding eyebrow at Emma but he directed his next comment to Ren. ‘Not all of us fire the fields, Dryden. It’s too risky for some of us veteran planters, but Emma has a penchant for all the latest novelties.’

‘You make it sound as if I fired the fields on a whim,’ Emma cut in crisply. She would not let him reduce her farming methods to a female foible in front of the man she was desperately trying to impress with her capability. It was a sound decision to burn the fields and when she had her crop in first, she’d prove it to the others.

‘I am confident Emma knows what she is doing.’ She felt Ren move up behind her, the heat of his body echoing against her back. He was proprietarily close. Something dark flitted through Gridley’s eyes, but his ever-present grin was benevolent when he spoke.

‘Nonetheless, I’m glad you’re here, Dryden. You can take things in hand now and let Emma focus on running the house.’ Goodness, he was in full form today! He’d all but chucked her under the chin like a doting uncle, an identity which was a complete misnomer when it came to their dubious relationship. Gridley had no intentions of being a father figure to her. He had far lustier aspirations.

‘I’d invite you in, but I’m busy today,’ Emma said sharply, making apology for her breach in social manners.

‘Never mind about me, you go on with your business. As I said, I’m not really here for you.’ He gave another of his winks to indicate a friendly joke. ‘I’m here to see Dryden and give him the lay of the land. We’ll stay out of your way, just send a pitcher of falernum to the back porch where we can have a nice long visit.’ He slapped Ren on the back. ‘I’ll give him a proper welcome to the neighbourhood.’

‘A proper welcome?’ Ren shot her a discreet glance and she could almost hear the private laughter in Ren’s voice, laughter that was there just for her, some inside humour only the two of them shared. ‘I think I’d like that very much.’ The inside joke made Arthur Gridley a momentary outsider and in a subtle way let her know she had an ally.

Emma could feel the beginnings of a smile play on her lips. It could just be part of a larger strategy Ren was playing, but for now it felt good to know he had her back. It was certainly a new way to view Ren’s presence andit just might provide the new gambit she was looking for. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. For now.

* * *

Enemy? Friend? Concerned neighbour or ambitious interloper? It was hard to know how to classify Sir Arthur Gridley. Ren took a seat in one of the twin rockers on the veranda, gathering his thoughts. Emma certainly didn’t care for the man. But was that dislike or fear she felt? What was she hiding that Gridley might expose? All in all, Ren thought it would make a rather insightful afternoon.

‘What do you think of our little piece of the world so far?’ Gridley stretched out his legs, settling into his chair and looking quite comfortable at a home not his own. He’d said he was Merrimore’s close friend. In all fairness, he was probably used to being here, but the action struck Ren as overtly territorial, the tactic of a man who wants to remind everyone of his superior claim to ownership.

‘It’s hot,’ Ren replied affably. It couldn’t hurt to be nice. Knowledge was power and Gridley would want to demonstrate his. If Ren played this right, Gridley would talk all afternoon, thinking he was establishing his ground, when in reality Ren would get precisely what he wanted—information.

Ren had learned years ago it was the listener who held the upper hand when navigating the social waters of the ton. He had to start making friends in this new place. He wanted those friends to be the right ones. He had a hunch there might be wrong ones and he still had to figure out where Emma fit into the balance. Who to trust? The supposedly crazy woman running Sugarland or the well-dressed, seemingly well-intentioned neighbour?

‘It is hot, in an entirely different way than London,’ Gridley agreed. ‘You’ll get used to it. We have our rainy seasons and our fever seasons, but it’s not a bad way to live. There’s no cold, no ice, no grey skies that go on for months.’ Gridley was all friendly assurance.

A servant brought a tray carrying a pitcher full of an amber liquid and two glasses. She set it down on the little table between them and poured. ‘You’ll like falernum,’ Gridley said. ‘It’s sweet, full of spices and a hint of vanilla.’

Ren sipped tentatively, relieved Gridley was right. He could pick out the hints of ginger and almond, even a bit of lime. ‘It is good.’

Gridley chuckled. ‘You sound surprised. Don’t be. Emma has the best falernum on the island, there’s something about how her cook mixes it.’ Gridley sighed and dropped his voice. ‘Emma has the best of everything. The best cook, the best field manager, the best overseer, the best household staff. It’s made her some enemies and I’m worried for her. I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can talk sense into her.’

Gridley slid him a sideways glance, no doubt looking for compliance. But Ren was more astute than that. He needed information before he made any decisions about his support. Ren decided to play the ‘fresh off the boat’ card. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean?’

‘Of course not, no one expects you to. We’ll show you the ropes around here. You’ll get the hang of how we do things in no time at all.’ Gridley gave him another friendly smile, but Ren was cautious.

‘I’d appreciate that,’ he said neutrally. Ren was starting to wonder if Gridley had come of his own accord or if the neighbours had elected him to be the one to call and sound out the newcomer. He was used to this discreet vetting process. It wasn’t all that different from the way the gentlemen’s clubs tested a member’s viability in London.

‘It’s not Emma’s fault.’ Gridley was quick to establish. ‘It’s the damn apprentice system. It looks good on paper, but it’s costing the planters a small fortune in profits and there’s hardly enough labour to go around.’

Ren raised an eyebrow in query, hoping Gridley would take it as a sign to elaborate on the process. Gridley took the hint and continued. ‘Under the new system, former slaves can choose if they wish to work on the plantations and they can choose which