Bronwyn Scott - Playing the Rake's Game

BRONWYN SCOTTis the author of over fifty books. Her 2018 novella, ‘Dancing with the Duke’s Heir’ was a RITA® finalist. She loves history and is always looking forward to the next story. She also enjoys talking with other writers and readers about books they like and the writing process. Readers can visit her at her Facebook page at Bronwynwrites and at her blog at http://www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com

Bronwyn Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-00569-2

PLAYING THE RAKE’S GAME

© 2015 Nikki Poppen

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

About the Publisher

For my awesome staff on the Disney Fantasy; Gabriella and Nicolas who kept us fed, and Puhl who had to clean my kid’s stateroom every day and still greeted me happily every morning.

Bridgetown, Barbados —early May, 1835

Ren Dryden believed two things about the nature of men: first, a wise man didn’t run from his troubles and, second, only a foolish man ran from his opportunities. Ren considered himself in league with the former, which was why he’d spent two weeks aboard a mail packet aptly named the Fury , braving the Atlantic and sailing away from all he knew. In truth, a large part of himself had revelled in the danger of the adventure; revelled in pitting his strength against the sea. He even revelled in the unknown challenges that lay before him on land. At last, he could take action.

Ren levered himself out of the bumboat that had rowed him ashore, tossed the boatman a coin and stood on the Bridgetown dock, feeling a kindred spirit with the bustle of commerce about him. His blood hummed with the excitement of it. Ah, the Caribbean! Land of rum and risk.

Ren surveyed the activity with an appreciative eye, taking in the vibrant colours of people, of fruits, sky and sea, the scents of citrus and sweat, the feel of heat against his face. It was a veritable feast for the senses and he engaged the feast wholeheartedly. Life began today, more specifically his life, a life of his choosing and his making, not a life predestined for him based on the caprices of earlier generations of Drydens.

There were plenty of people in London who would say he was avoiding his problems. The list was long and distinguished, ranging from his family, who’d found the ‘perfect solution’ to their little problem of ‘dynastic debt’ in the form of a weak-eyed, sallow-cheeked heiress from York, to the creditors who hounded him through the grey streets of London, even being so bold as to lie in wait for him outside his exclusive clubs.

There were also plenty of men of his acquaintance who would have bowed to the inevitable, married the heiress, paid the debt and spent their lives blindly acquiring new debt until their sons had to make the same sacrifices a generation later. He had promised himself years ago when he’d come of age he would not be a slave to the past.

Ren found it rather frightening that not only would those men have bowed to the inevitable, but they would have preferred to bow instead of breaking free. After all, there was a certain comfort to be found in the known. He understood the penchant for the familiar and he pitied the men who craved it. Ren had never counted himself among that number.

On the outside, perhaps he resembled his peers in clothing, clubs and mannerisms, but inside, he’d always been different, always railed against the things and people that kept him leashed, his hopes restrained by the narrow parameters that defined a gentleman’s potential.

All that railing had paid off, all that hope was now fulfilled. He was here and he’d broken free, although it came with a price, as freedom always did. If he failed in this venture, his family failed with him; his mother, who had wilted after his father’s death; his two sisters, one waiting for a debut, the other waiting to wed; and thirteen-year-old Teddy who would be the earl of debt-ridden lands should Ren not return.

Ren’s hand curled tightly around the valise he’d brought with him from the boat. He’d not trusted it to remain with his trunks to be brought ashore separately. His future was in the valise: the letter of introduction and a copy of Cousin Merrimore’s will bequeathing him fifty-one per cent interest in a sugar plantation— majority interest in a profitable business.

There would be shareholders to deal with, but technically the entire place was his to control. He would not fail. As unseemly as it was for a gentleman of his birth, he’d made it a point to know the dynamics of trade—he’d quietly made investments on the Exchange, invested in an occasional cargo. He’d listened to discussions in Parliament and taken an active interest in political circles when he was in London.