‘I did not leave you in bed the way you suggest. You’d had a long journey. I let you sleep.’ She turned towards the other two men with her. ‘Mr Paulson and Peter, allow me to introduce Albert Merrimore’s relative, Mr Renford Dryden. He arrived yesterday afternoon. Mr Dryden, this is my overseer, Mr Paulsen, and my field foreman, Peter, whom you met yesterday.’
Paulsen was a tall, slender man with leathery skin, a man who’d seen years under a hot sun. Peter was the thick-muscled African from the home farm. Ren offered his hand to the two men and took the opportunity to establish his ground. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I will want to discuss the plantation with each of you over the next few days.’
That brought a shuffling of feet from Peter, who hastily looked away, and a hesitant nod from Mr Paulsen. Ren was pleased to see they were loyal and not wanting to betray their allegiance to Emma, but resistance was resistance. As such, it was only a step away from outward defiance. Ren decided to address it head on with a smile. ‘I am the primary shareholder now. I will, of course, be ably assisted by Miss Ward, but you should accustom yourselves to a new line of authority.’ Ren shot a stern look at Emma. ‘This is a partnership now.’
Partnership, her foot! This was a slippery slope to dictatorship if it was anything at all. Emma glared out over the smoky fields, arms crossed. If he was going to begin as he meant to go on, she should, too. His ‘partnership’ would have to be nipped in the bud, but that nipping would have to wait until they could return to the house. She was not petty enough to argue in front of Mr Paulsen and Peter.
Nor was she naive enough to think she was going to get away with nothing more than the veiled scolding of Ren’s last remark. That remark had been a warning and now he was making her wait for the other proverbial shoe to fall. She was not a patient person by nature and he’d already tried what little patience she possessed over the past four months waiting for him to arrive or not. Apparently, she was not done waiting.
She waited until the burning was nearly complete and could be left in Mr Paulsen’s capable hands. She waited through the walk back to the house. She waited while they filled their plates with a late breakfast and sat down at the table. She waited as he took a few bites of his eggs and buttered his toast.
Ren took a bite of that well-buttered toast and looked a question at her with an arch of his brows. ‘Yes? Do you have something you want to say?’
‘No, do you?’ Emma sipped at her coffee in hopes of disguising her agitation. She wanted him to engage first.
‘I have nothing to say that you do not already know.’ His eyes held hers, blue fire simmering in them. ‘You tried to play me for a fool this morning.’ His tone was even, neutral. ‘We both know it. You deliberately didn’t tell me about firing the fields.’
Emma gathered her practised defence. ‘By the time I remembered, I had already undressed for the evening.’ It had sounded better in her head. Out loud, it only proved to be provocative and Ren had indicated already he wasn’t above innuendo. He would not let such a reference pass.
‘Were you now?’ His gaze was steady but the faintest ribbon of a smile played across his mouth, bringing to mind images that were entirely too intimate for the breakfast table, images that left her stripped bare beneath his gaze and not the least bit protected from the direction of his thoughts and hers.
Emma looked down at her eggs. ‘I couldn’t very well traipse around the house in my nightgown.’ That was even worse. She was making a mess of this. Usually, she was considered quite the wit. Not today. Not with this man.
‘I, too, had retired for the evening,’ Ren said drily. ‘In fact, I was wearing far less than a nightshirt. Had you come, you would have been overdressed.’ The last comment brought her eyes up, her cheeks starting to heat. ‘I sleep in the nude, Emma. In case you were wondering.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Emma snapped in mortification. It was absolutely a lie, however. She had been wondering, her mind filling rather quickly with images of a naked Ren Dryden.
‘More to the point, I awoke naked and nearly ran out to the fields in my altogether. I wonder who would have looked foolish then—me, for running out naked in concern for my crops, or you for having overlooked the simple courtesy of notifying me?’
Emma’s cheeks were twin ovens now, her mind a riot of inappropriate images of her guest. She tried to sound oblivious to the implications of his words. ‘I think we’re being a little dramatic about a harmless episode.’ Hot cheeks or not, she positively refused to let him turn this into an inquisition. Nor would she let him turn this into a favour he’d done her in which he’d saved her from embarrassment.
Ren’s eyes were shrewd when they met hers. ‘A harmless episode, but not an isolated one. In the past...’ he stopped here and flipped open a pocket watch, doing a quick calculation ‘...eighteen hours since my arrival, you’ve made it clear you don’t want me here. But I am here and this will be a partnership. There will be no more of these attempts to dissuade me.’
‘My apologies if you feel that way,’ Emma replied, but her tone was unrepentant. He’d proven to be a worthy opponent at present, catching on far too quickly to her strategy. That didn’t mean she had to admit to it. It did mean, however, she would need another. Simply ignoring Ren Dryden wasn’t going to work.
Her brain began to recalibrate. The new gambit would have to be something more subtle, something that would bind him to her without arousing his suspicions. After all, if he was going to stay, how could she best use him? Could she make him an ally against Gridley? He’d been quick enough to support her yesterday.
Emma studied Ren, well aware that he was watching her, waiting for her to cede the terms of their partnerships. Watch me all you like. He was not entirely immune to her. He knew very well what he was doing with his innuendo and his eyes. A man didn’t play such games with a woman he wasn’t attracted to. She was used to men watching her, men like Arthur Gridley and Thompson Hunt. Men who were always wondering about her, thinking they knew how best to manipulate her for their own gains.
Like them, perhaps Dryden’s own confidence could be played against him. But how to do it? Perhaps a temporary show of agreement was in order until she sorted things out.
Emma stuck her hand out across the table, evincing appropriate reluctance. Her about-turn would have to be convincing. Ren Dryden would not find complete, immediate capitulation compelling. ‘Very well, since it seems I have no choice, I agree. A partnership it is.’ She would honour that partnership until it was no longer judicious for her to pursue a course of assumed equality. Her next gambit, whatever it was, needed to be something more. Her first gambit had not worked, based as it was on faulty assumptions about who Ren would be. She needed time to think the next one through. Agreement bought her time and this time she had to succeed. She wouldn’t get another second chance.
Ren relinquished her hand, but his eyes didn’t stray from hers. ‘Perhaps we should seal our partnership with a tour of the property. I would like to start learning about the plantation immediately.’
A little spark of excitement travelled down her spine, a most unwanted reaction. She had the distinct impression he wasn’t necessarily referencing the plantation. Her pulse raced, oblivious to what her mind already knew: it was only a game. Ren could flirt all he liked, but in the end, she needed to be the one in charge. If this was to be a game, she preferred it to be one played neutrally, at least on her part.
‘I
