“He said that very same thing, but that it wouldn’t be until dinnertime.”
“Dinner?”
The overseer eyed her curiously, though his weary expression didn’t change. “I think he wanted to get himself some rest first, Miss Cary. He was up longer than any of us, digging side by side with the field hands. He probably figured you’d trust his judgment just like your father used to, and know that everything was all right unless he made it a point to tell you different.”
And leave her wondering all day if Cary’s Finest was ruined or not? Susanna fumed, veering her horse around after thanking the overseer for his hard work and bidding him also to get some sleep.
She rode back toward the house, imagining how wonderful it would feel to storm into Adam’s bedroom and demand he give her a full accounting of the past days’ events, but she knew Camille would never have done such a thing. Instead, as the coach house came into view, she decided to cool her temper by exploring a little, her natural curiosity spurring her on.
She wanted to see his office. She had seen practically everything else on the plantation, and she had no wish to while away the hours in the library or in the game room playing solitary rounds of cards as she had done since Tuesday. Maybe she would be able to gain a little more insight into Adam’s character by inspecting the place where, according to Ertha, he spent a fair amount of time. Perhaps she might even find some information she could use against him, in addition to his cocksure and improper advances toward her, when the time came to fire him. The housekeeper had said the office had a private door near the back of the coach house …
As she approached the large two-story building, Susanna immediately spied the door. She dismounted and tethered the mare to a tree. She was surprised to discover that the door led not into a room, but to a narrow flight of stairs.
The wooden steps creaked as she ascended them, but no one would dare question her if she was discovered here. She was the mistress of Briarwood. She could do anything she wanted on this plantation.
Susanna opened another door at the top of the stairs and, holding her breath in anticipation, stepped inside a small, sunlit room that was furnished with a writing desk, bookcases, and a narrow bed pushed up against one wall that took up much of the floor space. Other than the tall stool behind the desk and a threadbare stuffed chair with an accompanying side table placed near one of the two windows, there were no other furnishings, and the bare, whitewashed walls gave the room a spartan appearance. The air was tinged with the smell of leather and polish, drifting up from the coach house below.
As she quickly scanned the crowded, well-dusted bookshelves—his own private collection? she wondered—she noted books on the growing of tobacco and horticulture—no surprise there—and others which did surprise her. She had grudgingly sensed in Adam a keen intelligence, but from the variety of subjects presented here—history, mathematics, religion, philosophy, poetry, navigation, law, architecture, and many others—it was clear his intellectual interests were diverse and admittedly more advanced than her own.
There were even well-thumbed volumes on English grammar and a copy of The Art of Fair Writing, which led her to think Adam might be a self-educated man. She also surmised from the thick pools of dried wax beneath the pewter candleholders on the desk and side table that he spent most of his evenings here. A half-empty glass of some liquid—spirits, no doubt, judging from the tall crystal decanter which appeared to be the only luxury in the room—had been left there, and a padded footstool was placed an outstretched-leg’s distance from the chair, giving her the impression that he was one to relax and enjoy his reading time.
Susanna’s gaze skipped to the writing desk. Some sort of journal lay open, and she decided to take a closer look. She normally wasn’t one to pry into someone’s personal diary, but in this case, she felt her curiosity justified.
She was disappointed to discover that the journal held only a day-to-day account of plantation business, written in a stilted scrawl.
How strange, she thought, perusing the spare, matter-of-fact entries which made only slight mention of her: Miss Cary arrived today … Tour of Briarwood with Miss Cary. Hadn’t Adam received any schooling when he was younger, in England before he came to Virginia or under Dominick Spencer’s employ? From the scratched-out words and occasional ink blots, it appeared not. But then, she hadn’t had her first writing lesson until she was thirteen, so their backgrounds weren’t so dissimilar.
Susanna’s gaze fixed upon the last entry which to her surprise held that day’s date. Adam had clearly come here before he went to the house, writing simply that Cary’s Finest had survived the heavy rains. Bastard! If he had had the energy to do this, why couldn’t he have made an effort to give her some kind of report before—
She jumped up from the stool with a gasp as heavy footsteps sounded upon the stairs. Grabbing the nearest book from the shelf, she plopped into the stuffed chair just as the door opened. Her heart pounding, she stared blindly at the pages in front of her.
“I thought I might find you here, my love. I saw your horse outside.”
Thrilled more than she would ever admit by Adam’s husky voice, and chagrined that she had been caught snooping again, Susanna did not have to feign her discomfort as she glanced up to find him walking toward her.
Her breath caught sharply, and she marveled anew at his dark good looks. After not seeing him for three days, she had forgotten how intensely handsome he was, despite that his face was deeply lined with fatigue and that mud was spattered from his head to the toes of his thigh-high jackboots. He was smiling at her, making her heart thump all the harder.
“I’m sorry, Adam. I should have asked your permission first … but I was riding by the coach house and since Ertha said you had an office here, I thought I’d take a look—”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Camille. I don’t mind you coming up here, but I do question your choice of literature. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales? I would think that story too bawdy for a young lady, but I guess it does have its touch of romanticism. And do you always read books upside down?”
