Regency Rogues: Exotic Affairs
Satisfied with his appearance, Ren picked up his evening cape from the bed. It seemed silly to take the garment with the weather being warm, but Michael had assured him Sir Arthur’s parties were formal affairs and one did not go to war without the proper weapons, after all.
Emma was waiting for him in the drawing room. She turned from the window and his breath hitched. She was stunning, exotic. Gone was any trace of the trouser-clad, boot-wearing woman who’d sweated and laboured beside him, although that woman had been appealing, too. In her place was a lady London would find no fault with.
Emma’s dark hair was piled high on her head and threaded with pearls. The coiffure was both demure and seductive, showing off the elegant length of her neck. At the base lay a thin gold necklace, simple but expensive. No jewel could have looked finer. The gold was the perfect foil for the deep coral of her gown. In London, the colour would have been scandalous, too bold among the whites and pinks of debutantes, but here among the lush colours of the island with its rich green grasses and deep azure skies, the vibrant red-orange seemed entirely appropriate.
It certainly suited her colouring: dark hair, dark eyes and skin tinged a healthy shade of light toast from days in the sun. It suited her figure, too. The cut of the gown made the most of her natural assets; a bare neckline exposed slender shoulders, a tight bodice lifted her breasts high, the fullness of her skirt fell sensuously over the curve of her hips, accentuating the provocative sway of her hips.
‘I thought the man was supposed to wait for the woman.’ She gave a throaty laugh and crossed the room, her eyes running over the length of him in silent approval.
Ren picked up her cloak from the chair and held it out for her, letting his hands skim bare skin as he settled it about her shoulders. ‘I assure you, I’m worth waiting for.’ He felt her telltale pulse leap beneath his fingers where they lingered.
‘You’re certainly the most arrogant man I’ve ever had to wait for.’ She slanted him a coy look.
‘I don’t think you mind.’ Ren smiled, enjoying the flirty sparring and gave her his arm. Perhaps tonight would be a chance to launch an offensive on this particular front. Goodness knew his body had been on edge since the night of their kiss, the proximity and long hours together since then working all sorts of magic in honing his physical desire to sharpness. Five weeks of enforced celibacy didn’t help.
The carriage, an open-air landau, was already outside. He handed her in and took the rear-facing seat, determined to be the gentleman. Women responded to manners and, oh, how he wanted her to respond. Give over, Emma, he thought. You know you want to, stop torturing us both.
She wasn’t the only one affected, not by a long shot. He was attracted to her, had been from the moment he’d stepped off the wagon and seen her standing on the porch. In all fairness, the kiss had not been all strategy. There was a certain thrill to seducing her, to feeling the infinitesimal tensing of her body as he’d come up behind her on the bluff, to seeing her pulse beat in anticipation at the base of her neck when he came near, to see those eyes darken in response to his innuendos.
The kiss had tested all sorts of waters and now he was waiting, rather impatiently, to see what she would do. The intervening weeks had been her test as well as his. He’d provoked her and, in turn, she was teasing him with a toss of her hair over breakfast, a lingering glance at dinner, flirtation and witty banter over backgammon, even a light brush of her fingers on his sleeve when she said goodnight.
All of which had conspired to leave him in a perpetual state of slow burn. He was starting to wonder who was playing whom. It was time, Ren decided, for her to take the invitation. Perhaps he could help that decision along tonight.
The drive to Gridley’s took half an hour and Emma had filled it with talk about who he would meet. It was a briefing more than a conversation. Ren’s head was swimming with names and details by the time the carriage pulled up to the impressive front of Gridley’s neo-classical home with its pillars and fountain.
‘The house makes quite a statement.’ Ren helped Emma down from the carriage, letting his hand linger at her back in silent persuasion.
‘It’s a pretentious monstrosity if you ask me.’ Emma shook out her skirts. ‘No other great house on the island is built this way.’
Ren offered her his arm. ‘Then that’s probably why he did it.’ He was starting to understand this neighbour a little better. Arthur Gridley was a man who coveted the best and the rarest of things. No wonder he had proposed to Emma. She was a rare beauty. Gridley would have coveted her even without the plantation.
