Defiant Impostor

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Defiant Impostor Page 8

by Miriam Minger


  Susanna could have sat there for hours, not thinking about anything in particular, just enjoying the tranquility of her surroundings as the daylight softened and shadows lengthened, the sun slowly setting behind the trees. She was so engrossed in her private reflection that she did not hear the fall of footsteps behind her, nor did she sense that she was no longer alone.

  “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

  She froze, Adam’s deep, husky voice eliciting a strange excitement within her that surprised her almost as much as his unexpected presence.

  “Do you always creep up behind people like a thief, Mr. Thornton?” she replied with feigned lightness, ignoring his presumptuous question.

  “Ah, I startled you. Forgive me. I was so struck by the enchanting picture you made that I was loath to disturb you.”

  He came around the bench to stand in front of her, and in spite of herself she could not help thinking how attractive he was. His features were rugged like the man himself, dark brows over deep-set eyes, a slightly hawklike yet pleasing nose, a mouth that appeared uncompromising yet undeniably sensuous over a strong cleft chin, and the hard planes of his face faintly shadowed with dark stubble. How much—deceivingly so!—he looked like a true Virginia gentleman.

  He had clearly dressed with care in a finely cut blue coat, silver brocade waistcoat, and matching breeches that fit his taut, muscular body to perfection. Yet his tanned face held a fine sheen of perspiration and his dark hair, although tied in a queue, appeared unruly and windblown, as if he had arrived only moments ago from his ride and changed in a hurry. His intense gaze, which held the slightest hint of wry amusement—at her obvious appraisal of him? she wondered—caught and held hers.

  “You have still to answer my question,” he observed huskily, “although I would imagine many young gentlemen have praised your beauty.”

  “Actually, no, none have been so … bold,” she stressed, hoping he would see that he was far overstepping his bounds.

  “Then they were fools. Allow me to be the first to tell you, Miss Cary, you are very lovely. Bewitchingly so.”

  Susanna blushed hotly, her cheeks burning, not as Camille would certainly have done but because she herself was truly, and unbelievably, flattered by his brash compliment. She should have known that he wouldn’t be deterred by her pointed remark. She had hoped for some reaction from him about her appearance, a smile, a look of approval, but she hadn’t expected this!

  When his eyes fell to her breasts, she followed them, and was shocked to discover her skin was flushed pink clear down to her low-cut, rounded bodice. Silently seething, furious with herself for having given her emotions away so easily, and still feeling his impertinent gaze like a hot wind upon her flesh, she refused to lift her head to look at him.

  “May I sit down?” came his low-spoken query, confident, assured.

  Susanna wanted to tell him he could bloody well sit in the river for all she cared, but she bit back the response. How dare he compliment her so audaciously and then let his eyes roam over her body as if she was not the new mistress of Briarwood, but … but some kind of tart! She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Thank you.”

  As he sat, not at the other end of the bench as would have been proper but right next to her, she stiffened, her thoughts running away with themselves.

  Who did this hired man think he was? Was it possible that he believed he had some special privileges where she was concerned because he had known Camille’s father? Some special right to such unseemly and bold familiarity? Here she had been ready to offer him an apology for her earlier behavior, yet surely his own behavior was most inappropriate and, come to think of it, had been since the moment they met!

  “I’m sorry that I missed dinner. I can imagine that Prue outdid herself for your first meal at Briarwood.”

  “Yes, she did,” Susanna said, flustered at his nearness. She raised her eyes just a bit to stare unseeing at the grassy riverbank. He was not sitting so close to her that their legs were touching, as had happened in the carriage, but she could feel his presence almost as if they were.

  “I also want to apologize for the way I acted earlier this afternoon. I’m sure you were surprised to find that your father had given me a room in his home, but you’ll soon discover that things are done somewhat differently here than they are in England. I had no right to become angry, though. I can only explain it by saying that you had seemed so shocked that I took it to mean you might be troubled by such an arrangement. I truly hope that that was not the case. But then, it won’t really matter before long.”

  Now what did he mean by that? Susanna wondered.

  When she made no reply but stubbornly continued to look at the ground, a charged silence fell between them which was broken only by the sounds that a short while ago had so charmed her. Everything seemed to be irritating her now, and she was about to excuse herself and return to the house when he took her hand, caressing her fingers with his thumb. Susanna almost choked.

  “I was going to wait a few days to tell you what I have to say, but I find that my impatience will not allow it. First, I want you to look at me, Camille.”

  Susanna started when she felt his other hand gently cup her chin, his fingers callused yet surprisingly warm, and lift her face to him. She was so shocked that he would call her again by her first name, so astounded that he would dare to touch her in this way, almost tenderly, that she could only stare incredulously into his eyes.

  “A few months before your father died, I requested his permission to court you, and he granted it with his full blessing. Camille, it is my intention for us to marry.” His expression serious, he paused to stroke her cheek, then his finger lightly traced her lips. “I know this is very sudden. You don’t have to say anything right away, just hear me out.”