Susanna realized to her dismay that it was indeed Chaucer, a lusty tale long banned in Lady Redmayne’s home, and yes, it was upside down. Her cheeks fired with warmth. She really didn’t know what to say to explain herself, so she decided to ignore his observation altogether.
“You were looking for me?” she asked, setting the book aside with studied nonchalance. Her obvious skirting of the issue must have amused him, for he chuckled, nodding.
“Corliss told me you had gone for a ride out to the fields, so I decided to follow you and give you the good news about the crop. Then I spied your horse …” He paused, his gaze moving appraisingly over her mauve riding dress. “You look very charming this morning, my love. That color suits you. It heightens the beauty of your eyes.”
His compliment warming her further, Susanna guiltily chided herself for her harsh judgment of him. So he had made an effort to find her despite his apparent exhaustion. Yet she wished he wouldn’t use that term of endearment. He obviously believed she was a romantic ninny and easily swayed by pretty words. Familiar aggravation bubbled inside her at his confident presumption, quickly overshadowing her remorse.
“So you say that everything is fine with the tobacco crop, Adam?” she asked, suddenly uncomfortable in such close confines with him. His sheer physical size seemed to dwarf the small room, and it didn’t help that he smelled so overpoweringly masculine, a musky combination of sweat, dirt, and horses which to her surprise she found quite appealing. “Mr. Skinner told me that, too, but I wanted to hear it from you. I’ve been worried—”
“Camille, you must learn not to worry unless I give you reason to do so,” he interrupted her gently, his smile fading as his expression grew serious. “If there had been any critical problems, I would have told you long before this morning. I wouldn’t purposely leave you in the dark, especially about something so important. You must trust me
in this, as your father did.”
Trust you? she thought incredulously. How can I trust you when I know exactly what kind of man you are? Greedy, ambitious, opportunistic. Why, the list could go on and on!
“I care about this plantation as much as you do,” Adam continued, shrugging out of his filthy coat and tossing it on the floor. “I’ve worked this land for five years, Camille. I’ve done everything I know to make it what it is today.” He began to unfasten the buttons on his vest. “There were many times during the past three days when I wanted to leave the fields to reassure you, but I decided against it, thinking that if I turned my back for a minute, the rain might win the battle we were waging. So I stayed. If this caused you undue concern, then I apologize. But I did what I thought was best.”
Susanna, staring at him wide-eyed as he flung his sweat-stained vest on top of his coat, scarcely heard what he was saying. Then he began to undo the top buttons of his shirt, baring an upper chest that was sleek and powerfully defined with muscle.
What in bloody hell was he doing? Was he going to continue to undress right in front of her? Perhaps he was thinking he was going to undress her, too! At the unseemly flash of excitement that raced through her, she wanted to curse aloud. Sweet Lord, she had to get out of here!
“I—I should go, Adam,” she stammered, rising abruptly and hurrying past him to the door, so close that her arm brushed against his. She pulled away as if stung and, spinning around to walk backward now, crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she gazed apprehensively at him. “I don’t know why you’re taking off your clothes, but—”
“Camille, I’m going to sleep here,” he interjected, humor lighting his eyes, although he suddenly looked twice as weary.
“What?”
“Sleep,” he repeated, nodding at the narrow bed. `Here. There’s too much commotion at the house today, what with the preparations for the ball, the cleaning, Ertha fussing …” He shook his head. “I knew the minute I walked in there this morning that I’d never get any rest.”
“Oh, yes, the ball,” Susanna mumbled, feeling her cheeks redden. She would never understand why this man could so easily fluster her, yet it was clear that this time she had brought it upon herself.
Adam’s hands fell from his half-unbuttoned shirt and he sat down heavily on the bed, his fatigue obviously catching up with him. “I’ll meet you for dinner, my love. Looking forward to it. One more evening to be alone before all the guests arrive in the morning. I just need to sleep for a while …”
Susanna watched as, wholly exhausted, he closed his eyes and sank back upon the mattress, muddy boots and all. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t thanked him for everything he’d done to save this year’s tobacco crop, but she was clearly too late. Already he was asleep, his breathing deep and even, his muscular body totally relaxed.
She stood there for a long moment, listening to him breathe, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, and not quite knowing why she did so. Then she quietly opened the door. Yet she didn’t leave until she had first tiptoed over to the bed and drawn the wool blanket up to his shoulders, scarcely breathing herself for fear she might wake him.
As she stared down at his face, Susanna had the strangest impulse to touch his stubbled cheek, just to see how his skin felt beneath her fingertips. Instead, her heart beating hard, she hurried from the room and closed the door softly behind her.
Chapter 8
Adam hastily tied the white linen cravat at his throat, cursing himself again because he hadn’t arranged with Ertha for a servant to come to his office at two o’clock and wake him.
He had been so exhausted, he hadn’t been thinking clearly when he’d left the house to look for Camille. All he had wanted to do was find her quickly, give her the news, and then get some rest. Well, he had found her easily enough, but he still couldn’t believe he had fallen asleep right in front of her, as he vaguely remembered doing. And not before frightening her, which he hadn’t meant to do either. It seemed the whole blasted week had gone like that.
