She had everything under control. Emma took a deep breath and moved her pip on the backgammon board, embracing the silent mantra that had sustained her throughout the evening. Everything was going to be fine. Not just the game but everything: the harvest, Arthur Gridley’s unwanted attention, the plantation. She was balancing a rather precarious load just now, not counting the arrival of Ren Dryden.
One false step and it would all come tumbling down. But it wouldn’t. It simply couldn’t. To lose Sugarland was unthinkable. To allow Gridley to triumph, even more so. She told herself it was a good sign Ren hadn’t run to her immediately after Gridley had left. It meant there was no need to worry. Right? Ren had said nothing during dinner. They’d talked about the plantation and adjourned here to the library for backgammon.
Across from her, Ren critically surveyed the board, jiggling the dice in his dice cup. ‘Double would be useful about now. I won’t get off the bar without at least one five.’ It was the only open point he could move to. She’d completely blocked out her field.
‘You’ll never get it.’ Emma laughed, feeling confident she would have the advantage for another turn. She was starting to relax and enjoy the novelty of having someone to share the evening with. Surely, if something had alarmed Ren he would have brought it up by now.
‘You’re a very cocky minx, Emma Ward.’ Ren grinned, looking devastating in the lamplight. He’d dressed for dinner, but he’d shed his coat when they’d begun to play. She’d thought he’d been handsome in his evening attire. He was far more attractive in his shirt and waistcoat, his cufflinks set aside, his sleeves rolled up.
The gesture had created a sense of domestic intimacy and a domestic fantasy, too; a glimpse of what life might be like for a husband and wife spending a quiet evening at home after a busy day with the plantation. He was a master indeed if he could conjure such images for her with the simple gesture of removing a coat.
If there wasn’t so much on the line, the plantation, her own future; if she didn’t have to be vigilant regarding any covert game Ren might be playing with her, she would have allowed herself to fall for him. It had been a long time since she’d let herself fall. Surely, she’d learned enough in the interim to fall safely, to enjoy the fantasy.
Without the trappings of her present circumstances, an affair with Ren Dryden would be a delightful diversion. As it was, at this point it could only be a dangerous diversion, a delusion. ‘Are you going to roll?’ Emma prompted with a sly smile. ‘Staring at the board won’t change anything.’
Ren sat back in his chair, his eyes on her. ‘You are so sure I won’t roll double fives. Why don’t we wager on it? If I get double fives, I claim a forfeit. If I don’t, you claim the forfeit.’ He shook the cup and then halted, his eyes dancing with mischief. ‘The forfeit should be something little, Emma. No property, no crazy requests that either of us abdicate our percentage of the plantation. I don’t imagine you’d be terribly good at cards, my dear. Your thoughts are written all your pretty face.’
Emma feigned indignation over the teasing. ‘Very well, I’ll take your bet. I’m already thinking of all the “little” things you can do for me. It’s just so hard to choose one.’ The banter was almost enough to take her mind off her real worries: what had Gridley told him this afternoon? What was Ren thinking about her now? What sort of poison had Gridley added to the proverbial well?
Ren rolled his dice and let out a whoop. Emma stared in disbelief as double fives tumbled out. Emma shook her head. ‘You have the devil’s own luck. I’d thought to have you trapped on the bar a little longer.’
Ren gave a confident grin and moved his marker off the bar. ‘Now I have a chance to catch up, I might make a match of this yet.’ There was a warm twinkle in his eye and Emma realised he was having a good time. Whatever Gridley had imparted, it hadn’t dampened his spirits.
‘And your forfeit?’ Emma asked, bearing off her first pips.
‘I think I’ll hold on to it a while.’ Ren’s voice was low and mysterious, conjuring up images of a decadent forfeit. ‘It will give you something to worry about besides Gridley’s visit.’
Emma gave him a sharp look. ‘I’m not worried about Gridley’s visit.’
Ren took his turn. ‘Yes, you are. You’ve been worried all night.’
‘As I told you, I have Arthur Gridley under control.’ Emma rolled a disappointing two-three combination that slowed her march towards victory. She reached out to move her pieces.
Ren grabbed her wrist over the board, his eyes boring into hers, the sudden ferocity of his move startling her. ‘No, you don’t have him under control. You have a rejected suitor who isn’t taking your refusal as final. It makes me wonder what motivates his perseverance.’
