Playing the Rake's Game (Rakes Of The Caribbean Book 1)

by Bronwyn Scott

  Ren kissed her then, softly, reverently, on her hands, on her lips. ‘You will always be safe with me, I promise.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The day was promising to be one for the memory books, one of the best of his life. Ren was certain he’d look back in his old age and this day would be among the days that shone. He’d come to Barbados looking for a new life, a fresh start, and he’d found it. It wasn’t the way he’d imagined it. His imaginings hadn’t predicted a beautiful, headstrong woman waiting for him. Nor had his imaginings figured in the financial and social trials he’d faced. But he had triumphed. The woman dozing against his shoulder was proof enough, prize enough.

  Ren mentally ticked off the blessings of the morning. His sister was happy, his friendships with Kitt and Benedict had proven true. His family was safe, although not through the means he’d expected. He was going to marry, not for convenience, but for love and for passion and for partnership, things he’d not thought to have or find when he left England. He was a satisfied man and the day was good indeed.

  * * *

  Two miles from home, Ren saw it; a grey funnel of smoke spiralling up into the sky, odd but not alarming. There were any number of reasons there’d be smoke this time of year. Someone could be burning leftover cane debris or clearing a field for a new crop. At this distance, it wasn’t entirely clear the smoke even came from Sugarland, which of course it wouldn’t. There was no one there. Workers would be trickling in later today, home from their holiday in Bridgetown. There’d be no real work until tomorrow, no real reason to wake Emma, who dozed against his shoulder.

  One mile from home, the grey funnel became blacker, more intense, its location closer to Sugarland, although it was hard to tell with the twists and turns in the road exactly where the smoke was located. But Ren’s anxiety grew. He was running out of counter-explanations. The plume was bigger, darker than it had been earlier. He thought he could even see the orange prongs of flames at the base of the funnel.

  Beside him, Emma stirred, lifting her head and crinkling her nose. ‘What is that smell? It smells like...smoke!’ She caught sight the black cloud.

  ‘Something’s on fire. It’s hard to tell where it’s coming from.’ Ren hedged, not wanting to panic her without cause.

  Emma had no such reservations. She scanned the horizon and her judgement was instant. ‘It’s Sugarland. The estate is on fire! Ren, hurry!’

  Ren whipped the horse up to top speed with the gig. He turned into the long drive, urging the sturdy chestnut to greater speeds. Beside him, Emma looked desperately for the source of the fire. ‘It’s out in the fields somewhere, I can’t tell where.’ Her voice edged with desperation. ‘Gracious, Ren, how did this happen?’

  The house came into view, untouched, but smoke was thick in the air, a precursor to impending disaster. Ren slowed the horse and they jumped down, racing through the house to the back veranda where any relief Ren felt at seeing the house safe evaporated into fear. Fire crossed the fields, racing towards them, eating up everything in its path. The flames ran horizontal, stretching the width of the fields, a great orange wall of fire.

  Ren’s mind was a whirlwind of thought. There was still time, but to do what? They couldn’t fight the centre of the fire, just the two of them. If the fire kept on, it would reach the house, it would surround them given time. But perhaps they could flank it from a different location? He did not think they could save the home farm, it would be in the thick of the conflagration. But maybe they could save the still?

  ‘We’ll lose everything,’ Emma breathed, her face white with panic as her mind registered the consequences of such a fire.

  ‘Not everything.’ Ren cast his gaze eastward. What to save? Should they try for the house, which seemed a futile battle, or the still, their source of income? The flames eastward seemed weakest. They could make a stand there, salvage something. There was no time to second-guess his instant analysis. He was running, already on his way to the office, calling instructions over his shoulder, ‘Emma, you have two minutes, grab anything from the house you value: blankets, clothes, medicine. Meet me at the gig. We’ll make our fight at the still.’

  In the office, Ren grabbed a throw from a chair and spread it open on the floor. He opened the glass-fronted cabinet holding the ledgers and important papers and tossed items on to the throw. He flung open desk drawers, grabbing anything that looked official. He heard Emma’s feet pounding down the stairs, her voice calling his name. Ren gathered the ends of the throw up into a makeshift pack and hefted his bundle onto his shoulder. He cast one more look around the room. Had he got everything? There was no more time.

