A little shudder went through her at the thought: Another night with Ren? Is that what she’d wanted? He’d been a lover nonpareil, giving her exactly what she’d been after, a rough, impetuous joining, and doing it most thoroughly. She’d been completely lost. She might have started it, but he’d taken control almost immediately. Instead of satisfying her curiosity, the encounter had merely made her hungry for more. What would it be like to lie with him, skin to skin, to linger in the act of lovemaking instead of sharing a brief, heated encounter?
‘Miss Emma, are you all right?’ Hattie was staring at her in the mirror. Emma focused, embarrassed to see twin pockets of colour rising on her cheeks.
‘I’m fine.’ Emma stood up from her dressing table. ‘I’m just hungry.’
Hattie nodded, giving her a considering look. ‘There’s breakfast downstairs. Mr Dryden already ate. He had a big appetite this morning, too.’ Ah, she wouldn’t have to face Ren right away.
‘Where is he now?’ Ren was up early for such a late night.
‘He said he wanted to look through some of his cousin’s personal belongings. Michael showed him where Mr Merrimore’s room was.’ Hattie paused. ‘I hope that was all right?’ Merry’s chamber had been shut up since his death. At first, Emma hadn’t been able to bring herself to enter the room. Later, she simply hadn’t had time, at least that’s what she told herself. Perhaps she still wasn’t able to face it. It seemed she’d have to, though, if Ren was in there.
She smiled at Hattie to relieve the other woman’s concern and maybe her own. She’d not planned on bearding that particular lion today. ‘It’s fine. I’ll go see how Mr Dryden is doing.’
She had only the length of the hallway to decide how she wanted to handle facing Ren after last night. Did she want to excuse the encounter as a one-time slip of moral judgement or did she want to go ahead with her initial thought of seducing Ren as a means of binding her to him?
When she’d had that idea it had been before she actually knew what she was getting into—it had been before he’d carried her up the staircase and put her to bed, before he’d claimed her so thoroughly against that hall wall. She might have meant to seduce him last night, but in the end, it had been difficult to tell who was seducing whom. She needed to remember he had his own gambits in motion as well. If she continued on the path of seducing of him, she’d be allowing him to do the same with her.
Merry’s door stood ajar, making no secret of the room being open and occupied. The coward in her had hoped Ren would have finished before she arrived. She pushed the door all the way open, drew a deep breath and stepped just inside. She could not will her feet to go further than the threshold.
The room was unchanged except for the basics. The big bed was made up. The bureau and the table tops were straightened, the medicines that had marked Merry’s last months were gone, but his personal brushes and other sundry items still decorated the room. Sunlight streamed through the large window, toying with fluttering dust motes. If she threw open the wardrobe and bureau drawers she would find Merry’s clothes pressed and ready. It was as if the room itself was waiting for Merry to walk through the door. But she knew better. This had not only been a place of death, it had been a place of murder.
She spotted Ren seated at Merry’s small escritoire near the window, reading through a book. To reach him, she’d have to cross the room. Emma opted to call out, ‘Good morning, I hear you were up early.’ She tried to sound cheery and nonchalant.
Ren looked up from his reading. Seeing her, his face broke into a smile, his dimple deepening. He didn’t seem nervous at all. Perhaps he had more experience than she with morning-after encounters. And, of course, the room wouldn’t mean the same to him.
Ren held up his reading material, a brown leather journal. Not a book, but a personal diary. ‘I’ve been looking for answers and I think I may have found some.’ Emma knew a different kind of anxiety. She’d never looked through Merry’s personal journals, deeming it too great of a privacy violation when he was alive and not having the heart to do so when he was dead. Had he written about her in there? If so, what? She had her secrets and she preferred to keep them that way.
Emma forced a smile. ‘What kind of answers? Perhaps you’d care to show me over breakfast. I’m starving.’ She wasn’t nearly as hungry as she had been earlier, the room had sucked most of her appetite out of her, but it was a clever ploy to get Ren out of the room and herself, too. Her breath was coming fast. She put a hand on the door frame to steady herself.