  Doing her best to ignore the strange, dizzying sensations elicited by his feather-light touch, Susanna was so flabbergasted she couldn’t have said anything. Court her? Marry her? Camille’s father had given Adam his blessing? Surely the man was mad!

  “Your father told me a lot about you. You’re very shy, just as he said—”

  When Susanna drew in her breath and looked away, relieved to hear how well her masquerade had convinced him, Adam misread her action entirely.

  “I didn’t mean that as a criticism, my love. I find your timid nature … most beguiling.”

  My love? Susanna thought, glancing back at him in total astonishment. How quickly she had gone from Miss Cary to Camille to my love!

  “Your father also told me that you prefer a quiet life, much to the despair of Baroness Redmayne, your Aunt Melicent. He said she was forever encouraging you to attend balls and go on outings while all you ever wanted to do was stay at home. Is this true?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her voice sounding oddly hoarse.

  Adam took both of her hands in his large ones, his vivid brown eyes burning into hers. His touch held restrained tension, which only added to her disquiet.

  “I promise you this, Camille. I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Allow me to give you the kind of life you desire, peaceful and protected, just as your father wanted for you. I’m not a rich man, and I don’t own any land, but I do have one thing. Your father’s approval. He knew that I would do well by you and that under my care Briarwood would continue to prosper. You know how much this plantation meant to him. We’ll make it prosper together, my love, you and I, just as your father would have wanted.”

  Susanna was dumbfounded, Adam’s low, impassioned words echoing in her mind.

  Was it really true, then, what Corliss had told her about some planters being willing to allow Adam to court their daughters because he was a crop master? she thought dazedly as he studied her face. Had James Cary intended for Camille to be courted by and then married to this man? Surely he would have mentioned Adam’s name in his last letter if that had been the case. He had said that he had someone in mind for Camille,
that they would talk about it when she arrived in Virginia … but Adam Thornton, his plantation manager?

  No, she couldn’t believe it! The idea was simply too incredible. James Cary couldn’t have agreed to such a thing for purely mercenary reasons. He loved his daughter too well. He would have wanted her to marry a gentleman, to follow the rules Lady Redmayne had so painstakingly taught her. Surely a planter with wealth and position could help Briarwood prosper ten times more than any hired crop master.

  Susanna’s gaze fell from Adam’s face. She could tell from his increasingly impatient expression that he was waiting for her response. Yet what could she say to him?

  Suddenly all the puzzling pieces were fitting together. The possessive way Adam had been treating her, his overconfident manner, his absurd protectiveness, his telling Mr. Grymes that she didn’t like social gatherings, then his resentment … all of it leading to his unsettling proposal. Even his behavior upstairs in his room made sense. He had become angry because she was looking at him—and rightly!—as a hired man when he believed himself to be so much more. Her friggin’ future husband!

  Susanna’s anger whirled inside her like a brewing tempest that was becoming ever more difficult to contain.

  The nervy, conniving, opportunistic bastard! He truly expected her to agree to his proposal just as Camille might have accepted it if she had been faced with such an argument. Her dear, meek, obedient Camille would have done anything her father wanted, she loved him so much. If she had believed Adam’s story, she probably would have become Mrs. Thornton. And to think Camille had thought of Adam as the perfect husband for her!

  But Camille wasn’t here, God keep her, and neither was James Cary. Only Susanna. And she didn’t believe Adam for a bloody minute. Mr. Cary might have treated him well, even liked him as Corliss had claimed, but surely not enough to grant Adam his daughter’s hand in marriage. It was all a lie, a grand scheme concocted by a very ambitious man with nothing to lose and everything to gain: Briarwood.

  There had to be some way she could stall him, Susanna thought, her mind working fast. Some way to make him think she was seriously considering his suit until she could find a proper husband. She couldn’t say no outright. Adam would leave Briarwood, and she would have no one to manage the plantation. Perhaps if she could make him understand that she wanted a proper wooing of several months, as any gently bred young woman might, it would buy her some time …

  “Camille.”

  Susanna met Adam’s restless gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton. As you said, this is all so … sudden.”

  “Adam. Call me Adam.”

  She offered him a smile, and was rewarded when the flicker of doubt in his eyes was replaced by renewed confidence. She had expected his reaction, but it made her all the angrier. It was a good thing he was still holding her hands; otherwise she would have slapped him!

  “Very well. Adam.”

  His name was barely off her lips when he leaned toward her and for a fleeting instant, her heart pounding, Susanna thought he was going to kiss her. When he didn’t, she actually felt disappointed, but she quickly regained her composure as his expression became intense, his gaze searching.

  She was damned and determined to deceive him, which, now that she thought about it might even be fun. Why not lead him on with all her other suitors until she settled upon her choice, then send him crashing back down to earth when she finally told him the truth? He deserved nothing less!

  “Since you haven’t denied me, I take it that you accept my wish to court you.”

  Holding his breath, Adam thought he might burst as he scrutinized her face for signs of her decision. He had had a slight scare when she didn’t answer him for so long, but he should have known a shy mouse like Camille would be initially taken aback by such an ardent proposal. He gazed into her beautiful green eyes, wondering anew how a woman so damnably lovely could be so retiring, meanwhile inwardly cursing that still she did not answer him

  “Yes, I accept … but …”

  Adam’s heady exultation, instantaneous and overwhelming, was just as suddenly checked by her last word.

