Defiant Impostor (11 page)

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.

Chapter 6

Susanna was up to her chin in lavender-scented bubbles,
luxuriating in her first full bath since she had left England, when Corliss
returned from downstairs with clean towels and an unexpected message from Adam.

"Mr. Thornton says he has time this morning to
show you the rest of the plantation, Miss Camille. What do you want me to tell
him? He's waiting in the library."

The tranquility of her bath spoiled by this intrusion,
Susanna bit off a tart response as she glanced at the mantel clock.

Only half past eight! He had a lot of gall to bother
her so early. Clearly he was eager to begin their courtship, which made her all
the more eager to frustrate him. She wanted to spend no more time with him than
was absolutely necessary to maintain her illusion of welcoming his advances, no
matter what she had said to him last evening about seeing more of the
plantation. That statement had been merely for the servant's benefit. She could
bloody well explore Briarwood on her own.

"Kindly tell Mr. Thornton that I won't be ready
for at least another two hours," Susanna instructed, swept by a heady
sense of mischief. "Perhaps we should wait until another day. I know how
busy he must be. I don't want to keep him from his work. But please thank him,
Corliss, for his gracious offer."

"Yes, Miss Camille."

As the maid set the towels on a low table pulled close
to the tub and left the room, Susanna smiled to herself.

Adam had said that they had time for a proper courting,
she thought, playfully flicking bubbles with her toes. It was her intention to
make this the longest and most secretive courtship on record, at least until
she had decided upon the man she really wanted.

The overbearing, overconfident lout! She still couldn't
believe how easily she had deceived him and how readily he had accepted her
conditions to his preposterous proposal, especially the one about their
courtship remaining a secret. She didn't want anyone—especially the servants—to
know that there was anything between her and Adam; her reputation truly was at
stake. She had no intention of jeopardizing her chances of marrying the right
man by having Camille's good name sullied in any way.

In the letters Camille had shared with her, Mr. Cary
had claimed Adam was intelligent, but he was a total fool when it came to
women, Susanna decided. He truly believed that she would consider him as a
potential husband. Had he no sense of what was proper? Why, it would be as if
she, a lady's maid, had come to Briarwood with the intention of marrying a
wealthy planter's son. Impossible! Absurd! It simply wasn't done!

Susanna shrugged, at a complete loss, and concentrated
upon soaping her arm with long, languorous strokes.

If and when Adam realized her true intentions, it would
be too late. He would find himself without an heiress and without his bloody
job!

"Miss Camille, Mr. Thornton says he'll come back
to the house in two hours to fetch you," Corliss relayed, stepping into
the room and closing the door behind her. "He said it would be no trouble
at all. He left his day free just so he could show you around."

Hearing this, Susanna was tempted to fling the bar of
soap across the room, but she let it sink to the bottom of the tub instead.
Disgruntled that her plan to avoid him had failed, she leaned her head against
the rim and defiantly closed her eyes.

Very well, then, the bastard. If he was going to be so
persistent, she would make him wait even longer for her company.

She dawdled in the tub until her skin was thoroughly
pink and puckered—explaining to a curious Corliss that she hadn't enjoyed a
real bath in ages—then she dallied in her room long after she had dressed in a
burgundy riding habit, eaten her breakfast, and sent Corliss away, saying she
wanted to read for a while. Instead she re-hid Camille's portrait, taking the
rolled canvas from the writing table drawer where she had put it last night—and
none too soon since Corliss had come upstairs soon afterward to finish
unpacking her trunks—and placing it in a large oval hatbox in which she had
fashioned a false bottom. It would have to do until she knew the house well
enough to find an even safer place.