  Emma was outside, tossing her bundle into the shallow bed of the gig. She scrambled up and he leapt up beside her. They were off, paralleling the line of flames as they raced for the east edge of the property.

  His gamble was well founded. The flames weren’t as strong, weren’t as greedy at this end, the smoke not as thick. The still was thick-walled. It would prove to be flame resistant to some degree, providing safety for them as well if they needed it. There were tools there, too: shovels and buckets, a rainwater barrel and the water for running the mill wheel.

  ‘Do we have a chance?’ Emma shielded her yes with a hand, watching the smoke.

  ‘More than a chance. We can do this,’ Ren said confidently, hoping to reassure her. It seemed a horrible irony that just two hours ago he’d promised her he’d keep her safe and now there were no guarantees he could keep even a portion of that promise. The best day had become a nightmare.

  ‘We need help. The fire is too big,’ Emma argued, but she took a shovel and started helping him dig an impromptu firebreak.

  ‘We can fight for a while on our own and help will come. The workers will see the smoke plume and race to our side.’ He hoped. She’d been a fair employer, they would come to her aid. He was counting on it. A ruined Sugarland meant no jobs for them. They had nothing to gain by not helping.

  ‘They’re five miles away,’ Emma countered, flinging dirt into a pile. They’d passed people on the road, making the slow walk back to their jobs, no one in a hurry to see the holiday end.

  ‘The neighbours are home,’ Ren offered, remembering that Gridley and Devore and the others had not gone into town. ‘They’ll see the smoke.’

  ‘And rejoice,’ Emma said sharply, grunting between shovelfuls as a ditch started to take shape five hundred yards in front of the still. ‘This is exactly the kind of catastrophe they’ve been waiting for. Without us to independently sell our sugar outside of their cartel, the cartel can control prices.

  Ren leaned on his shovel, her words driving home with sickening reality. ‘You think they set the fire? They would go that far?’

  Emma met his eyes. ‘Gridley would do it. He warned you, warned us, didn’t he? And this is nothing compared to murder.’

  Ren put his back into the shovelling. Emma was right. Aid was unlikely. They were on their own. This firebreak would be all that stood between the still and utter defeat. If the fire jumped the ditch... He didn’t want to think about it. He would not fail Emma. But his mind hadn’t given up trying to fathom the motives for such destruction. If Gridley had laid the fire, his decision was hard to grasp. It was drastic and counter-intuitive.

  ‘Why would Gridley destroy something he covets?’

  ‘To bring me to my knees,’ Emma said simply, but Ren heard the unspoken logic. There was something, someone, Gridley coveted more than the estate: Emma. Without income, without an estate, the two things Merry had left to protect her, Emma was exposed. Ren could see Gridley’s perverted reasoning. Emma would need him, be reliant on him for everything. But Gridley had forgotten one variable and that was Ren himself. He would stand between Emma and Gridley when the estate and the crops failed. He and the rum. He would fight for her just as he was fighting for her right now.

 
‘He would go to such lengths, but I can’t believe the others would allow it.’ The depravity of the neighbourhood was hard to grasp. It bordered on madness.

  ‘The Caribbean doesn’t draw the finest of men. These are self-fashioned gentlemen who checked their morals at the dock and have given themselves airs.’ Emma panted her words between shovelfuls.

  He’d very much like Emma to be wrong. Ren stepped back from their digging and surveyed the work. It might be enough. ‘Clear away any vegetation on our side. We don’t want the fire to have anything to cling to if it crosses the ditch. Fires need fuel. If it’s starved, it can’t burn.’

  * * *

  Ren strode toward the gig and reached under the seat. He drew out the travelling pistol and tossed it to Emma. ‘Here, take this. I hope you won’t need it. I’ll be back.’

  ‘Where are you going? You’re leaving me?’ Emma cried in angry disbelief.