  “What is it, Camille?” he urged, trying to keep his agitation from his voice. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  She chewed her bottom lip before answering hesitantly, “It’s just that I’ve never been courted before, Mr. Thorn—Adam. It’s … well, it’s what every girl dreams about … a proper courting, I mean.”

  Adam was momentarily stumped. He had no idea what she was trying to say.

  “A proper courting?”

  Nodding, she glanced up at him through lashes he imagined would feel like the soft flutter of feathers upon his skin.

  “There’s no need for us to rush, is there, Adam? You seem in such a hurry, yet from what I know, a proper courting takes time. A man must woo a woman gently, am I not right? At least that is how I always imagined it would be …”

  Realization swamped him as she flushed prettily, and he wanted to throw back his head and laugh. Yet he restrained himself, not wanting her to think he was making light of her girlish fantasies.

  So this timid beauty was a romantic at heart! Then his instincts about a passionate nature simmering beneath her bashful exterior must also be right. No doubt she had read plenty of sentimental stories which had filled her head with all sorts of notions about how a man should court a woman. Well, he would gladly oblige her, and in ways that before long would send her scurrying into his arms.

  “We have time, my love,” he murmured, reaching up to stroke her hair. It was soft to his touch and smooth, like silk. It wasn’t difficult to imagine threading his fingers through its honeyed loveliness, or how it might look spread out upon a pillow.

  “Oh, I’m so glad, Adam. I’m sure that after a few months—”

  “Months?” he queried sharply, his hand falling still as he met her astonished gaze. He hadn’t said anything about waiting a few months.

  “I … I think it would be best,” she said in a rush, her expression clouding. “I’ve only just returned and … well, I know so little about my home. I’m sure my father would have wanted me to be comfortable with my surroundings and my new duties as the mistress of Briarwood before I gave any thought to—to marriage …”

  Adam pondered her nervous explanation, deciding it was best to humor her. God help him, it looked as if she might cry if he so much as shook his head. That was the last thing he wanted. A woman’s tears always left him at a total loss.

  He had no intention of waiting that long to marry her, but he doubted he’d have to. He imagined that her excuses merely masked fears about marriage, and about the intimacy between husband and wife, which any innocent young woman would harbor. Yet he knew very well how to allay her concerns. It would be a pleasurable task indeed, awakening her to the desire lying dormant within her, while preserving her innocence for the night when he could call her lawfully his. He doubted she would want to wait long after she tasted passion.

  “We’ll take as much time as you need,” he promised, smiling to himself when she seemed pleased with his response.

  “There’s just one more thing, Adam.”

  “Yes?”

  “Could we keep our courting a secret? Just between you and me … at least until it’s time to announce the betrothal? I don’t think it would be proper, considering your bedroom is only a few doors from mine.” She paused, coughing delicately. “You understand, I’m sure. My reputation …”

  Adam hadn’t expected this request, but again, he decided to humor her. What harm was there anyway? Probably another girlish fancy, a secretive courting replete with stolen kisses and furtive glances. What the hell, he had her consent, which was all that mattered. He would play her virgin’s game.

  “Done,” he answered, noting a flicker of relief cross her face, which transposed quickly into a becoming, albeit shy smile. Mesmerized by the ripe, red fullness of her lips and thinking there would be no harm in sealing their agreement with a chaste kiss, he
leaned closer. But she coyly dodged him and rose from the bench.

  “I think I should go inside, Adam,” she said, glancing toward the house. “It’s growing dark and there are some things I’d like to do … make sure my trunks have been properly unpacked, and perhaps read a little before I retire.”

  “Of course,” he murmured, more disappointed than he would have thought. As he imagined the day when she would find her pleasure not in reading before bedtime, but in far more sensual pursuits, he stood and offered his arm. Pointedly, she refused to take it.

  So their secretive game had already begun, he thought with amusement, escorting a silent Camille past the still, shadowed gardens and into the house.

  “Good night, Mr. Thornton,” she said softly, her eyes pleading with him to answer in kind as a servant walked by them. “I’m sure we’ll talk again soon. Perhaps, when you have time, you could show me more of the plantation.”

  “I’d be delighted, Miss Cary,” he replied, realizing that their outward formality would extend to any times other than when they were alone. He didn’t exactly like the idea, but if it was the way to win her, he would do it. “Sleep well.” And as he watched her ascend the stairs without even a backward glance, her natural grace causing her slender hips to sway provocatively, he found himself looking forward to the coming days with great anticipation indeed.

  So he didn’t have a betrothal to announce on Saturday, he thought, striding into the library to pour himself a brandy. He would announce it soon enough, though, once he cornered her a few times alone and she discovered exactly what kind of game they were playing.

  Raising his glass, Adam silently toasted the revenge that was almost within his grasp, then he tossed down the fiery contents, thinking of the woman who would make it possible.

  His beautiful, acquiescent, and oh-so-delectable Camille.

 

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