The others were already assembled in the drawing room, drinks in hand. Gridley noticed their arrival immediately and strode forward. ‘Everyone, our guest of honour is here!’ The announcement was met with a small round of applause. Gridley shook his hand. ‘It is good to see you, Dryden. You’re looking well. Emma hasn’t worked you to death yet.’ He turned to Emma and bent over her hand, bestowing a kiss on her knuckles. Ren could feel Emma freeze beside him, unable to avoid the physical contact. ‘You look lovely. I’m so glad you didn’t wear black. Albert wouldn’t have wanted you to mourn.’
‘I’m very clear on what Merry wanted for me,’ Emma answered sharply, pulling back her hand. ‘Shall I introduce Mr Dryden around?’ It was a ploy to escape Gridley.
‘Let me do the work, Emma. You relax and enjoy yourself. The ladies will want a good coze with you. I know it’s been ages since you’ve seen them.’ He gave Ren a knowing, manly look. ‘The ladies have little suitable company on the island, one of the drawbacks of living in the colonies.’
Gridley spirited him away to meet the gentlemen, leaving Emma to join the women gathered on one side of the drawing room. He met the neighbouring planters, shook their hands, listened to them discuss their harvests which were just getting under way while Sugarland’s was nearly done. But Emma remained relegated to the other side of the room, a bright, brilliant burst of colour against muted blues and grays. It occurred to Ren that Gridley might be attempting to divide and conquer.
Dinner was much the same. Ren sat at Gridley’s right hand with Gloria Devore on his other side, her hand resting occasionally on his thigh in blatant invitation. Alexandra Cunningham was across from him affecting the same sort of invitation with her eyes. Emma was at the other end of the table, holding court with Elias Blakely and Miles Calvert. By the time cheese and fruit were served, Ren did not doubt the meal, the whole event even, had been orchestrated and not solely for his benefit, but for Arthur Gridley’s.
Gridley had trotted out the best china and crystal, he’d shouldered the expense of preparing excellent food and opening the finest imported wines in the hopes of getting something in return. From him. He was the guest of honour for a reason. Ren finished the last of the wine in his glass and shot a quick glance at Gridley. The man was watching Emma again. Ren had caught Gridley watching her all night. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so egotistical and think it was only himself Gridley wanted something from. This was a display for Emma, too, a reminder of all he could provide for her, the lifestyle she’d have if she said yes.
Something possessive flared to life in Ren’s core at the thought of Emma in Arthur’s arms, of Emma kissing another the way she’d kissed him. Emma had made it clear she didn’t want Arthur Gridley, but he still didn’t know why.
Ren fingered the stem of his wine glass. Why did a woman turn down a man like Arthur Gridley? Gridley was wealthy, good-looking, well mannered, had a house that would impress a certain type of person, he even had a title. It wasn’t one that could be inherited, but he’d demonstrated his upstanding citizenry by providing a valuable service to the Crown. What wouldn’t appeal about that package? That it didn’t appeal was far stranger than if she’d accepted his proposal, especially when it was made at what Ren considered a very opportune time.
Devore’s wife rose from the table, her hand finally admitting defeat. ‘Ladies, let us adjourn to the drawing room. Conversation at this end is quickly turning to dull business.’ She flashed him a last look, invitation openly written in her hazel eyes as she led the ladies, Emma included, from the room. Gloria Devore was handsome, but Ren didn’t make a habit of dallying with married women. Unlike Kitt, who actively sought a new woman every night, married or not, Ren preferred the mixture of adventure and stability that came with long-term mistresses. Kitt was easy and he was hard, damn hard these days when it came to Emma.
Chapter Nine
Ren’s senses went on alert the moment the double doors were drawn behind them. Whatever purpose Gridley had in putting on this lavish dinner, it would be exposed shortly. It was just the men now and business would be discussed, talk would be freer.
Gridley began buttonholing the port around the table. There was general, unfocused conversation as everyone poured a glass. ‘As you can see, Dryden, we are not without our comforts. We live well out here in the colonies.’ Gridley raised his glass once everyone had served themselves. ‘A toast, gentlemen, to our success, hard won as it is.’
