It was only now when things had slowed that he could see the patterns and the subtle intentions.
A swish of skirts alerted him to Emma’s arrival. He looked up, a slow smile taking his face. She always managed to look stunning in gowns, or the breeches she wore about the estate. He couldn’t imagine Emma not looking stunning. Tonight she’d done it in a gown of pale blue that turned her hair impossibly dark and her skin beautifully tanned. A single, slim strand of pearls rested at the base of her neck, calling attention to the fact that there was quite a lot of skin artfully revealed in the sleeveless vee cut of the bodice. There were no trimmings or flounces to disguise what was on display. As a result, the gown was far less girlish than the silly London confections designed to be demure.
Dinner was waiting for them. Tonight, it was a spicy rice dish liberally filled with shrimp, accompanied by fresh baked bread, fried okra, which had been new to Ren, and a light white wine.
Ren took a bite of the rice and shrimp, savouring it as if it were a great luxury. ‘I think I like the food in Barbados, especially the seafood dishes.’
Emma laughed, her eyes twinkling as she leaned forward. ‘You haven’t tasted pudding and souse yet. Do you know what that is?’
Ren grinned and leaned back in his chair, waiting to be regaled. ‘You know I couldn’t possibly.’
‘It’s a special Barbadian dish made of pig parts for the pudding and pig’s head with trotters boiled down for the souse.’ Emma smiled and took another sip of wine, waiting for his reaction. He almost gave it. The dish sounded positively disgusting but that was what the little minx wanted. Ren fought the urge and opted to tease her a bit.
He merely fingered the stem of his glass and said, ‘Ah, a Barbadian version of haggis, is it? Why do you suppose so many cultures seem bent on stuffing things into intestines?’
The comment caught her entirely off guard as he intended. She’d not anticipated a humorous response from him. If she had, she might not have taken that sip. Wine spewed out of her mouth, just missing her plate of rice and shrimp. She choked, gasping for breath, until Ren had to come to her side, patting her on the back as if she were a small child. ‘I’m sorry. I should have timed my remark better.’ Ren offered her his napkin, but he couldn’t help laughing.
Emma was laughing, too, unable to stay angry. ‘You timed it just when you wanted it. You knew what you were doing,’ Emma scolded in friendly tones, wiping her eyes.
Ren took his seat. ‘Well, maybe I did,’ he confessed. ‘Do you need a new plate? I could call Faulks.’
‘No, I missed the plate.’
‘This is one of the reasons I prefer eating this way, everything is on the table at once. Can you imagine resetting Gridley’s table if you’d spat your wine out last night?’ Ren shook his head in mock despair. ‘One plate we could have managed, but all of his? And the glasses and the silverware?’
Emma laughed with him. ‘I assure you I don’t make a habit of spitting out my wine. But it’s true, Gridley does prefer excess. He wants everyone to remember he is English and a knight of the realm.’
Ren laughed. ‘So his house is too big, his art too ostentatious, his table too full.’ Ren paused. ‘He’s jealous, you know. He wants everyone to remember he’s equal to Sugarland. He told me during our afternoon visit that you had the best of everything. The best food, the best cook. No matter what he does, he still finds himself lacking when measured against you.’ Ren gestured to the room about him. ‘Sugarland is a stunning home. The dining room rivals anything one would find in London, as does the service.’
Emma smiled. ‘Sugarland does sport the best dining room on the island. It was one of Merry’s pride and joys. He had the Wedgwood specially commissioned and the crystal hand blown in Ireland.’
‘My cousin had good taste or did he have you to thank for it?’ Ren gave her a warm smile. He liked this easy conversation with her. They’d made progress today relaxing with one another.
‘More like the merchants on Swan Street, but I certainly helped.’
They’d finished their meal and it was the perfect opening to move the conversation towards the questions in his mind. Ren rose and offered Emma his arm. They’d developed the habit of taking a walk about the lawns after dinner before settling into a game of chess or backgammon. Tonight, it seemed the perfect venue for a more intimate discussion. ‘My cousin must have valued you a great deal. Tell me about Merry. I suspect you were closer to him those last years than anyone, even Gridley. I have difficulty understanding that friendship. It’s rather odd to be friends with a man one is jealous of.’