Emma swallowed, her heart sinking. Gridley had told him! Goodness knew how Gridley had cased that particular story. ‘That’s private business. He should not have told you.’ She pulled her wrist from Ren’s grasp.
‘Probably not. Nonetheless, I was glad for the information. It adds a certain layer of understanding to the local dynamic.’ There was an accusatory edge to his response. He’d asked what Gridley was to her and she’d prevaricated. But Gridley had not. Gridley had seized the advantage and told the story first, no doubt to his advantage.
Ren played, rolling another set of doubles and neatly evening out the game. ‘The way I see it, a man would only share such personal information with a stranger because he was still wounded over the rejection and not thinking clearly, or because he has another agenda to advance. What do you think Gridley’s reason is?’ He was more serious now, the fun-loving Ren from a few moments ago had disappeared.
She tossed the dice. Another disappointment. ‘I think Gridley has overreached his ambitions.’ It was a non-answer, but she wasn’t about to voice her suspicions of what Gridley really wanted or what he’d done to get it. She hadn’t any proof of it. Even so, she didn’t know if she could trust Ren Dryden to side with her. He had done so briefly today because it had suited him. Gridley’s revelations might have changed that.
Ren made his last play, claiming victory with another miraculous roll. Emma shook her head. She’d had that game right up until the end. ‘You play like Merry. He was always coming from behind for spectacular finishes. Whenever I thought I had him, he’d surprise me. The dice never failed him. If he needed doubles, he got them.’
Ren laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I have to confess I didn’t know my cousin all that well. He was here, I was in London. There was an ocean between us in distance and in age. I enjoyed his company the few times he visited, though. The last time was when I’d completed my studies at Oxford, about ten years ago.’
Emma gave a soft smile. ‘Merry was a good man, one of the best people I’ve ever met. He was always thinking of others.’ Ten years seemed a lifetime. She’d have been fifteen, her father still alive, their own arrival to the island new.
She hesitated and then took the plunge while the moment was poignant and they were both feeling charitable. There was unfinished business between them. She didn’t want to put it off any longer. ‘I hope Arthur Gridley said nothing today that would undermine Merry’s memory.’
Ren began stacking his pips. ‘It seems Gridley and Cousin Merrimore were close friends, especially at the end. I must confess to finding it an odd friendship. Gridley is younger by several decades. I would not think they’d be natural companions, but perhaps one cannot be choosy about who one’s friends are out here?’ It was a question, not a commentary. He was the one probing now, daring her to confirm or deny Gridley’s assertion.
Her probe had not resulted in a direct answer. Emma opted for a different tack. She wanted to know where Gridley stood in Ren’s estimation before she committed. ‘And you? How did you find our neighbour? Will he be your friend?’ They were both dancing around the conversation gingerly.
‘I suppose he could be,’ Ren answered vaguely, closing the case. ‘I can’t say I know him well enough after one visit. I think in large part that decision depends on you.’ Ren paused ‘Do you want me to be his friend? Is there something useful we might cultivate there for Sugarland?’
She noted the reference to we. Something useful we might cultivate? It was a reminder he meant to be an active participant in the plantation. Still the question remained: did he mean to partner her or usurp her? In that regard, what made him different from Gridley? She’d had indications of both today.
‘I fear I have upset Gridley,’ Emma ventured cautiously. ‘My choices are not his choices and it has become a contention between us, one that has created irreconcilable differences.’ She was sure Ren would press her for more. Her answer was both descriptive and oblique.
Ren seemed to ponder her words. He moved towards the open French doors, his back to her. Without his coat, he presented a nice view of his backside, evening trousers pulled tight over firm buttocks, the tailoring of his waistcoat delineating the outline of broad shoulders before tapering to a trim waist. Not only did he possess a handsome presence but a commanding one, one that inspired confidence, even trust if she dared. She had to admit, it was easier to dare such a thing in the intimacy of the evening.
‘I suspect Gridley is not a complacent loser,’ he said at last.
She stood and went to join him at the doors, hoping the pleasant evening breeze would dispel the hot images in her mind. She needed to focus on the conversation, not on undressing her guest. He was fishing for something with his questions and she might inadvertently give it up. ‘Yes,’ Emma said carefully, ‘Gridley likes to win.’
‘Do you like to win, Emma?’ His voice was quiet in the darkness.