Ren drank to the toast although he couldn’t help but think Gridley’s success was due to force more than the winning of anything, much less loyalty. The atmosphere at Gridley’s was different from Sugarland. At Sugarland, the staff was much like a house staff in wealthy English homes. There was a sense of being in service, working for a wage, as opposed to being in slavery. Gridley might profess to follow the apprenticeship programme, but the climate of his home didn’t suggest a sense of freedom or personal pride in one’s work. It did, however, suggest a sense of fear driving the excellence that surrounded Gridley.
‘I won’t beat around the bush, Dryden. We want to discuss business with you.’ Gridley put down his glass and refilled it. ‘Sugar prices have fallen in the last few years. We are of a mind to form a sugar cartel in order to drive up the prices. We’d like you to join, to bring Sugarland in line with the other plantations in the parish.’
Ren sipped slowly, letting the rich port travel down his throat. So this was what Gridley wanted. What they all wanted. The others nodded their heads sagely. ‘I will need to discuss that with Emma.’
Gridley gave a friendly laugh and leaned forward, his hand on Ren’s arm in a gesture of familiarity. ‘You control the majority of the estate. You don’t need to ask Emma anything. Take charge, Dryden. Don’t let her lead you around by the short hairs.’ He winked and added conspiratorially, ‘Although you wouldn’t be the first man she had thinking with the wrong head, if you know what I mean.’ There was general masculine laughter around the table.
Ren bristled at the remark. It was insulting on so many different levels he didn’t know where to aim his anger: at slander against his masculinity and the idea that his head could be so easily turned or the crude reference to Emma. ‘As the will stands, Emma and I are partners. The division of the estate is all but equal.’ He made the protest even while his own sense of caution silently challenged him not to act rashly.
Was it slander or did Gridley speak the truth? Emma was no blushing virgin. He’d not thought it when he arrived and he certainly didn’t think so now after the flirting and kissing that had passed between them. Emma definitely had a sense of her own feminine power. Did that mean she lacked virtue as Gridley suggested? Up until now, he hadn’t realised how heavily he’d been relying on Merrimore’s judgement to serve as Emma’s character reference.
‘But it’s not equal when it comes right down to it. Don’t you let her convince you otherwise. Merrimore left you the majority for a reason,’ Hugh Devore put in briskly. ‘Emma’s impulsive, she’s emotional and we know she misses Merrimore. She’s not equipped to make a good decision and we can’t wait. We need the cartel in place before we sell this year’s crop.’
Elias Blakely backed him up in softer tones. ‘It’s not as if we haven’t waited. We’ve given her time. I think Merrimore would have joined us, but she’s backed off. Sugarland is the largest producer in our parish. Without you, the cartel will have no teeth.’
Ren nodded noncommittally. The game wasn’t a complicated one. They were trying the age-old back-door strategy. They couldn’t get to Emma so they were trying to go through him. ‘I will look into it.’ He put enough steel into his voice to end the conversation.
Gridley understood the message and intervened before Devore could argue. ‘Check the books at Sugarland if you haven’t already, Dryden. You need the cartel as much as the cartel needs you.’ He beamed at the group. ‘Now that’s settled, let’s go join the ladies.’
Emma looked up with relief as the door between the drawing room and the dining room slid open. She wanted nothing more than for the evening to end. Being inside Arthur Gridley’s home was nothing short of being in prison. There’d been a cold pit in her stomach all night, put there by the irrational fear she’d disappear inside these walls and never be seen again. It was what she feared if Gridley succeeded in marrying her.
Nothing all night had been able to distract her fear, not the fine food which she barely tasted, and certainly not conversation with the women. The women had bored her with their agenda of barely veiled concern over her being alone at Sugarland with a man. Emma had no doubt their husbands had put them up to it. They wanted her to move. Gloria Devore had offered her rooms with them. ‘Let Mr Dryden run the plantation, you needn’t be alone there any more,’ she’d said with false sweetness. Emma had politely declined. Gloria probably would have preferred to offer those rooms to Ren based on the amount of time her hand had spent under the table tonight.