It was still warm outside, but not uncomfortably so. The stars were starting to come out. It was somewhat of a magical novelty to Ren that darkness actually fell in a land so warm, but it did, a constant reminder of how close they were to the equator. There were no long or short days here, all the days were the same.
‘Gridley always has a reason for his friendships,’ Emma said, looking up into the night sky where the stars were beginning to come out. ‘There’s usually something he wants.’ She was trying to sound blasé. Ren wasn’t fooled. The nonchalance was just another aspect of her brave facade.
‘You?’ Ren offered bluntly. ‘His eyes made no secret of the fact last night. Even without his gaze following you around the room, he made that abundantly clear the afternoon we talked. In retrospect I see his confession more as a warning than anything else.’
Emma gave a nervous laugh. ‘I thought we were talking about Merry.’ He had her off-centre—interesting. What was he getting close to? He had meant to talk about Merry, but perhaps this was the opportunity to talk about Gridley the way he’d meant to earlier in the day.
‘I think the two are inseparable,’ Ren said, his voice low in the darkness. He wanted to build an aura of intimacy, wanted her to feel comfortable with a confession if there was one to make. ‘What did Merry want for you? Did he want Gridley for you? Did he want you to go to London?’ His mouth was next to her ear, his nostrils breathing in the clean scent of her. ‘Did he want you to have me?’ I want to have you, to hell with what Merry thought or anyone else. It was probably unfair to ask such a question standing here in the warm evening, their bodies close, primed with reminders of the day, but he asked anyway.
‘I don’t know what Merry intended. I was anticipating an older man.’ She gave a short self-deprecating laugh. ‘I wasn’t sure if anyone would even come.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you.’ Ren chuckled.
She gave him a coy smile. ‘You don’t exactly disappoint, Ren Dryden. But if you’re asking me what Merry intended for you or for me, or for us, I don’t know.’ Even in the darkness, intuition told him she was holding something back. She might not know in truth, but there were things she suspected. Ren tried to pry her thoughts loose with a little disclosure of his own.
‘There were plenty of people who advised me not to come. My mother, my friends. Such a journey was too risky and unnecessary, they said. I should stay home and collect my portion of the profits and do nothing. But I sensed Cousin Merry hadn’t willed me the interest in Sugarland for me to stay home. I don’t know that to be the case factually speaking, but I felt it. It seemed to suggest itself based on circumstances.’ He stopped, taking a moment to watch her profile. She was thinking, hard. ‘Surely you must have some intuition about what Cousin Merrimore wanted for you? There must have been conversations in the past, even at the end that would at least suggest some answers?’
Ren was pushing hard tonight and it made her wary. He was using all the tools at his disposal: a day of exquisite sexual practice, the deepening intimacy of the night, the proximity of his body, the easy humour over dinner. It all combined to create a heightened sense of comfort between them. And it was working. She did feel comfortable with him despite what she knew he was doing. He’d seduced her and now he thought to use that intimac
y to get his answers. Well, Thompson Hunt had already beaten him to that strategy and she would not be fooled twice.
She had her own strategies, too, for what their intimate encounters might be used for. Then there were her hopes that maybe here was a man who would be different from the rest. She’d never know unless she tested that hypothesis, too. Tonight, she’d risk a little more, perhaps risk a lot. She sensed the time for truth, at least about Gridley, had come. Emma drew a breath. ‘Towards the end, Gridley was with him and the solicitor constantly. Those last days were fearful to me. I was afraid of Gridley’s influence, afraid Gridley might convince Merry to do something foolish at the end.’
‘Like what?’
‘Something medieval like Merry compelling me to marry Gridley in order to keep the plantation or forcing me to join Sugarland to his. Gridley talked of it nonstop.’ She said it casually, with a laugh to make it sound even more ludicrous. She might be ready for Ren to know what had transpired, but she wasn’t ready for him to know how real that fear had been.
