Defiant Impostor (13 page)

I don't like you! Susanna screamed in her mind, though
from the strange feelings enveloping her it seemed her body possessed an
entirely different viewpoint. Reason told her to pull away, to feign insult and
dismay, as any gently bred young woman would do if entrapped by an overzealous
suitor. But her senses cried out for her to draw even closer to his compelling
warmth, to enjoy the stirring sensations his touch aroused in her.

"Have you nothing to say?" he queried softly,
tracing the full curve of her mouth with his fingertip as he wound his arm more
tightly around her. "I long to hear my name upon your lips again,
Camille."

"Please . . . Adam. This is so much, so
soon," Susanna blurted nervously, her better judgment finally gaining some
small advantage over her bewildering feelings. "We've hardly had a chance
to become acquainted . . . and—and you said we had time. You're rushing
me" —she twisted slightly in his arms, bracing her hands upon his chest—
"rushing this, yet you said you wouldn't!"

"Forgive me," he said, her words piercing the
mounting desire clouding his brain. With great reluctance, he gradually began
to release his hold upon her, although his body was demanding that he begin a
far more sensual assault.

Dammit, man, you've got to move more slowly with her!
he berated himself, drawing a deep, ragged breath. She was quaking like a leaf
in autumn, her brilliant sea-green eyes so wide he felt as if he could plunge
right into them.

Shaken by another streak of hot desire, Adam had to
steel himself again from the reckless course his body wanted to take.

God help him, if only she wasn't so soft and warm. If
only her lush body didn't mold so perfectly to his! She would tempt any man's
baser nature to hold her as closely as he had just done. But he wasn't any man.
He was the man she was going to marry. And he had promised to give her as much
time as she needed, promised to court her gently. Well, by God, he would court
her so gently that one day soon, instead of shaking like a nervous virgin in
his arms, she would melt like butter and bend eagerly, even wantonly, to his
will.

"You might not think it much of an excuse, but if
I seem overly eager, it is because you are so beautiful," Adam admitted
honestly, holding only her hand now. "I don't want you to think that I'm
rushing you, Camille. I promise on my honor that you won't have reason to
accuse me of that again. Now, come with me." Drawing her with him, he
paused beside his grazing mount to grab the saddlebag, then said, "How
about if we sit by the water? We'll have our dinner and become better
acquainted. I think that's something we both want."

A nod was her only reply, but he wasn't concerned,
surmising she was still shaken by his ardor. Yet once she saw that he fully
intended to woo her gently, he was certain she would trust him and be comfortable
enough in his presence to abandon her shyness. Already she seemed to be sharing
more of her feelings with him. Her timely emotional outburst had proved that.

"I forgot to bring a blanket," he apologized,
releasing her hand to shrug out of his coat. He laid it upon the sweet-scented
grass, then gestured with a flourish. "For you, my lady fair."

As she grudgingly sat upon his coat, Susanna could not
help thinking how such a gentlemanly display might have easily charmed another
woman, perhaps even Camille, but she wasn't fooled. Just as she wasn't fooled
by his honorable promise.

Men like Adam Thornton didn't have any honor, and she
would do well to remember it. She didn't trust him, especially not after what
had just happened. Yet she had to admit that she didn't trust her feelings
right now, either. Looking at the way his sweat-dampened shirt clung to his
wide shoulders and accentuated his powerful biceps was enough to make her feel
strange . . .

Bloody hell! Susanna cursed to herself, glancing away
just as Adam caught her staring at him. What the devil was coming over her?

Disconcerted, she did her best to concentrate upon the
array of food Adam was placing between them: a crusty loaf of bread, thick
slices of ham, a small wheel of cheese, and plump apple tarts, all the while
thinking determinedly that she would have to learn to keep a tight rein on her
emotions whenever she was around him. She hoped that, after today, that
wouldn't be often. In fact, she would see to it.

"Wine?"

"Yes, thank you." She took the silver goblet,
amazed that Prue would have thought to pack such fine service for a picnic
dinner. There were also white linen napkins; holding her wine, she laid one
neatly across her lap. She watched silently as Adam cut her a thick slice of bread,
topped it with ham and crumbled cheese, then set it upon a small silver plate
and handed it to her.

