Defiant Impostor (33 page)

"I congratulate you, Mrs. Thornton," he said
with a stiff bow, pointedly refusing to address Adam directly. "Your
husband is a most fortunate man." With that, he brushed past her into the
main hall, his footsteps resounding across the floor. Then the front door was
closed with cold finality behind him.

"Bravo, my love," Adam said, caressing her
waist. "I knew you could do it. Lied like a true expert. I've waited many
long years to see that arrogant bastard outdone, and today won't be the last
time."

His taunting tone hit Susanna like a cruel slap in the
face and she rounded on him. "That man should have been my husband, not
you! I'm sure you can well imagine who I think is the bastard here. Go to
hell!"

Dashing into the hall before he could stop her, she was
so furious that she paid no heed to the startled housemaids coming down the
stairway who offered her good wishes on her marriage. Nor did she answer
Corliss who asked her if there was anything she needed as they passed each
other in the upstairs corridor. Storming into her room, Susanna slammed the new
door and drew the bolt, her fingers shaking. Then she flung herself on her bed,
dreading the familiar footfalls that she knew would come.

***

"Open the door, Camille," Adam repeated for
the third time, growing more irritated as he was greeted by the same stony
silence. He imagined Prue would probably be up soon with their supper, and he
didn't want to face embarrassment because his new bride had locked him out of
their room.

He had already explained to an understanding Corliss
and the other housemaids that their mistress was experiencing the normal fears
any young woman might have before her wedding night. But enough was enough, and
such rationale grated on him, anyway. He doubted strongly that Susanna was a
virgin, despite what she had claimed the other night. He had tumbled enough
ladies' maids to know they were a lusty lot, and prone to easily giving their
favors if a gentleman caught their eye. Why would Susanna be any different?

Hot desire erupted within him as he recalled the
voluptuous beauty of her body and how her skin, glowing like pale alabaster in
the moonlight, had been satin-smooth and warm beneath his hands. How many
lovers had she known at Fairford? Adam wondered jealously, resisting the urge
to pound on the door, knocking firmly instead. How many men had touched her as
he had done two nights ago?

She had played the sweet innocent so well, protesting
convincingly against his wish to give her pleasure, while all along she had no
doubt possessed the experience of a true wanton. The devil take her! Her kisses
had told him as much! And how expertly she had spoken earlier that same day of
their wedding night being only a few weeks away, when in actuality, she had
intended to betray him for Dominick Spencer, a man she thought was good enough
to marry while he, Adam Thornton, a mere hired servant, was not.

Well, their wedding night had finally arrived, he
thought bitterly, his fury rekindled at the thought of how close he had come to
losing her to that murdering scum. But tonight wouldn't be the gentle sexual
awakening of her that he had long imagined. He couldn't wait to sheathe himself
in her beautiful, treacherous body and ease the torment she had caused him. If
by some slim chance she did prove to be a virgin and he hurt her, it would
serve her right.

"Damn you, woman, unlock this door or I swear I'll
break it down!" he said in a low voice, his patience at an end. "I
warn you that you're not entirely safe from prison or the hangman's noose.
Ertha may still suspect you despite what I told her last night. If she sees you
acting unlike the good and gentle wife her Camille would have been, she'll be
convinced all the sooner—"

Adam was suddenly rewarded by the scraping sound of the
bolt being drawn. He pushed open the door to find Susanna hastening toward the
sitting area on the opposite side of the room from the bed. As she spun to
glare at him, her long, honey-blonde curls spilling over her shoulders and down
her back, his breath caught deep in his chest.

Standing there so outraged and defiant, her chin lifted
high and her creamy skin flushed rose, she looked more gloriously lovely than ever
before. He almost regretted that she must play the obedient wife, for he far
preferred the rebellious spirit shining from her eyes. He was finally seeing
the real essence of this woman, vibrantly passionate and alive, and it made his
pulse race like wildfire just to be in the same room with her.

Yet he had only to remember the vehement curses she had
hurled at him downstairs, delivered in an unladylike accent reminiscent of
Polly Blake's, and he knew he had no choice but to tame her spirit. Their lifelong
charade depended upon her proper behavior and so did his revenge, which was of
consuming importance to him now.