‘I like to protect what is mine. I think that’s a fundamental difference between men and women.’
‘You’re very direct. Such directness has wounded Gridley’s ego a bit.’
Emma let out a sigh. They were back to that dratted proposal. ‘How much did Gridley tell you?’
‘He explained he’d felt moved to act swiftly out of loyalty to Cousin Merrimore, but that you were in no state to properly assess the benefits of that proposal.’ He turned his blue gaze on her in full force, his voice low and private, moving a business conversation into something more intimate, just as the removal of his jacket had turned a simple backgammon game into a domestic fantasy. ‘Gridley indicated he meant to ask you again. Would his suit be welcome now that you’ve had time to settle and reconsider your situation?’
‘That is a bold question,’ Emma prevaricated. Her answer would be no. Gridley’s suit would never be welcome, but telling Ren Dryden that on the acquaintance of a day would be giving away too much. It might even be encouraging him to pursue his flirtation. She did not know if she could trust Ren any more than she’d been able to trust Gridley. But who to play off against whom? If she said yes, would the gentleman in Ren feel compelled to back off? If she said no, would the seducer in him pursue and could she could use his interest as a buffer against Gridley?
‘It’s meant as a business question,’ Ren answered. ‘Who you marry affects me greatly. I’ll have to work with them, trust them with forty-nine per cent of my livelihood.’
‘Perhaps I’ll never marry for exactly that reason. I, too, have to trust them with my forty-nine per cent.’ At some point in the conversation, Ren had picked up her hand and was tracing circles on the back of it with his finger. It was idly done, but the gesture was doing warm, tingling things to her arm.
‘Then Gridley will be refused?’ Ren brought the conversation full circle. ‘I sensed there was some tension between you this afternoon and yesterday.’ It was all she needed to be reminded of the favour he’d done her, taking her part without being asked. For literally stepping up. Now, she owed him and he wanted payment in the form of an answer.
‘Yes. Gridley will always be refused.’ She did not offer the reasons why. She’d paid her debt. Ren would have to judge the rest on his own.
Ren nodded. ‘The neighbourhood might not take kindly to that.’
‘I know,’ she said simply. There were advantages for everyone if she married Gridley, not the least being the cessation of her version of the apprenticeship programme. ‘Your presence should appease them for now. They want a man in charge and now they have one—at least nominally.’
‘More than nominally,’ Ren corrected with a wry grin. ‘Perhaps this means you’ve revised your opinion of me. Under these circumstances which have newly come to light, I’d think you would be glad to see me. Although yesterday, you led me to believe otherwise.’ There was a teasing quality to his words, but the topic was serious: where did they stand with each other? And why?
Emma felt as if she were fighting a battle on two fronts. On one side, she had Gridley to contend with, an enemy she knew in full measure. On the other, there was Ren, a man who could be either enemy or friend. That decision was up to her.
She did need him. She needed him to stand between her and Gridley’s proposals. She needed him to stand between her and the neighbours who felt a man, even a man who didn’t know a thing about sugar cane, would be a better manager of the plantation than a woman who knew everything. He’d aptly summed up the battles that had consumed her since Merry had died. She so desperately wanted to do this on her own, to show everyone who doubted that Sugarland could be run by woman, that a woman could do anything a man could do. Maybe then she could be left alone.
Emma clenched her fists covertly in her skirts, her nails digging into her palms, frustration mounting. She’d been managing decently until Ren Dryden had come along, now she had Gridley on her doorstep persistent as ever, obeah magic threatening her workforce and exploding chicken coops. How would she ever convince Ren she had it all under control when that control seemed bent on slipping away? The noose around her independence was tightening.
‘The truth is, Emma, you need me.’ He made the pronouncement sound like an invitation to sin, the way he’d made their discussion of cane crops on the bluff sound like foreplay. They were standing close, no longer side by side staring out over the dark lawns, but face-to-face, having turned during the course of the conversation. Ren’s knuckles skimmed the curve of her jaw, his touch warm against her skin.
Emma felt the door frame hard at her back. He had her effectively trapped. There was no escaping his hot blue eyes or the thrum of her pulse as it raced in anticipation. ‘What are you doing, Ren?’ she murmured, although she knew very well. He’d been staking his claim all day in little ways, pushing all other claims out of the way by her own denial of them.
Ren’s mouth bent to the column of her neck. ‘I’m claiming my forfeit.’