Defiant Impostor (27 page)

"Miss Cary," he said, attempting
unsuccessfully not to sound irritated. "How was Yorktown?" He swung
open the door, his gaze devouring her. God, she was beautiful. It felt like a
lifetime since he had last seen her.

"Oh, we had a lovely time," she said lightly,
accepting his outstretched hand as she stepped to the ground, her apricot silk
gown billowing around her. When she smiled at him in that sweet, secretive
manner she had employed since the beginning of their courtship, he felt much of
his anger fade. He squeezed her fingers in warm welcome as she tossed over her
shoulder, "Didn't we, Corliss?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Thornton, we sure did," the
maid replied, although her subdued expression struck Adam as odd. Usually so
cheerful, Corliss seemed unwilling to meet his eyes as he helped her down from
the carriage. "I'll go prepare a bath for you, Miss Camille." The
maid hurried toward the house, leaving Adam to wonder.

"What's wrong with Corliss? I've never seen her so
quiet."

"I imagine she's just tired, like me. We've been
on our feet all day . . . well, except for the ride to town and back."

She glanced up at Elias, who to Adam also seemed
strangely silent as he surveyed them from his high driver's seat. Usually the
man would have at least offered him a grin of hello. "Thank you for
driving us, Elias."

"My pleasure, Miss Camille."

"Just a minute," Adam said as the strapping
coachman prepared to give the reins a yank and drive away. "Don't you have
any packages, Cam—Miss Cary?"

"Oh, no, I didn't buy anything. Corliss and I just
browsed through the shops while Elias waited with the carriage."

"Just browsed? For six hours?"

"Why, yes. Shopping doesn't necessarily mean you
must buy something, Mr. Thornton," she replied, her teasing tone chasing
away the rest of his irritation. As a chuckle welled deep in his throat, Adam
glanced sympathetically at Elias. No wonder the man was subdued after waiting
all day for two women engaged in what to his mind must have been a total waste
of time.

Waving the somber-faced coachman on his way, Adam was
sorely tempted to take Camille's arm as they walked to the house, but he
suppressed the impulse. He was afraid that if he so much as touched her, he
would crush her in his embrace, no matter how many servants might be watching.
God help him, he couldn't wait until Friday, when at least at Briarwood he
would no longer have to hide his feelings for her!

"I missed you, my love," he said instead, and
was pleased when a pretty pink blush suffused her cheeks. "Terribly. Why
didn't you tell me last night that you might go into town today? I would have
escorted you."

"I . . . I didn't want to bother you with my
plans, Adam. I knew you had a lot of work to do, and I decided I would rather
that you accompany me to the horse races tomorrow."

He was startled because her expression had suddenly
clouded. It almost appeared that her explanation had caused her some pain,
though why that might be he couldn't imagine.

"Is something wrong?" he inquired as they
stepped into the hall, a footman closing the door behind them.

She gave him a small, reassuring smile. "No, I'm
simply tired. It's been a long day."

"Then why don't you go up and rest for a
while?" he suggested with a heightened sense of protectiveness. He stopped
with her at the foot of the stairs, repressing another powerful urge to sweep
her into his arms. "I'll have Prue hold our supper until a little
later—say, half past eight. I hope you haven't forgotten that you promised we
would dine together tonight."

"No, I haven't forgotten."

When she reached for the banister, Adam glanced behind
him and, seeing that the footman had turned his back, he quickly brushed a kiss
against her warm, petal-soft cheek.

"Adam!" she breathed in surprise, her foot
freezing on the first step as her gaze darted beyond him to the front door.

He shrugged apologetically, his senses racing from the
lush jasmine scent of her perfume, which reminded him all too potently of last
night. He lowered his voice to a teasing whisper. "You had better go, my
love, or I might be tempted to give you another."

As her beautiful sea-green eyes widened, he could tell
that she fully believed his playful threat. She gathered her skirts and,
without even a backward glance, quickly ascended the stairs. Yet at the top,
she threw him the slightest of smiles before disappearing down the hall.