Ren rose from the desk, journal in hand, and moved towards her, concern etched on his face. ‘Breakfast is a good idea. You look a bit peaked. Are you sure you’re all right?’
He took her by the elbow and ushered her downstairs. In the breakfast room, he insisted she sit while he fixed her a plate.
‘What would you like this morning? There’s sausage, eggs, fresh toast.’ He rattled off a list of offerings. Her stomach rumbled, her hunger returning.
‘Sausage, please, and some eggs. Breakfast was always Merry’s great weakness.’ The good aromas of morning cooking were triumphing over the evil of Merry’s bedroom. ‘We serve many local dishes for dinner, as you’ve probably noticed, but Merry could never give up his English breakfast.’
She took the plate from Ren. ‘Thank you.’ It was filled perfectly if not excessively with a balance of the things she liked: eggs, two slices of toast, two sausages and a slice of melon on the side. She was impressed. This wasn’t their first breakfast together. Apparently, he’d been paying attention.
Ren smiled at the mention of Merry and resumed his seat with a plate containing his second breakfast of the day. ‘I’m sorry if I was out of line by going into my cousin’s room. It clearly upset you and I must apologise.’
‘No, you have every right,’ Emma stammered. ‘This is your home, too.’ Although it was still hard to imagine it as such, it was a necessary part of her plan that he did see Sugarland that way. He’d be far less likely to want to leave a place he felt a connection with. She needed to foster that connection on any level she could. Emma summoned her courage. ‘What were you looking for?’
‘Cousin Merrimore’s thoughts.’ Ren paused to take a drink of coffee. ‘It was suggested to me last night that my cousin would have supported the sugar cartel Gridley has in mind. But you don’t. I am hard pressed to reconcile the idea that Merrimore would have sided with Gridley over you, but I have no real evidence for that.’ He held up the journal. ‘I was hoping this might provide some objective illumination.’
He studied her, his face sombre. ‘It is difficult to be the newcomer. Everyone is eager to share their versions of the truth. In most cases, that truth is no more than a pretext. I have no context for assessing its value or validity except my own intuition.’
Emma swallowed, moved by his admission. He was vulnerable in that moment. He was letting her see how exposed he really was. She’d not thought of him that way. He’d been in command since the moment he’d arrived, never showing an ounce of self-doubt, never backing down from her or from Gridley, or hard work, never once showing weakness as he adjusted to a new life. As a result, it had been easy for her to overlook what he’d given up to come here: the family he must have left in England, his home, his friends, all of his comforts. She’d been so focused on herself, on what his arrival meant to her, she’d not thought about what it meant to him.
Careful, Emma, her conscience warned. This might all be part of his game. If he shows you vulnerability, perhaps he hopes you will show him your vulnerable side, too. She’d almost made it easy on him. Emma set aside her napkin. ‘Did the journal provide you with any answers?’ She kept her tone businesslike.
Ren gave a polite, tight smile, disappointed in her response. ‘Yes. Cousin Merrimore makes it clear he had concerns over the cartel. He saw it as temporary success with no likely long-term viability.’ Ren opened the journal to an
early entry about a third of the way through the book and passed it to her. A footman came in to begin clearing away the sideboard.
‘Is that as far as you read?’ Emma scanned the date— February of last year.
‘Yes.’ Ren hesitated, his voice dropping in deference to the lingering servant. ‘Is there more I should know?’
‘I don’t know what Merrimore wrote about,’ Emma answered vaguely. She could guess though. ‘I have never made a habit of reading someone else’s private journal.’
Ren shook his head. ‘That’s not what I meant. What else do you know that I don’t? What is really going on with Gridley?’
Emma shot Ren a warning glance. Her servants were loyal, but she didn’t like them worrying over bits and pieces they might overhear. In the last year of his life, Merry had made it a practice to discuss business with her away from Sugarland. She supposed that ritual had rubbed off on her.
In a louder voice, she changed the conversational direction entirely. ‘There’s nothing like a good breakfast to set things right. Thank you for suggesting I eat something.’ She gave Ren a broad smile.
He took his cue admirably. ‘I must say that I agree. After Oxford, I did a grand tour through Europe. Nowhere else did breakfast rival the English version in my mind. Elsewhere it was a small meal: some bread, some cheese, maybe a piece of fruit.’