Since the night of her ball, he had allowed his
impossible dreams of love to overshadow his vengeful plans, but no more. In the
morning, he would concentrate again on the goal that had driven him for long,
bitter years before he had ever seen her face. Surely such a preoccupation
would lessen the pain of her betrayal.

"A very wise move . . . opening this door,"
he said with deadly quiet, shutting it behind him.

When she continued to glare at him, Adam strode
purposely across the room. Despite the raised windows, the air was still and
warm. He propped open the balcony doors, noting how black and ominous the sky
had become, thunder rumbling in the distance. He hoped the coming storm didn't
bring a three-day downpour as the last one had. The tobacco would soon be ready
to cut, and he didn't want anything to threaten what he had already judged to
be a bumper crop.

Turning back into the candlelit interior, he met her
truculent gaze. "A word of caution, wife. Don't ever draw that bolt
against me again."

"It's my room. I'll do what I please."

"Correction, Camille," he replied,
emphasizing the name. "Our room. Yours and mine. From now on, we share it
. . . the sitting area, wardrobes, dressing tables, balcony, and, not least of
all, that bed."

Her face paled, but her gaze did not waver. Skipping
over the charged topic he had just raised, she asked him tartly, "Will you
not be calling me Susanna, then, even when we're in the privacy of
our
room?"

"You'll never hear that name from my lips again,
nor do I want to hear it from yours. As far as we're concerned, that name was
forever laid to rest aboard the
Charming
Nancy
. Do you understand?"

Before she could respond, a knock sounded, and Adam
strode to open the door, imagining it was Prue. He wanted no more interruptions
this evening, and as the cook entered followed by three kitchen maids carrying
large silver trays, he quickly checked to see that they had brought plenty of
wine. It was going to be a long night.

Oh, child, I'm so happy for you!" Prue exclaimed,
tears glistening in her eyes, the minute she saw Susanna. "Married, this
very afternoon! I just knew in my bones there was something going on between
you two." She cast a fond glance at Adam. "You've got yourself a real
fine man there. 'Course, you already know that, else you wouldn't have married
him. Your papa never had anything but good to say about our Master
Thornton."

Susanna smiled her thanks, not trusting herself to
speak. She didn't know how she was going to suffer through such congratulations
from the rest of the servants, however heartfelt, or such absurd assessments of
Adam's character. These people had no idea of his true nature!

"That Corliss surely misread your trip to Mr.
Spencer's yesterday," the cook continued, shaking her scarf-covered head.
"She told me and Ertha this morning that she was afraid you were thinking
of marrying that planter. I'm sure glad she was wrong. She saw some mighty awful
things at his place that made me shudder—"

"Something smells absolutely wonderful,
Prue," Susanna broke in when Adam glanced at her sharply, no doubt
realizing that Corliss must have described those same things to her on their
way back from Raven's Point. She wasn't surprised that her gabby maid had been
unable to keep their secret, but she certainly didn't want to discuss
yesterday's events any further. "What did you bring us?"

The cook smiled broadly, lifting one of the domed lids.
"One of my specialties, brought out from the smokehouse just for this
happy day, Mistress Camille. Bourbon-glazed ham, scalloped potatoes, and
buttered green beans fresh-picked from the garden. There's an iced lemon cake
for dessert, too, with wild strawberry filling, and the best wine from the
cellar, just like you ordered, Master Thornton. I didn't know how much you'd be
wanting so we fetched up three bottles."

Too bad she didn't have any appetite, Susanna thought
with regret as Adam ushered the cook to the door, her excited, whispering
helpers already waiting for her in the hallway.

"Thank you, Prue. You've prepared us a fine
wedding supper," he said. "But I think my bride and I would like to
be alone—"

"Oh, my, I'm sorry," the cook interjected,
glancing at Susanna with embarrassment. "Here I am, talking on and on. Of
course you two want to be alone, it being your wedding night and all. Have a
good evening, then."

