Defiant Impostor (6 page)

Adam began to follow her, leaving behind a forgotten
and insulted Polly, who stared sulkily after him. His intuition told him it was
Camille, but he couldn't be sure until he saw her more closely. James had told
him that his daughter was of medium height and passing fair, but with limpid
green eyes that mirrored the color of a calm sea. Adam's plan for revenge
didn't rest upon her appearance, but if she was somewhat attractive, he
wouldn't complain. They would be sharing a bed, after all. He wanted heirs.

Adam was almost upon the young woman when she turned
and gifted him with a silhouette that set his pulse racing. A gust of wind
swirled her voluminous skirt around her, affording him a view of trim, shapely
ankles, and as she reached up to hold the brim of her small silk hat, he caught
an even more tantalizing glimpse of her creamy breasts swelling against her
square-cut bodice demurely trimmed with lace.

"Miss Cary?"

Strangely, she seemed not to hear him. Adam drew even
closer, so near that he could have easily reached out and touched her. So near
that he could smell the skin-warmed scent of her lavender perfume. His gaze
wandered over her, the soft swell of her slightly parted lips, the long curve
of her throat, her temptingly slender waist. He had to admit that so far he
liked what he saw. A lot.

"Miss Camille Cary?"

She whirled to face him then, and Adam's breath snagged
almost painfully in his chest as their eyes met.

He had never seen a lovelier woman. Not beautiful in
the classic sense, but with arresting features: sultry, wide-set eyes of an
unusual opalescent green framed by thick, dark lashes; slightly arched brows; a
fine, straight, almost aristocratic nose; and lips perhaps a shade too full but
incredibly inviting. With her fair hair blowing around her face and stunning
figure swathed in rich blue silk, she looked lush and radiant and capable of
turning any man's head. Clearly James Cary's assessment of his daughter's
beauty had been a modest understatement, or perhaps she had blossomed since his
last visit to England. Blossomed like a luxuriant red rose in the warm morning
sun. The mistress of Briarwood . . . his future wife.

"You are Miss Camille Cary," he stated with
quiet certainty, knowing it was so as he stared into her questioning eyes.

Yet, oddly enough, for a fleeting instant he had the
vague impression that she thought he was asking for someone else. She seemed
unsure and unsettled, almost surprised. Then, as she lowered her head and
clasped her white-gloved hands nervously, realization flooded Adam.

She
was
terribly shy, he thought, noting how she chewed her bottom lip. He could swear
she was nearly trembling. Yet with her striking looks and gracefully erect
carriage, her timidity seemed incongruous.

He shrugged off the odd thought, satisfaction filling
him, mixed with a strong protectiveness. This timid mouse would give him no
trouble at all. He was smiling as she glanced up at him and said, "Y-yes.
I'm Camille Cary."

Chapter 3

Susanna had never felt so nervous. The words were
barely off her tongue when she was besieged again by doubts, but she forced
them down as she stared at the confidently smiling stranger who was standing so
close to her.

He was very handsome in a rough, rugged sort of way,
and one of the few wigless men on the dock other than the crew members and
workers unloading the ship. His thick brown hair, a dark mahogany which shone
with reddish highlights in the sunshine, was rather long and tied in a queue at
his nape, and he had the most piercing brown eyes she had ever seen.

In fact, he was studying her most intently, Susanna
realized in agitation, which made her feel even more uncomfortable. She took a
step backward—certainly it wasn't proper manners for two complete strangers to
stand so close together, even though this man seemed to know who she was—and
one of her heels dropped into a large knothole between two planks.

"Oh! Oh, dear!"

Tottering, she gasped in surprise when he caught her
arm and easily prevented her from falling; she blushed at the iron strength in
his grip. When he merely smiled again, she could only wonder at the impression
she was making. He seemed undisturbed by her obvious discomfiture, almost as if
he expected it.

"Easy, Miss Cary. You'll get your land legs back,
but it might take a while. You've been at sea a long time. Now, if you would
lean on my shoulder for a moment . . ."

Susanna swallowed as she obliged him, trying hard not
to dwell on the play of his sinewy muscles beneath her fingertips. Surely their
position must appear undignified! She watched wide-eyed as the man sat on his
haunches and, cradling her small foot in his hand, gently released her heel.