  ‘I’m going to go scout the fire. I want to see how close it is and what else can be done.’ The wind was picking up and it would either help them or hurt them. He hoped for the former, hoped the wind would blow the fire away from the still. If so, they might be able to leave it and make a second stand somewhere else, a chance to save one more thing.

  Emma’s hand was on his arm. ‘I don’t like it. Ren, fire is dangerous, wind is dangerous, it can change everything in an instant. Please, don’t go. You could be surrounded and there’d be nothing you could do.’

  He kissed her then, long and sweet. There was nothing else he could say or do. He couldn’t make her any more promises. ‘I won’t be long. Don’t worry, your defences will hold. You’ll be safe here.’

  ‘It’s not me I’m worried about, you silly man.’ She gave him a wry smile and released him. ‘Go, then, but hurry and don’t be a hero. Sticks and stones aren’t worth it.’

  * * *

  The fire was magnificent, a work of art, Arthur Gridley thought as he and Hugh Devore sat on their horses watching Albert Merrimore’s estate burn, the fields and the home farm, consumed in flame. From their vantage point, they could see the fire marching towards the main house. It would be a shame to lose that building, but if it stood Emma would never relent. The house couldn’t generate income, but Emma was a sentimental fool. She wouldn’t see the house as useless, she’d see it as a remainder of her inheritance. ‘Dryden’s gone for the still,’ he told Devore. ‘The gig headed in that direction.’

  ‘Inspired, that. Dryden’s a smart man. Too bad he didn’t side with us,’ Devore said, fingering the club he carried at his side. ‘It will cost him.’

  Gridley had to give Dryden credit there. The man had astutely decided to go for the still instead of the house. Gridley hadn’t counted on that. He’d thought Emma would sway him to save the house. That was insightful. Perhaps Dryden carried more influence with her than Gridley had factored. Good to know. Ultimately, that would only help his cause. This was all going very well.

  He and Devore had their men lay the charges under the cover of night. That hadn’t been the risk. There’d been no one around to see. Everyone had been gone to town. It had been igniting them, the timing, that had contained the risk. That had to be done in the light of day. He wanted Dryden and Emma to see it, to know he’d made good on his warnings. He wanted them to rush towards it. The fire would play to their emotions. Both Dryden and Emma would try to fight it. Everything was going according to plan. They were down there even now, making a stand.

  A breeze kicked up, drawing their eyes skyward. Clouds were moving in from the ocean, grey ones, heavy with rain. Well, let the weather come if it must. ‘It’s time.’ He nodded to Devore.

  Devore gave a devilish grin. ‘I’ll track down Dryden, you get the girl.’ They kicked their horses into motion. Rain or not, the damage had already been done. Rain couldn’t save much of Sugarland, and it wouldn’t save Ren Dryden. It was time for phase two.

  * * *

  Emma checked the rain barrel and watched the sky, watched it darken with rain clouds. There was hope in those clouds. But the fire crept closer and the minutes dragged by. Where was Ren? Would he bring good news? Was the fire dying out? Was the house safe? If the house was safe, they might salvage something yet. How had this happened? But she knew how.

  She had done this. In her arrogance and in her selfishness, she’d brought down the wrath of Arthur Gridley. She’d not been careful. He’d come for Sugarland and it was only a matter of time before he came for her, his prize. She would have nothing left to resist him with, nothing left to fight with, all her barriers stripped away. Except Ren.

  Would he be enough? Would she allow him to be enough? There would be yet more danger for him, danger he didn’t deserve. He’d come here looking to be a businessman, looking to save his beloved family, and he’d found peril after peril in knowing her. Her brashness this morning seemed ill founded based on the ruin around her. She should set Ren free, send him back to England where he’d be safe whether he willed it or not, whether her heart willed it or not.

  Emma turned at the sound of noise behind her, the sound of someone coming. Ren! Her heart leapt even as her hand closed reflexively around the butt of the pistol and the first raindrops fell, flat and wet on her face.

  ‘Emma, come away, this is foolishness! You can’t save it.’ It wasn’t Ren, but Gridley who crashed into the courtyard of the still on his horse, concern pasted on his face. He slid off his horse, one hand on the reins, the other stretched out for her.