"Have you ever tasted our famed smoked Virginia
ham?"

"No," she replied, the smell of food making
her stomach growl with added ferocity.

"I'd say you'd better try it. You sound pretty
hungry. I'm not surprised, since I heard from Prue that you didn't eat much
yesterday." His gaze flickered to her slender waist. "I would think
you have more room in that riding habit than in the gown you wore yesterday. Stays
aren't laced so tightly."

"How . . . ?" The minute the question popped
out, Susanna felt like a naive fool. Of course a rogue like him would know
about such things. No doubt he had unfastened his fair share of women's laces.
Probably a randy lion's share, from the looks of him.

"Suffice it to say, my love, I've had some
experience with women's clothing, which I hope doesn't shock you. Any young
woman should be pleased when the man she chooses for her husband has the . . .
skills to satisfy her. "

You can wager that I'll never choose you, Susanna
thought defiantly, although she felt an unbidden and rather wanton niggling of
curiosity about the skills he might possess. Her unladylike interest irked her
all the more, and she bit with a vengeance into her food. She did not look at
him again until she had eaten every morsel and drained her red wine, but when
she did raise her eyes, she found he was smiling broadly at her.

"You were hungry. Can I cut you some more bread?
Ham?"

"No, but I will take an apple tart."

Adam threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rich
sound that Susanna had to admit was very pleasant. Yet she had no idea what he
found so funny.

"By all means have a tart. Take two," he
said, his eyes dancing. "My God, Camille, you're such a sweet innocent. If
Id known my comment about women's clothing would upset you so, making you wolf
down your food, I wouldn't have said it. I see that I'll have to keep such
comments to myself until . . ." He didn't finish but took a long, slow
draught of wine, his gaze never leaving her face.

Embarrassed for obviously making a pig of herself,
Susanna kept her eyes upon the lush grass at her feet as she nibbled the tart.
She was wholly amazed that Adam had so misread her, but it was just as well. It
wouldn't do for him to know what she really thought of him. Not yet. She needed
his services at Briarwood, especially after what she had seen today.

She had never imagined the plantation would be so vast,
the laborers so many, the responsibilities so great. One hundred thousand
tobacco plants in rows across countless fields! Add to that secondary crops of
wheat and Indian corn, and it was easy to see why she could never direct such
an operation by herself. Just hearing how Adam had thrown that cruel overseer
off Cary lands had proved to her that managing a plantation could be a very
rough business. Until she was betrothed to a man who could take on these
duties, she needed Adam. For Briarwood's sake, she would have to bear his
unwanted advances.

"Tell me, Camille," he said, his rich voice
nudging her from her musings. He leaned forward and poured her more wine, then
drew up one knee and leaned his arms upon it. "What do you think of the
plantation?"

"Impressive. I never realized it was so big."

"You haven't seen even half of it yet."

Susanna gaped in astonishment. "Really?"

"Briarwood is the largest plantation on the York .
. . well, other than . . ." Adam didn't finish, a sudden scowl on his
brow, and shook his head, as if he was berating himself for something he had almost
said. He glanced out across the placid pond for a brief moment, then met her
eyes. His scowl was gone, but so was the good-natured ease in his voice.
"What about Fairford? Did you enjoy living there?"

Susanna had no intention of discussing Fairford, at
least not now. She was curious to know what had brought on his sudden shift of
mood, much like what had happened earlier that day when he had told her about
the Cary graveyard. This man was such a puzzle!

"What plantation rivals Briarwood?" she
asked, and was not surprised to see his frown return.

"Raven's Point."

From the manner in which he bit off the words, Susanna
could tell it was a topic he didn't want to pursue, but she couldn't help
herself.

"I don't recall my father ever mentioning that
plantation," she said, watching him closely. "Who does it belong
to?"

"Dominick Spencer."

"Oh, yes, Corliss told me about him," Susanna
replied innocently, wondering why the mention of Adam's former employer would
upset him so. His eyes had darkened to a deep, stormy hue, and she could almost
feel the tension gathering within him. His grip on his goblet was so tight that
his knuckles were taut and pale.