At least the men hadn’t taken very long, only a half hour. She wondered if that was good or bad. Ren looked a little grimmer than he had at dinner. But whatever had happened had not got the best of him. With that grimness came an air of command. His presence dominated the room. She’d felt that presence before when they were alone. It was one thing to think he was powerful when there was no one to compare him to. It was another to think it when she saw him against the backdrop of the parish’s leading men. He stood out even in the company of large men like Devore and supposedly attractive men like Arthur Gridley.
Ren’s eye caught hers and the nerves in her stomach began to relax. She’d missed Ren tonight. After having had him to herself for dinners and days on end, she’d not had him at all this evening. He’d been whisked from her side the moment they’d walked in. She was sure it had not been accidental. She’d not realised how used to him she’d become. They’d worked together, they’d taken their evening meal together, they’d played backgammon games together before retiring. One might say they lived in each other’s pockets.
And yet, she worried. What she would have given to hear what had been said behind those doors! How had Ren responded? She might know his backgammon strategy, but she had no idea how he’d answer the leading members of the plantocracy. Would he undo all of her hard work? Would he use his fifty-one per cent to force her into accepting decisions she would not have made? Would he have betrayed her? Men had betrayed her before. Would Ren prove to be the same?
Betrayal was a strong word with only a kiss between them, yet betrayal was the emotion she felt when she looked at him; this strong, masterful stranger who’d entered her life. Would he betray her? Ren was speaking with Gridley. She smiled at him, hoping to signal that he should join her but it was Gridley who approached the sofa where she sat.
‘My dear Emma, come take a turn about the room with me. I don’t think you’ve seen my new painting.’ She couldn’t refuse, nor could she ignore the warm glances the women cast her way as Gridley led her apart from the group. It was no secret everyone’s lives would be easier if she accepted Gridley or if she disappeared, leaving them free to pursue their cartel at the expense of the backs they built their empire on.
The knot in her stomach returned. She felt vulnerable in his home with him, even surrounded by others. Who would come to her aid if Gridley decided to act less than gentlemanly? Would Ren? Had Ren decided over port that life would be smoother if her stubbornness was removed? Emma thought of the knife strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts and drew a deep breath. She would use it if she had to. She had no doubt she could plunge it into Gridley’s black heart if the need arose.
‘Is this the beginning of another courtship?’ Emma asked sharply. ‘If it is, you may also consider it the end. You already have my answer.’ She pretended to study the painting.
Gridley stood close, too close. She fought the urge to move away, so unlike her response to Ren. ‘You should re-examine your options, Emma. Look at all I have to offer you. My wealth is on display for you tonight. I can provide for you the way Merrimore wanted you to be cared for.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I am a patient man and I do not think you’d find my presence in your bed intolerable, my dear. I’m asking for so little in exchange for so much.’
Her temper began to override her fear. ‘Do not play the lovesick suitor with me,’ Emma answered in low, angry tones. ‘How dare you stand there, acting as if nothing else were at stake but your heart when we both know it’s Sugarland you want.’
Gridley gave a dry laugh. ‘You underestimate your charms, Emma. I assure you, I want you. I lie awake at night, dreaming of how it will be when you are mine.’ He lowered his voice, his eyes glinting with evil desire. ‘Shall I describe it for you?’
‘No!’ Emma almost shrieked. Only the steel grip she kept on her self-control prevented her from causing a scene. In her mind, she willed Ren to approach. Surely this didn’t look like a normal conversation to anyone, further proof that no one in the room particularly cared how Gridley achieved his ends, only that he achieved them.
Emma opted to play her one ace in an attempt to regain some control. ‘You are a slave-master and a murderer. If you continue to pursue this issue between us, I will be forced to go to the magistrate.’ She sought to walk away, but Gridley held her arm tight, his grip a vice.
‘Is that what you think you saw in Merrimore’s bedchamber?’ he hissed, his breath warm and sour on her face.
‘You killed him.’ Emma held her ground. Let him be scared. ‘I saw you with the pillow.’
A leer spread across his lips. ‘I saw something a little different. I saw you put the pillow over the old man’s face.’
‘Liar!’ Emma all but spat in his face for the accusation.