  Another woman, a frightened woman, would have been fooled. Not Emma. He was here for her as she’d known he would be one way or another, one time or another. The last thing she wanted was to give up her ground and go anywhere with him. She knew in her heart this was to be the final battle. Better to face him on Sugarland ground even if it was burning. She raised her pistol, levelling at his chest. ‘Drop the facade, Gridley, I am going nowhere with you.’

  ‘You’re not thinking clearly.’ Gridley persisted in playing her friend, a role he’d played for months even when they both knew better. He dropped the reins of his horse and stepped forward. ‘Put the gun down. Where’s Dryden? We need to find him and get all of ourselves to safety. The fire will be here any minute. For the love of Albert Merrimore, come away with me. He would not want you to risk yourself needlessly.’

  ‘You were never his friend! You murdered him in his bed.’ Would she have to fire? Would Gridley call her bluff? The rain was coming down harder now, making it difficult to see, to hold the gun steady with slippery fingers. She would have to make her choice soon or it would be too late. Emma gathered her courage.

  ‘I am done with you, Arthur Gridley. No one would think twice finding your body amid the ashes. I will make it clear to everyone you risked yourself to come to our aid. You will be a hero.’

  Gridley laughed coldly. ‘You won’t shoot me. It’s not in you, Emma. But gracious, the defiance! You are glorious. I’ve never wanted you as much as I do now with those dark eyes of yours staring at me from behind the barrel of a pistol.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll shoot, Gridley,’ Hugh Devore called out, edging his horse around the corner, drawing both their attention. ‘Not when she sees what I’ve got.’ He shook his head in mock regret, revealing the body slung across the horse’s hindquarters. ‘Poor Dryden never saw it coming.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘Ren!’ Emma’s scream tore the air. She dropped the gun and ran to him, hauling his limp form off the back of the horse with both hands. The weight of him nearly staggered her once she had him down. She got her hands under his arm pits and dragged him away from Devore and Gridley, panting from her efforts. ‘What have you done?’ The fire, the rain, the mounting wind, all of it ceased to matter. Only Ren mattered.

  ‘What have we done? I think that’s easy enough to see. We’ve disarmed you, for starters.’ Gridley smiled evilly, stooping down to
pick up her discarded pistol. He tossed it to Devore. ‘Looks like we’ve also exposed her weakness, Hugh. Appears she has a tendre for our Englishman, after all.’ He smirked. ‘We did wonder, my dear, if it was just a romp in the sheets or something more. Apparently, it’s something more.’

  She barely registered the crass commentary. Emma ran her fingers through Ren’s thick hair, searching for evidence of Devore’s club. She found a bump on the side of his head. Ren groaned as she touched it. Sound was good, it meant he was alive, but in pain. Those bastards! Her anger surged. How dared they hurt him like this? But she knew how they dared and why. All of her defences were gone.

  Gridley was stalking her like a big cat. He circled her, all pretence of niceness gone. There was nothing to stand between her and Gridley now. There was only her to stand between Gridley and Ren. Devore stood to the side under the eaves out of the rain, an interested spectator. How did she take on both of them? If it had just been Gridley, maybe she would have thought of something. She’d been managing Gridley for years.

  The rain was coming down hard now. The fear of the fire reaching them receded, replaced by worry over taking a chill. Ren was soaked. She shivered, cold. She needed to act fast. ‘What do you want, Gridley? Name your price.’ She might as well cut straight to it. She had to get Ren to a warm bed.

  ‘You know what I want. I want you.’ His eyes glinted dangerously as he circled.

  ‘What do I get in return?’ Emma held his gaze, matching her footwork to his so that she began to circle with him, both of them moving around Ren’s still form.

  Gridley cast a disparaging glance at Ren. ‘You can have Dryden’s life. See him nursed back to health and put him on a boat. That’s what you want, isn’t it? What else is there to bargain for?’

  ‘There’s Sugarland.’ Emma dared to push her luck. ‘You’ve destroyed it. You should rebuild it for me.’