First he had become angry at her when she had discovered that his bedroom was just down the hall from her own; he had unfairly criticized her about the Cary graveyard; and he had almost ravaged her at the pond. Then he had shocked her virginal sensibilities that morning by undressing while she was in the room, and now this, sleeping right through dinner. Damn if he wasn’t frustrating his own plan by his careless actions!
“Tonight’s going to be different,” Adam vowed under his breath, glancing at the grandfather clock’s ornate face, which read twenty minutes past six. His eagerness mounting, he pulled on a tailored forest-green coat. He wouldn’t let anything spoil the evening, least of all his own behavior.
This would be their last night alone before the Tidewater gentry swarmed down upon them, and he wanted it to be special. He wanted to charm her, to woo her, to make her laugh and reveal more about herself.
He wanted to make sure that if she harbored any doubts or insecurities about his courting of her, these feelings would be gone by the time they said good night. It was important that she know how much he wanted her, how much her father had wanted them to be together, and for him to hear from her lips again that she welcomed his courtship. Especially since tomorrow would bring to Briarwood every fortune hunter in the region, each one anxious to meet Camille. His beautiful, shy Camille.
Irritation seized him just thinking about how she would have to endure her guest’s fawning attentions for the entire weekend. Tidewater plantations were so far apart that people living more than ten miles away usually stayed overnight. Every bed would be filled, including his own. Ertha had asked him to sleep in his office, and she had been so worried about having enough room for everybody that he had grudgingly agreed.
Shoving his unpleasant thoughts from his mind, Adam took a last bite of the rich venison stew Prue had sent up for him, and then, after a draught of wine, he headed for the door.
He felt like a new man after his bath, a shave, and a hot meal, and he had dressed carefully for this evening. He wanted to show Camille that he could hold his own against any wealthy gentleman. At least he could say he had earned the money to pay for the clothes on his back. To him, that made all the difference.
***
“Have you seen Miss Cary?” Adam queried the chambermaid who was hurrying toward the dining room with her arms full of freshly ironed table linens. Growing annoyed that the house was still such a bustle of activity, he hoped that he and Camille would be able to find some privacy tonight.
“No, sir, Mr. Thornton. I’ve just come from the laundry.”
“Damn,” he muttered to himself as the maid hustled away. He was so anxious to find Camille, to be with her, and he couldn’t help thinking that such urgency was wholly unlike him.
Funny that he should feel this way about any woman. He never had before. It wasn’t as if he loved her, though he did feel some affection melded with an extreme protectiveness toward the woman who would soon become his wife. She was so endearing, so enticingly innocent, and God knew he desired her—had from the first moment he had seen her at the Yorktown dock. The episode at the pond had only whetted his appetite for more such embraces, and especially for the day when she would share his bed.
Struck by fierce longing, Adam began searching the house, first the drawing room and then the library, but they were empty. The music room and game room were occupied by maids doing some last-minute dusting, and he knew Camille wouldn’t still be across the hall in the dining room. Dinner had been over almost three hours ago. He was about to head for the garden when he caught a whiff of lavender scent wafting from the ballroom. Smiling triumphantly, he opened the door and peered inside.
Adam exhaled slowly, enchanted by the sight of Camille slowly swirling round and round at the far end of the ballroom, her voluminous apricot silk gown picking up the last golden rays of sunlight flooding through the tall arched windows. She looked so lovely with her eyes closed, her head tilted bec
omingly as she softly hummed an unfamiliar melody—slightly off pitch, he thought, charmed all the more—her honey-blonde curls cascading down her back like a glistening waterfall, her gown rustling and swaying. For long, long moments he could only stare at her, entranced. Yet finally his overwhelming desire to be close to her, to touch even just her hand, overcame him, and he slipped into the room.
So his sweet, romantic innocent secretly liked to dance, he mused, marveling at the fluid grace of her movements as he edged closer. That surprised him, considering that she had reputedly avoided balls, but perhaps she had simply disliked the crush of people and commotion that typified such events.
She stopped twirling, her slender back to him, and rather awkwardly attempted some dance steps. It was plain that she didn’t know what to do, which also surprised him. From what he had heard about Lady Redmayne, he found it difficult to imagine that the domineering baroness would have allowed Camille to forgo her dancing lessons.
Then again, maybe she just wasn’t very good at dancing. He wasn’t the best dancer in the Tidewater, but he had attended enough balls to know the steps. He would have to teach her a few things before the ball; Grymes had probably hired musicians. He didn’t want her to be embarrassed by her lack of proficiency, or see her hurt by callous tittering behind raised fans.
“Could I be of some assistance?” he asked softly, feeling his breath jam in his chest as she swirled to face him. Though he had spoken with her that morning, he had been so exhausted he felt now as if he was seeing her for the first time in days. God, but she was beautiful!
“What … how long have you … ?” Susanna’s voice trailed off as she gaped at him, stunned by his unexpected presence. She immediately fought to regain her composure while her thoughts raced wildly.
He had seen her dancing. Oh, bloody hell, she could just imagine what he must be thinking. How was she going to explain herself this time?
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