‘Who is to say who the liar is, Emma?’ He shrugged. ‘You say I killed Merrimore and I say you did. Who will the magistrate believe? A knight of the realm who has shown you every courtesy, including the protection of marriage, or you a woman who has a dubious past and who doesn’t exactly reek of good judgement? I think we both know to what I refer. I would think this line of attack over more thoroughly if I were you.’
She tugged but he wouldn’t let go of her arm. Instead he smiled as if the conversation were friendly. ‘You haven’t shown Dryden the accounts yet. How long do you think he’ll stay after that or even want to consult your opinion? I imagine he’ll lose interest unless you’ve offered him some other incentive?’ The type of incentive he referred to was obvious. ‘That’s what you offered Thompson Hunt, wasn’t it?’
‘How dare you imply—’
‘How dare you!’ Gridley interrupted, his fingers digging painfully into her arm. She would have bruises. ‘I am tired of hearing what I dare when it is you who insults me at every turn. You need me more than you think. Some day you will beg me on your knees for help.’ He licked his lips, his eyes dropping to the low swell of her neckline. ‘I will wait for that day. After all, I am a patient man with a vivid imagination.’
The fear her temper had held at bay clawed at her stomach. She’d seen Gridley angry before. There had been that one quarrel when she’d thrown the vase. But this anger was different. There was an unholy light in his eyes, a fierceness in his grip. He’d never laid hands on her like this. Gridley was a strong man, a tall man. In the past she’d always thought her word was enough to stop him. No meant no. Now, she wasn’t sure.
What if Gridley decided not to wait for her capitulation? What if he could physically force her to his will? No one would stop him. Everyone supported Gridley’s quest to see their lands united, to see them united. The others either didn’t see the evil in Gridley or they didn’t care. Who would stand up for her if Gridley came for her? She felt a presence behind her as if in answer to the question. Ren.
‘I think Emma has recovered her balance sufficiently to stand on her own.’ Her knees nearly buckled from relief. ‘You did lose your balance, my dear, didn’t you? Are you feeling faint? I can’t think of any other reason for a gentleman to grip your arm so tightly.’ The last was said strictly for Gridley’s benefit, a threat neatly wrapped in polite enquiry.
‘I’m fine now.’ Emma edged closer to Ren and took his arm, her courage returning. ‘The painting was most, ah, enlightening.’
Gridley looked from her to Ren, trying to gauge their level of involvement. She felt her pulse catch. She was playing a dangerous game, pitting them against one another. Ren would not appreciate being used. ‘Just so, I think I’d like you to take me home,’ she appealed to Ren, eager to be away from this nest of smiling vipers.
Ren saw to the carriage and they were off within ten minutes, their lanterns lighting the way in the darkness. She was grateful for his efficiency when it came to arrangements. She was a little less grateful when it came to conversations. The driveway was hardly behind them when Ren started the questions. ‘What were you and Gridley discussing so intently?’
Emma shook her head. ‘Nothing. He’s jealous, that’s all.’ She fought the urge to spill everything to Ren, but that would give him power he might not deserve. Not yet, she cautioned herself. She had to be sure of him first. Not yet.
Ren’s eyebrows arched in the shadows. ‘Why would he be jealous?’ There was a hint of teasing beneath the question, their conversation taking on a lighter, flirtier edge now that Gridley’s house was behind them.
Emma smiled and moved to sit beside him. ‘Because he thinks I prefer you to him.’
‘And do you?’
Emma slid a hand up his thigh. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.’ This was a dangerous gambit too, but she had to be sure of Ren. There was so much at risk, she would do whatever it took to secure her future—which was a far better justification for her actions than simply admitting to herself that she wanted him, but far less true. She would have wanted him without the plantation between them. In the back of her mind, she knew she had planned to make her intentions known tonight regardless of the evening’s outcome at Gridley’s.
Ren’s hand covered hers in caution. ‘Emma, do you think this is a good idea?’ Good idea or not, it didn’t matter. It was the only idea she had, if sex would be something irrevocable to bind him to her. Besides, it seemed an natural evolution of their relationship at this point. Everything since their kiss had been leading to this. He had started it with his wicked forfeit over backgammon, but by heaven, she would finish it. Her safety and Sugarland’s security demanded it.