"And what did Corliss say about Mr. Spencer?"
he asked, the steadiness of his voice belying his stiffened posture.

"Not much, really. Just that he lived upriver from
Briarwood and that he was well-respected and very wealthy. "

"Well-respected, perhaps, but not as wealthy as he
may seem," Adam muttered, furious with himself for even bringing up the
subject. The last thing he wanted right now was to discuss that son of a bitch!

"I'm sorry, Adam. I didn't hear you."

"I said did Corliss say anything else?"

"Well, she told me that you once worked for Mr.
Spencer . . . as an indentured servant. Is that true? She said you used to work
in the fields hoeing tobacco."

Adam knew he shouldn't be upset by such a question. His
background was common knowledge in the Tidewater. Yet the details of his life
at Raven's Point were not, and he didn't intend to share them with anyone, least
of all Camille. That existence was behind him now; all that lay in front of him
was sweet revenge.

She would never know about those bitter years, or that
she was the instrument of his vengeance. He fully expected that she would have
questions once she saw his back and what remained of his right foot, but he
would make up convincing lies, if only to spare her the knowledge that he had
used her to satisfy his own ends. He was driven, but he wasn't cruel. He would
not hurt her if he could prevent it; they would be sharing their lives
together, after all. He did not want a bitter rift between them, as such a
revelation would surely cause.

"Yes, it's true, but that was a long time
ago," he finally replied, though in truth, he could remember the stinging
bite of the lash across his back as if it had been yesterday. And the incident
with his foot . . .

Adam swallowed hard against the bile burning his
throat, and sweat broke out on his forehead. If he didn't get up and move now,
he wouldn't be able to shake the many images, the terrible memories, the
nightmare sounds locked forever in his mind: his mother screaming, screaming .
. . his own screams after the indescribable flash of pain, and the bright red
blood spurting—

"I think we should head back," he said
abruptly, rising to his feet in one agile movement and extending his hand.
"We've a long ride ahead of us and, as you said, we must think of your
reputation. It wouldn't do for us to arrive at the house after dark."

As Susanna stared up at him in astonishment, she was
struck by the wildness, almost a desperation, in his eyes.

Whatever was the matter with him? she wondered,
thinking back on their conversation. Could their talk about Raven's Point and
Dominick Spencer account for this strange behavior, or had he simply, suddenly,
realized the lateness of the hour?

"Camille . . ."

"Very well, Adam," she murmured, dumping out
the wine from their goblets and stuffing the refuse from their meal into the
saddlebag. Taking his impatiently outstretched hand, she noted his palm was
cool and damp. But she hardly had an instant to give it much thought as he
strode with her to the horses and swung her up into the saddle, then turned to
his own mount.

"Adam, your coat."

He seemed not to hear her. Mounting, he wheeled his
snorting stallion around and took off at a full gallop, riding away as if a
pack of demons were at his heels. She could only follow after him, stunned,
confused, and, in spite of herself, more intrigued than ever.

Chapter 7

Dusk was settling as Adam escorted Susanna to the
mansion's front door, but instead of accompanying her inside, he excused
himself by saying he had some urgent business. He strode off toward the coach
house—where, she was later told by Ertha, he had a small office—while the
stable hands led their exhausted and lathered horses away. He never came in for
supper, and she went to bed early, as puzzled as ever.

Nor did she have even the briefest chance to talk to
him over the next three days. She never saw him. Sometime during the night a
furious summer storm erupted, accompanied by wicked lightning, deafening
thunder, and torrential rains which didn't let up for much of the week. She
didn't see Adam at all the following day, occupied as she was by a disconcerting
visit from William Booth, the Cary family attorney, who read her James Cary's
will: It named her as the sole heir of Briarwood. That evening, when she
queried Ertha about Adam's possible whereabouts, the housekeeper informed her
that the ripening tobacco was being threatened by the unusual rainfall. He was
in the fields, supervising the workers as they did everything they could to
save the plants from flooding. He would probably be there day and night until
the downpour ended.