‘Merry suspected Gridley had more than friendship on his mind, however. One day shortly before he died, we went up to the bluff and he told me about his concerns,’ Emma added quietly. ‘Whatever Merry wanted for me, it was not Gridley. I wonder, too, if Merry wrote those suspicions down in his journal along with his thoughts about the cartel.’ Or if he’d had a chance. He’d seldom been alone. ‘Every time the solicitor came, I worried. It sounds selfish, but I breathed easier once the will was read and nothing of the sort was mandated.’
‘It’s good to know that Merry knew,’ Ren said after a while. ‘I wouldn’t have liked knowing that he died duped into a false friendship.’
Emma stopped walking and faced him. Ren meant the comment to be consoling, but it was far from that and she could not let it pass unaddressed. This was no ordinary land struggle or arranged marriage drama. It was time to disabuse Ren of any notion he harboured in that direction. It was time for the truth about Gridley. She took a deep breath, her grip on Ren’s hand tightening. ‘In the end, Merry knew Gridley’s measure precisely. He lay there helpless, unable to do anything but watch while Gridley put a pillow over his face and snuffed out the last of his life.’
‘Dear God!’ Even in the dark, she could tell Ren was stunned. ‘How do you know?’
‘I saw the last of it. I saw him lift the pillow from Merry’s face.’ Her voice was starting to shake. Tears burned in her eyes. Even a few simple, unemotional words were too much for her. She could see it in her mind as if it had just happened.
There was a stone bench nearby and Ren led her there, forcing her to sit, his arm about her drawing her close for comfort and strength. ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he whispered into her hair.
‘Yes, I do. You have to know what you’re up against. Gridley is a monster.’ She forced her thoughts into coherent sentences. ‘The solicitor had come downstairs and stopped to talk with me. We spoke for maybe five minutes before he left. Then I went up to see Merry. It was time for his medicine,’ she explained, although the detail didn’t matter. ‘I entered the room without knocking and that’s when I saw him. It was plain what he’d done and Gridley made no attempt to excuse it.’ Her voice caught and she swallowed hard. ‘He looked at me and said, “The old man was bound to go tomorrow or the next anyway. It might as well be today.” Then he winked at me and said, “This will be our little secret. We can’t have anyone thinking you might have done this”, as if he were taking the blame for me.’
She felt Ren’s arm tighten about her in protection and anger. She’d been right to tell him. ‘Oh, my dear girl, you must have been frightened beyond words. No wonder you were so pale in that room this morning.’
‘I was too numb to be frightened,’ Emma admitted. ‘Gridley simply walked out of the room and went home as if nothing unusual had happened.’
She could feel Ren’s breathing change as he began to think. She could almost predict his next question. ‘Did you tell anyone?’
Emma shook her head against his shoulder. ‘No. It’s the one and only time I’ve ever done anything Gridley’s asked. How could I have done otherwise? I was alone with no one to protect me and Gridley’s threat had teeth. When I thought about it, who would believe me over Gridley? So I let it go.’
‘And in doing so, you’ve given Gridley a tidy piece of blackmail to hang over your head,’ Ren summed up. ‘Why hasn’t he used it to force your hand already? Marriage and Sugarland in exchange for not taking you to trial.’
‘That’s easy, Ren,’ she murmured. ‘Timing and you. He had to wait for the will to be read. He honestly thought it was going to be changed, that something had been agreed upon that last day. He was eager to see Merry removed before Merry could change it again. But he’d guessed wrong. The solicitor and Merry had outwitted him at the last.
‘Then there were his promises to Merry. He’d been very public about having been charged with “watching over” me. There had to be an interval of decency. I think there’s some fear for him, too, in making his claim public. I’d at least smear his reputation by telling everyone the murderer was him. I’d be the one who loses in court. I would hang, but he’d be ruined in other ways.
‘Then just when that was ending, you showed up to complicate things further. Blackmailing me into compliance isn’t enough any more. You have the other fifty-one per cent.’