Chuckling to himself and fingering the note in his
pocket, which was to his delight signed
Yours
always, Camille
, Adam waited until he heard her door close. It was amazing
how relaxed he felt when only a short while ago he had been pacing the library
in irrational anger, worry, and frustration.

"Love," he said under his breath, shaking his
head as he set out to look for Prue. It was heady, unpredictable stuff.

***

"Delicious supper, Prue," Susanna said,
laying down her napkin. She glanced self-consciously at Adam, who was leaning
back in his chair and studying her in the candlelight, just as he had been
doing since she had sat down with him at the table. "Didn't you think so,
Mr. Thornton?"

"Yes, excellent," he replied, his eyes not
leaving her face as he took a draught from his crystal goblet. "Thank you,
Prue. I wouldn't hesitate to say that yours is the best roast beef and gravy in
the county."

"Oh, go on, Mr. Thornton," the stout cook
demurred, although she beamed happily. Clearing the plates while a waiter
poured more red wine into Susanna's glass, she inquired, "Would you like
some dessert, Miss Camille? I've got a nice berry cobbler warm from the oven .
. ."

"No, thank you, Prue," Susanna said, rising
gracefully from the table. "Supper was so good and filling I don't think I
could eat another bite." She looked at Adam, who appeared about to get up
himself. "Oh, there's no hurry, Mr. Thornton. If you'd like some dessert,
please stay and help yourself. I really should be getting upstairs—"

"Why so early, Miss Cary?" he queried softly,
leaving his chair despite her suggestion. "It's only a little past nine. I
know you have a very busy day planned tomorrow, but I would be honored if you
could spare me another few moments of your time. There's something I'd like to
show you in the library."

Realizing that Prue and the waiter were watching their
exchange, Susanna used the most formal tone she could muster, although the
teasing challenge in his eyes was making her feel flustered. "Very well,
Mr. Thornton. A few minutes more. But then I really must retire."

Smiling as he nodded gallantly, he took their wine
goblets from the table and followed her from the dining room.

"You play a pretty game, my love," he said in
a hushed voice, which Susanna hoped the housemaid coming down the stairs didn't
hear.

Not answering him, she walked quickly down the central
hall toward the library, her mind racing. Out of the corner of her eye she
could see his shadow, so broad and powerful, projected against the wall
directly behind her own, which made her feel all the more uncomfortable. She
knew he had nothing to show her. It was just a ruse to get her alone. Oh, why
hadn't she simply declined and gone to bed?

For that matter, why hadn't she stayed in her room and
not come down to supper at all, pleading fatigue? He would have believed her.
What had driven her to spend this last evening with him, when she knew he would
probably be cursing her name this same time tomorrow? What had compelled her to
fulfill her promise to him when she knew what honoring it might cost her?

This evening had been sheer torture, the lies upon lies
she was telling him becoming almost impossible to endure. He had asked her
endless questions about her day in Yorktown, forcing her to conjure up stories
about shops she hadn't visited, bolts of beautiful fabric she hadn't admired,
the seamstress with whom she hadn't discussed sewing some new gowns, and the
silversmith over whose jewelry and fine tableware she hadn't oohed and aahed.

She had felt guilty and ill at ease from the moment she
had discovered him waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, looking more
devastatingly handsome than any man should, and she didn't like it one bit. It
didn't make sense that she should feel this way. She didn't love him. Then why
should she imagine that she was betraying him? What utter nonsense!

And he certainly didn't love her, Susanna reminded
herself for the hundredth time as he moved in front of her to open the library
door and then closed it behind them. He simply wanted her for her money. All of
his kisses, cajoling, gallantry, seeming patience and understanding, and his
unwanted caresses had been directed toward that end.

Her stays must have been laced too tightly the night of
her welcome ball and she'd been suffering from lack of air to think he might be
falling in love with her. Not that it would make a difference anyway. She meant
nothing to him. Nothing. He was a coldhearted, mercenary bastard—

"Your wine," he said, his husky voice
startling her.