As Adam closed the door after Prue and drew the bolt,
Susanna tried not to panic, reasoning that he must share her room, and her bed,
for the sake of appearances. It also made sense that they would retire early,
which would give the servants the impression of conjugal bliss.

Actually, she doubted she had anything to worry about.
Adam had made no move to touch her or even to come near her all day except when
other people were about, which there certainly weren't now. Maybe he would
sleep on the divan to avoid coming into contact with her. She felt much calmer
now that she had thought through the situation. Yet that didn't stop her heart
from leaping in her breast when he met her eyes, his handsome features set
inscrutably.

"Very good, Camille. That's exactly how I want you
to act from now on around the servants and everyone else, for that matter. No
different than you did before I discovered the truth about you. That shouldn't
be too difficult, considering your remarkable gift for deception."

Susanna bristled at his mocking tone. "You seem to
have deceived everyone at Briarwood as well, Adam, beginning long before I arrived
here. Why, even poor Mr. Cary didn't guess what a mercenary bastard you really
are—"

"That's another thing you're going to stop,"
he said sharply, walking toward her. "In light of your upbringing, I'm not
surprised you also have a gift for cursing, but you'll do well to sweeten your
language from this moment on. A lady doesn't spout oaths like a common
guttersnipe. Do you hear me?"

Determined to vent her anger, Susanna ignored what he
had just said, despite his uncomfortable closeness. If he insisted she had
become an impostor out of greed, then she could bloody well express her
interpretation of
his
actions!

"I saw many of Mr. Cary's letters to Camille,
Adam. I heard him speak of you the last time he came to England. I think you
purposely worked your way into his good graces, leading him to believe you were
industrious and trustworthy while the whole time you couldn't wait to possess
his daughter and his plantation! You seem to believe that I'm capable of
murder. How do I know that you didn't murder Mr. Cary to win what you so
coveted?"

He stopped within arm's reach of her, his stunned
expression hardening into one of restrained rage.

"It's amazing how close you've come to the mark,
my love, but you need to be told the truth. It wasn't me who murdered James
Cary for the reasons you describe, but the man you would have married, Dominick
Spencer."

"What are you talking about—" She gasped, her
eyes widening in fright as Adam suddenly grabbed her shoulders and shook her
hard.

"No," he said harshly, his furious gaze
burning into hers. "You just listen. Dominick knew James Cary would never
allow him to court his daughter so he rid himself of the man, very cleverly
staging a hunting accident only one day after he came here to Briarwood to
harass James again about the matter. They had a violent argument out in the
fields—and if you don't believe me, ask Josiah Skinner. We both saw and heard
it. James had no intention of letting Dominick near his daughter, and do you
know why?"

Susanna shook her head, in complete shock over what he
was telling her.

"Because he believed me when I told him that
Dominick was a monster, a cold-blooded killer. I was never going to reveal any
of this to you for fear of hurting you, but in light of the circumstances I
don't see any reason not to now. After what you did to me, you deserve to know
that I'm not the only one who has been manipulated, and why. Then you tell me
how it feels."

Wondering wildly at his cryptic words, Susanna
struggled to no avail against his cruel grasp as his voice fell almost to a
whisper.

"Let me tell you about your precious Dominick, the
charming, well-respected gentleman you wanted so badly to wed. I've seen him
whip slaves to death without blinking an eye, his face flushed from the pleasure
of it. As a punishment to those who disobeyed him, I've seen him use curry
combs to scrape away flesh and then add salt to the wounds. And with equal
relish, he's cut off the hands and feet of slaves who dared to run away and
slashed out the tongues of men, women, and children foolish enough to mumble
resistance."

"No," she breathed in horrified disbelief. He
rushed on, his eyes tormented in his remembering.

"There's more, my love. Much, much more. I've seen
him wrest squalling babies from their mothers' arms and sell them on the
auction block. To give you a clearer insight into his despicable nature, he did
that to the six children his longtime mistress, Cleo, bore him while I was at
Raven's Point. He sold his own flesh and blood into slavery, hating the thought
that his superior blood was mixed with a race he so despised. Did you meet Cleo
yesterday? She also works as his housekeeper. She's one of the most beautiful
women I've ever known. Other than you," he added bitterly.