Emma felt Ren’s hand still where it had been running up and down her arm in a comforting motion. His body stiffened. His voice was terse when he spoke. ‘Is that why you slept with me?’
A blow to the stomach could not have been more effective. This was the pivotal moment, the moment where she could lose him. She could not lose him now! Not now when she’d invested so much in the hope Ren embodied for her future and when she’d invested so much of herself not just physically, but emotionally. She’d trusted him tonight. Emma disengaged herself and rose, combining truth and lie into the only answer she could defend. ‘I slept with you because I wanted to.’ The terse set of Ren’s jaw started to relax. She played her ace. Regardless of his misgivings, Ren could not resist her. Emma held out a hand, putting his acceptance of her answer to the immediate test. ‘And I would like to do it again, only tonight I might suggest something different.’
Ren stood, his eyes hot with rising desire. The crisis was past. A rill of elation surged through her at the little victory as he took her hand. ‘What would that be, Emma?’
She smiled coyly and tugged him towards the house. ‘A bed.’
Chapter Fifteen
Bed changed everything. Ren’s blood ran hot with the thrill of deliberately taking a woman to bed, of watching her undress and undressing for her in turn. The mere prospect honed a man’s arousal to a sharp edge of anticipation. There was a titillating intimacy to the formal art of sex in a bedroom that was absent from hotter, more spontaneous encounters—the sort of which had populated their couplings to date.
He liked those encounters as well. They didn’t require thinking, only doing, only living in the moment of passion. One could be swept away, let oneself go and then use that very spontaneity as a carefully constructed excuse later to explain ‘the mistake’. One did not have such leniency in the bedroom where it was all clearly premeditated. One had to be honest with oneself afterwards.
A single lamp illuminated Emma’s bedchamber, casting a rosy-gold light on the walls. Like the other walls in the house, they were white stucco. Wallpaper didn’t last in the humidity. But the other items in the room leant the chamber its colour. A braided rug in oranges, pinks and reds lay on the polished hardwood planking of the floor. A quilt of matching colours lay folded at the foot of the bed.
Ah, the bed! It was a four-postered wonder done in teak, covered in an immaculate white quilt turned back to expose the thick mattress and tight fitted sheets. Pillows were plumped sumptuously against the headboard. Bu
t what stood out most to Ren was how high it was set up from the ground in what he was coming to know as the Caribbean style. His own bed in the garçonnière was set unusually high, too. Michael had explained it was for protection against anything that crawled or slithered: scorpions, snakes, stinging beetles. Necessity it might be, but it also precluded any romantic gesture of carrying one’s lover to bed since getting into bed required a mounting block. A laugh escaped him at the humour.
‘What’s so funny?’ Emma had sobered, too—perhaps she’d also realised what a bedding in the bedroom entailed.
Ren nodded towards the steps set beside the bed. ‘I was just thinking how appropriate it was to need a mounting block for mounting of another sort.’
She tossed him a hot look. ‘You have a wicked mind, Ren Dryden.’
‘It makes me more interesting.’ Ren tugged at the end of his cravat, pulling it loose and letting the yards of cloth slide around his neck, giving Emma ample warning of what was coming next. He tossed the strip of cloth on to the end of the bed. One never knew when a cravat could be put to other uses.
Emma took her cue and sat down in an upholstered lady’s chair by the window. She spread her skirts about her, managing to look both demure and worldly as she prepared to watch him disrobe.
Ren started with his waistcoat, making her wait as he took off his watch chain and cufflinks, setting them in a trifle dish on the table next to the bed. He undid the buttons of his paisley waistcoat and started on the studs of his shirt, pulling his tails out of the waistband of his trousers as he went. His shirt came off. He heard Emma’s breath catch at the sight of him.
* * *
He was magnificent! Emma’s hands fisted in the folds of her skirts, her breath catching at the sight of him. There was something poignantly erotic about seeing a lover revealed for the first time, a gorgeous package being unwrapped just for her. Ren Dryden in clothes was a sight to behold. Ren Dryden without them was beyond words.
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