Playing the Rake's Game. Bronwyn Scott

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.’

      ‘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

      ‘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