‘You’ve travelled then?’ He’d not mentioned it when they’d talked of her travels with her father.
‘Just the usual venues.’ Ren wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘Paris, Vienna, Rome, Greece, Ephesus.’ Usual venues? Hardly. They sounded far more glamorous than the destinations her father had been posted to. Ren leaned across the table, a handsome smile on his face, a little spark leaping in his blue eyes. ‘I’ve been a lot of places, but I’ve not seen much of the island since my arrival. Why don’t we take the day and you can show me around? We’ll pack a lunch and explore.’
The suggestion caught her off guard. Nothing this morning had happened the way she’d envisioned it. Her first thought had been to confront the issue of the prior evening, but they had yet to do that. They had instead addressed other concerning issues of business: the cartel and Gridley. It was just a matter of time before Ren asked her about the unpleasant conversation with Gridley last night. ‘I don’t know, there’s work to be done—’ Emma stalled.
‘There’s always work to be done,’ Ren interrupted before she could begin to list all the things that needed doing. ‘I’ve checked with Peter. There’s nothing that can’t wait, nor is there anything that needs your especial attention. Peter can handle it, it’s his job after all.’ Ren leaned back in his chair. ‘When’s the last time you had a day off?’
She hesitated too long and Ren laughed. ‘That’s what I thought. You can’t remember. I’ll give you twenty minutes to get ready and then I expect you in the front hall.’
Chapter Twelve
Expectations fulfilled. Precisely twenty-one minutes later they set out, a covered basket and towels in the small bed of the gig. Emma hadn’t even considered protesting. Ren might ask politely, but she was certain he’d have come looking for her if she’d not shown up. In truth, she hadn’t wanted to protest. After the surprises of the morning, she wanted to get out of the house, away from the dark memories.
‘I want to see the island,’ he’d said and he turned over their direction to her care. She decided their first destination would be the limestone caves between Sugarland and the beaches. Along the way, she pointed out the natural flora, saying things like, ‘That tree with the pink flowers is frangipani. Those long red-orange leaves belong to the croton plant.’ They passed a cluster of yellow-and-purple flowers. ‘That’s allamanda. It has no smell.’ It was an easy conversation to make. There was no risk to it. Flowers were harmless and the small talk helped her relax.
‘You’re amazing. You know everything,’ Ren complimented. He steered the gig beneath a tree and got down to picket the horse in the shade. ‘I’m duly impressed with your botanical knowledge.’ He bent down and plucked a flower from a nearby bush. ‘Allamanda, right?’
‘Yes, but be careful!’ Emma jumped down from the gig. ‘It’s a milk flower. Its nectar can blister you if you’re not cautious.’ She grabbed the flower from him.
Ren laughed and held up his hands. ‘I am at your mercy, my dear.’ He glanced around, taking in the lush green surroundings. ‘Where is this cave of yours?’
‘We’ll have to hike the rest of the way. It’s not far.’ She led the way, the path winding through tall grasses and over stones. The hike was only about a quarter of a mile. She found the entrance and stepped inside. The cave was cool and it was far larger than it appeared. Emma reached for the old lantern that was left on a hook near the entrance and struck a match, illuminating the area.
She moved to the side, wanting to catch a glimpse of Ren’s reaction. She had been here several times since coming to live on the island, but it never ceased to dazzle her.
‘Oh my.’ Ren’s words came out in a gasp of delight. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Long stalactites hung from the ceiling, stalagmites rose up from the ground in ponds of milky-turquoise water.
Emma led the way, holding the lantern out. ‘There’s more to see.’ She led him past pools and along a trickling river, their voices echoing off the cavern walls. The underground river gathered and grew until they came to a ledge. ‘Look down there.’ The water cascaded in a fall, dropping into a pool twenty feet below.
Ren put his hand in the water. ‘It’s warm.’ He sounded surprised. He looked at her and back at the water. ‘Can we get down there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Emma said honestly. ‘I’ve never gone any further than this.’ She’d always been with Merry or with her father. They’d always stopped here.