"There now, step down."

Carefully regaining her full balance, she met his eyes
when he rose beside her once more. He was much taller than she was, but he
stood no more than an inch or two above six feet. Fleetingly she marveled that
he seemed so much bigger, but perhaps that was because his shoulders and chest
were so broad, his physique so powerful beneath his black riding coat and white
lawn shirt.

Blushing anew, she looked away, thinking how unsure of
herself she must seem. Then again, Camille would have acted nervous and
flustered, and she was supposed to be her dear Camille, after all.

James Cary had probably told everyone that his daughter
was extremely shy, which might explain this man's reaction to her. Susanna
certainly didn't want anyone to think her behavior was out of keeping with
James's description. Although being timid and docile were two traits wholly
foreign to her nature, she would simply have to feign them until she was more
comfortable with her new life. Then, as she learned how to act properly in
Virginia society, she could gradually lose her veneer of shyness like a
butterfly shedding its cocoon and become more like her true self.

Get hold of yourself, Susanna Jane, and consider it a
game, she chided herself. Or pretend you're an actress in a play. Just
remember, everything you do is for Camille's sake.

"I hope you didn't turn your ankle. Does it
hurt?"

Susanna shook her head and offered her attractive
rescuer a faint smile. Feeling calmer and in more control of her wits, she
suddenly saw him in a new light and felt a twinge of tense excitement.

Might this man be a wealthy tobacco planter? From the
fine cut of his coat and breeches, lacking adornment though they did, and his
black leather jackboots, an expensive pair from the looks of them, it was
possible. And he knew her. Had he been a good friend of James Cary's, perhaps a
prominent, unmarried friend?

Susanna demurely lowered her lashes as she had seen
Camille do countless times, and, ready to begin the game, murmured, "You
were very kind to help me, Mr.—"

"Thornton. Adam Thornton. Forgive me for not
introducing myself sooner, Miss Cary."

Of course. Adam Thornton, she thought, intensely
disappointed, her earlier hopes fading. Not a rich planter, prominent
personage, or even a true gentleman—but a hired man. Mr. Cary's plantation
manager. It made sense that he had been the one to greet the
Charming Nancy
. And to think she had
been so eager to meet him, might even have welcomed his attentions at one time.
But that was before—

"Perhaps your father mentioned me in his letters.
I've been the plantation manager at Briarwood for several years now, and I've
certainly heard a great deal about you. I'm glad that we've finally had the
chance to meet."

Disconcerted by his deep, husky voice, Susanna noticed
that he was still holding her arm, his fingers exerting a gentle pressure that
felt almost like a caress. Dizzying warmth rippled through her, but she quickly
attributed it to the hot late-morning sun.

Surely it was most unseemly for him to be touching her
in such a possessive manner! She was no longer in any danger of falling. And
why was he still looking at her so intently?

"Yes, yes, I know of you," she said softly,
doing her best to stifle her irritation at his boldness and to remind herself
that she must act like Camille. "Papa . . ." How strange it sounded
to call the late Mr. Cary "Papa." "My father did mention you in
his letters, Mr. Thornton. Many times, actually. He spoke highly of everything
you've done for Briarwood."

And how often Camille—intent upon playing the
matchmaker—had speculated about this Adam Thornton as a potential husband for
her, Susanna thought, recalling Camille's prediction for her future in the
Virginia colony.

"Mr. Thornton must be a good man, Susanna, or Papa
wouldn't have employed him for so long. And you've always said you want an
honest, hardworking man with promising prospects for a husband. I know what
we'll do! After my wedding, we'll plan one for you. How about in the springtime?
Oh, you'll make the prettiest bride! 'Mrs. Susanna Thornton' has a lovely sound
to it, don't you agree?"

But then, just before she had died, Camille had told
her to marry wisely as she herself would have done, Susanna remembered with
heartrending clarity. Camille must have realized that Adam Thornton was no
longer a proper match now that Susanna was to take her place in Virginia. A
hired man wasn't good enough to marry an heiress. It was as simple as that.