She took the goblet, murmuring "Thank you" as
he went about the room lighting candles. Feeling suddenly as if she needed
extra fortification just to survive the next moments, she raised the glass to
her lips and drank deeply, the fragrant red liquid warming her throat. Then,
thinking what the hell, she drained the goblet.

"Would you like mine, too?"

Embarrassed, she set down the empty glass and shook her
head. To her added discomfort, the wine only heightened the effect of his smile
upon her. She felt warmed by it all the way to her toes.

"You've been tense all night, my love," he
said, coming to stand in front of her. He reached out to stroke her hair.
"Are you sure there isn't something wrong? In fact, you've been like this
since you got back from Yorktown."

"No, no, I'm fine," she insisted, fixing her
gaze upon the sensual curve of his lips so that he couldn't read the lie in her
eyes. She started slightly when he gently touched her cheek, but she didn't
look up. She couldn't help thinking that they hadn't been so close together
since . . .

"But you're so pale, Camille. That concerns me.
Perhaps you've been doing too much lately—too many parties, too many outings.
If you'd like, I could send a message to the Tates and tell them you won't be
able to make it tomor—"

"No!" she cried. When his deep brown eyes
darkened, she struggled to get a tight grip on her emotions. If she continued
like this, he would surely begin to suspect that something was amiss.
"No," she repeated softly. "I want to see the races. I know I've
accepted a lot of invitations lately . . . but after tomorrow, I promise I'll
stay home and rest." She willed herself to smile and ask lightly,
"Would that please you?"

To her relief his expression relaxed. "And have
you all to myself for a while? How could it not please me?"

He appeared about to kiss her then, and not thinking
her frazzled, increasingly wine-befuddled wits could bear it, she deftly
sidestepped him and added flirtatiously, "You said you had something to
show me, Adam. What is it? A gift, perhaps?"

He turned, following her feigned search about the
library as she peeked beneath brocade pillows and behind bric-a-brac. "No,
my love, I have no gift," he said with sincere apology. "I only
wanted to get you alone so we might talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"Last night."

Susanna stopped, her cheeks firing hotly, cursing the
wine she had drank so quickly as she swayed just a little.

"Perhaps you might want to sit down," he
suggested with a hint of amusement.

She obliged him, sinking gratefully into a comfortable
stuffed chair he shoved behind her. As he leaned against the massive mahogany
desk that dominated the room, she waited for him to speak. She certainly wasn't
going to initiate this conversation, and she would do her best to keep it as
short as possible. She began to grow apprehensive when his expression sobered,
his eyes searching her face. He seemed almost tense.

"I want you to tell me about your nightmare,
Camille."

"My nightmare?" She was stunned yet relieved
that he hadn't brought up what had happened after he woke her from her bad
dream.

"Yes. You said some names last night . . . Keefer
Dunn, Daniel. Were they people you met aboard the
Charming Nancy
? Or were they acquaintances from Fairford?"

Susanna almost choked, and she wondered if her face had
gone chalk-white. Never in a thousand years would she have expected to hear
those names mentioned by anyone in the same breath, and certainly not by Adam.
If she had said them last night during her nightmare, God only knew what else
she had given away about herself.

"You screamed out that this Keefer Dunn was
hurting you, beating you," he prodded gently, although his voice was grim.
"Did someone hurt you aboard that ship or in England? You must tell me,
for if so, I swear those men will be punished."

Understanding dawned upon Susanna, and she breathed a
sigh of relief. Thank God she hadn't obviously implicated herself in some way.
He didn't seem to have any idea how these people were connected to her real
identity, and she would do everything in her power to see that he never did.

"Camille, answer me."

"No, Adam, no one hurt me," she finally
replied, her voice sounding shaky to her ears. "I never knew those
men."

"But your nightmare, my love—it sounded so vivid.
Almost as if you were living it. You were calling on your papa—"

"It wasn't me," she blurted out, perhaps a
bit too hastily. When he frowned, she added, "It was a story told me years
ago by my waiting-maid . . . the one who died from the fever before we reached
Virginia."