Ren took the lantern from her and swung its arc of light around. ‘Look, over there. It’s some sort of natural staircase.’
Crude but wide stone steps were cut into the wall. ‘I’ve never noticed them.’ Emma advanced towards them, eager to see them, but Ren put out an arm to stop her.
‘Let me go first. Take my hand.’ It was Ren who led them to the bottom of the stairs, her hand in his firm grip, warm and reassuring on the ancient steps whenever she stumbled. The trip down the stairs was worth it. The waterfall pool steamed in the lamplight, looking magical.
‘It’s like a fairy grove,’ Emma exclaimed in quiet, awed tones.
‘An underground hot spring.’ Ren slanted her a naughty look. ‘It would be a shame to have come this far and not try it out.’ He was already tugging at his boots. ‘Are you game, Emma? How about a swim?’
It was all the invitation Emma needed. She hadn’t swum for some time. She’d used to love it. ‘You’ll have to help me with my dress.’ She was envious of the speed which with Ren was able to undress. His shirt was gone, his boots off before he came to work the fastenings at the back of her gown. She shivered a little at the warmth of his hands, competent and sure as they worked the buttons. How many women had he undressed? His prowess last night suggested he was more than gifted at bed sport.
She shrugged out of her dress and set it aside with her shoes. Ren stood at the water’s edge, pushing down his trousers, revealing taut, muscled buttocks and long legs. It wasn’t polite to stare, but she couldn’t stop herself. There’d been nothing to see last night, only feel. She couldn’t help but wonder what the source of all that pleasure looked like. She wished the lantern light was stronger. If he would just turn around... Darn it, Ren stepped into the water, not turning towards her until he was up to his waist in water.
‘It’s warm!’ he called back to the shore. ‘Let me swim out and see how deep it is.’ In a few powerful strokes, he reached the waterfall and waved. The water reached mid-chest. ‘I’m standing just fine. It’s maybe five feet.’
But Emma hadn’t waited. She’d stripped o
ut of her chemise and undergarments and was feeling self-conscious standing on the shore naked, never mind the light didn’t show much. It would be better to be naked in the water. She executed a shallow dive and swam out to him, revelling in the warm water. ‘This is heaven. We have a giant bathtub all to ourselves.’
They swam, they raced, they dived beneath the surface. They floated lazily on their backs when they tired of their games. They were having fun, Emma realised. There was nothing in their way today: no politics, no Gridley, no plantation. She hadn’t had this much fun with a man, ever. Men were creatures to be guarded against, to be used perhaps, but never enjoyed. One always had to be wary of the strings attached to any pleasure they offered. She’d learned that lesson first with Thompson Hunt and her dealings with Arthur Gridley had reinforced it. In the end, she didn’t expect Ren Dryden to be any different, but for today he was. Today there was a truce.
Ren swam up under her and grabbed her leg. She let out a scream before she realised it wasn’t a sea monster. He popped out of the water, hair streaming while he laughed. ‘I got you!’
‘You scared me!’
He hauled her to him, wrapping her in his arms. ‘I didn’t think anything scared the great Emma Ward.’ He kissed her then, more slowly, more intently than last night or the night he’d claimed his forfeit. Oh, this, too, was a kind of heaven, to be held in his arms, to have her mouth ravished with his kisses, the water lapping against her body.
He lifted her in those arms and carried her to the shore, finding a soft, sandy patch. He laid her down, his hair dripping on her skin as he rose over her. ‘They’re like stalactites.’ She laughed, reaching a hand up to squeeze the water out of the strands. His eyes burned into hers, hot coals of desire as skin met skin, wet and slick. Her tone turned husky. ‘But I don’t mind.’
Ren’s mouth sealed itself over hers. He raised her arms above her head, shackling her wrists in one hand. Their bodies had no choice now but to meet and to meld. Her breasts thrust upwards against his chest, her legs parted to cradle him. He felt right, as if he belonged with her. Maybe it was the magic of the falls, the sense of being part of an ancient world here in the cave. She wanted, she hungered. Her body throbbed for him.
Playing the Rake's Game (Rakes Of The Caribbean Book 1) Page 11