"So this must be Miss Cary!" a loud voice boomed
from across the dock, bringing Susanna's attention back to the present. As she
watched a rotund gentleman approach them, she felt Adam's grip tighten on her
arm and draw her closer to his side. She thought to protest this new and
puzzling affront, but again she held her tongue. Camille would have borne it
meekly.

"My dear girl, allow me to introduce myself,"
the richly dressed gentleman enthused, bowing and taking her hand. "My
name is Robert Grymes. I was a good friend of your father's." His friendly
face clouded and he squeezed her fingers in sympathy. "Such a tragic loss,
James's death. So unexpected. My sincerest condolences to you, Miss Cary."

Susanna mustered a small smile. "Thank you."

Robert Grymes cleared his throat and, releasing her
hand, he clapped his soft palms together, his wide grin reappearing. Clearly
his expression of grief was short-lived.

"I'm pleased to say that I'm a neighbor of yours,
Miss Cary, though my plantation is downriver a good ways from Briarwood. My
wife Charity and I would be delighted if you'd come by for supper within the
week and meet the rest of the family. I've a daughter about your age, Celeste,
and three sons, Tyler, Francis, and Matthew, the eld—"

"Miss Cary will probably need at least a week or
more to recuperate from her voyage," Adam interrupted coldly. "If you
recall, Grymes, she's had a harrowing trip. We're fortunate that she was spared
the fever" —his arresting eyes, flecked with shards of gold, flickered
over her appraisingly— "and has arrived in such remarkably vibrant
health."

Susanna glanced at him in shock, hardly believing he
would speak for her as if he had the right to. Who did he think he was, anyway?

"Oh, yes, of course," Robert said, nodding
his head so vigorously that the curls of his powdered wig bobbed. "Forgive
me, Miss Cary. It was not my intent to inconvenience you. Please come and visit
us, but only when you're rested enough to do so . . . Oh, and don't feel you
must wait for a formal invitation. We Virginians rarely use them. We pride ourselves
upon our hospitality, a code of courtesy you might say, and welcome visitors
whenever they chance by."

"Thank you, Mr. Grymes," she murmured through
clenched teeth, pointedly ignoring Adam's hard look of disapproval. But she
said nothing more and did not commit herself to any visit, knowing Camille
would have wished to stay at home. She sensed the planter must have heard of
her shyness, though, when instead of excusing himself, he persisted by trying
another tack.

"Come to think of it, I have an even better idea,
Miss Cary. Perhaps my family and I might take it upon ourselves to visit
Briarwood. Such an arrangement would spare you from any unnecessary traveling.
The summer is a rather tedious time for us planters since the tobo is ripening
in the fields, which gives us some respite for amusement. Why, we could make a
grand welcome ball of it, say, on Saturday which is almost a full week away,
and invite some of your other neighbors, who I'm sure are eager to meet you. I
would think you'd be well-rested by then—"

"I have it upon excellent knowledge that Miss Cary
is not one for social gatherings," Adam interjected again, his tone even
more rude. "She prefers more peaceful pastimes."

"Nonsense," Robert objected with a
good-natured chortle, clearly undaunted or perhaps just accustomed to dealing
with Adam's surly manners. "What young lady doesn't like such amusements?
Why, my pretty Celeste was a shy one until her fourteenth birthday, then when
she saw what fun all the other girls were having, she came around. I believe
the best cure for such a malady is to expose oneself to frivolity on a regular
basis. I'm sure Miss Cary will find there is no harm in meeting her
neighbors."

"Sorry, Grymes, but it won't be possible. Now if
you'll excuse us, Elias is waiting with the carriage to take us back to
Briarwood. I'm sure Miss Cary is eager to see her home."

Susanna felt Adam's insistent tug on her arm as he
attempted to steer her away, but she chose to ignore it and remained right
where she stood. How dare both of these men talk over her head as if she wasn't
there, as if she didn't have a tongue with which to speak! What in bloody hell
was going on here? She was so angry that this time it was difficult to keep her
voice mild and steady.

"I think a house party at Briarwood on Saturday
would be delightful," she said, glancing from Adam to Robert Grymes and
then demurely at the ground. "Papa would have wanted me to meet my
neighbors."