Defiant Impostor (15 page)

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 becomingly 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?

"You've revealed a little secret of yours, my
love. One doesn't necessarily have to like balls to enjoy dancing." He
bowed gallantly, offering his hand. "Yet from watching you, and I mean
this as no insult, it appears that you need a little practice. Any lack of
ability can certainly be amended by one's desire to learn."

Overwhelmed with relief, Susanna knew she couldn't have
explained herself any better than Adam just had. For once she was glad that he
assumed to know so much about her, the overconfident blackguard!

If she had hoped by some miracle to learn how to dance
before tomorrow, having never been allowed any lessons when she was a
waiting-maid other than the few steps Camille had taught her, then she had just
found such a miracle in Adam Thornton. Now she wouldn't have to decline
demurely when she was asked to dance!

"What would you like to practice first? Some steps
from a country dance or a minuet?" he asked.

"A minuet, please," she said with a grateful
smile as she took his hand. She shivered at the warmth of his palm, and as he
led her to the middle of the ballroom, he gently caressed her fingers with his
thumb, a most disconcerting sensation. Trying to distract herself from what he
was doing, she observed lightly, "I suppose it will be difficult since we
have no music."

"No trouble at all." In a rich baritone he
began to hum several measures of a minuet, then he stopped, smiling roguishly.
"Music, my love. Now, since I'm sure you already know the basic
steps—"

"Could we review them?" Susanna blurted,
immediately glancing down at the parquet floor, fearing she had given herself
away. "It's been so long . . . since my last lesson, I mean. And
considering I never was any good . . ."

"Nonsense, Camille," Adam objected, lifting
her chin to stare deeply into her eyes. "You've a natural grace that any
woman would wish to possess. I promise you'll be the envy of any Tidewater
belle who sees you dance tomorrow night." He stroked her cheek lightly, as
if to reassure her. "Come now. Let's begin. First, place your hand on top
of mine, like so, and remember the steps are small . . ."

Susanna listened carefully to his instructions, though
her body was alive with a bewildering excitement. She couldn't tell if it was
because she was finally learning to dance or because of his closeness, a
troubling possibility she didn't even want to consider.

As they began to move in stately three-four time
through the elegant figures of the minuet, Adam's voice astounding her with its
deep richness, she wondered if any of the young men who would be coming to the
ball were as strikingly handsome. She had to admit Adam looked dashing this
evening in his dark-green coat and brocade vest, and capable of taking any
woman's breath away.

She liked that he didn't bother with wigs, which to her
seemed effeminate in men. His thick mahogany hair, tied casually in a queue
with a black satin ribbon, shone with burnished highlights in the waning
sunlight. Strangely, she found herself imagining what his hair would feel like
if she dared to touch it. Soft and silky, or perhaps somewhat rough, like the
man himself?

"You catch on quickly," he complimented her,
releasing her hand and passing by her so closely that his arm brushed her
shoulder, making her flesh tingle. He circled her, then they faced each other
again, and she placed her much smaller hand upon his. As they stepped toward
each other in a single motion, separated, then came together again, his
admiring gaze never left hers. "Wonderful, Camille. Just have some
confidence in yourself and you'll do very well."

She blushed warmly, not so much at his words or the way
he was looking at her as at the incredible absurdity of her thoughts. Run her
fingers through his hair? Why would she ever want to do that? She was relieved
when he began to instruct her in some country dances and lively reels, which
demanded all of her attention and energy just to keep up with him.

"Excellent. You've mastered those steps," he
praised her a short while later, clearly pleased with her progress. "I'm
beginning to think you must have had a poor teacher at Fairford. The fault
certainly does not lie with you. Now let's put your new expertise into
practice."

Before Susanna could respond, Adam swept her from one
end of the ballroom to the other in a spirited country dance. Round and round
they flew, pausing only now and then to stand in one place and perform the
required steps in a fast tempo. Soon she was breathlessly laughing, Adam
joining her, their mirth resounding in the room. When she didn't think she
could go another step further, he urged her on, spinning her around in a circle
so fast that the mirrored walls and gilt chandeliers became a blur, and she
felt for sure that she would collapse from dizziness.