Defiant Impostor

by Miriam Minger

  Adam had to fight the instinct to tell Grymes he’d do far better cultivating turnips in his impoverished soil, but he held his tongue. The last thing he wanted to do right now was discuss tobacco.

  “I’ll keep your offer in mind,” he lied, eager to end their discourse. “Excuse me.”

  Resuming his powerful strides, he didn’t care if the somewhat affronted planter kept up with him or not. As Adam approached the group gathered near the gangplank, Benjamin Carter, a wealthy town merchant as stout as Robert Grymes, nodded a greeting and stepped aside to admit Adam to their circle.

  “I heard about the fever,” Adam said tightly, shooting another glance at the crowded railing, only to be disappointed again. “Has the physician finished his inspection of the ship?”

  “Not yet,” answered the heavily jowled older man, his expression grim as he shook his bewigged head. “Nasty bit of business, this. At least half the passengers lost and two-thirds of the crew, including Captain Keyes. Damn pity. He was an honorable man. Traded with him for years, just like the Carys.”

  So the feisty old salt had finally met his end, Adam thought, distressed by this news. He had liked Samuel Keyes, almost as much as he had liked James Cary. He had listened to the two men swap many a tale in front of a roaring fire at Briarwood. Now they were both gone. And Camille?

  His every muscle taut, he found it difficult to voice his next question. “Is there a list of surviving passengers? James Cary’s daughter was to be on this ship. Captain Keyes had gone to England to fetch her home.”

  “Cary’s daughter, you say?” blustered Robert Grymes, who had joined their group and been listening to their exchange in openmouthed disbelief. “Good God!”

  Benjamin Carter’s face was even more grave as he held out a rolled document. “The physician’s aide just brought us their official list. Perhaps you might want to take a look first …”

  Adam took the document from the merchant, his breath dammed in his chest as he ignored the apprehensive glances from the silent men surrounding him. He unrolled the stiff paper and read quickly, his eyes drawing like a magnet to one name.

  Camille Cary.

  A tic flashed across his tightened jaw, and he tried not to show his immense relief.

  She was alive. His ambitious plan for revenge was still intact.

  “Well?” came Robert Grymes’s demanding query.

  “She’s on the list.” Adam’s pronouncement was greeted with a collective exhalation of breath.

  “Splendid!” Robert enthused, a smile splitting his round, sunburned face. “I shall extend an invitation this very day for her to share supper with us at her earliest convenience. I’m most eager for Miss Cary to meet Matthew, my eldest son.”

  I’ll wager you are, Adam thought dryly, noting the shrewd, speculative gleams in the eyes of several of his companions, whom he knew to have unmarried sons.

  As one of the richest heiresses in the Tidewater, Camille was already creating a stir and she hadn’t even set foot on Virginia’s soil. Yet she had been causing a tumult in his own life since he had learned that the wealthy tobacco planter James Cary had an only daughter being educated in England who would return to the colony one day to be wed. When his period of indenture had finally ended and he had become a free man, Adam had looked no further than Briarwood for a job.

  He had hired on as an overseer five years ago at the age of twenty-four. Even then he had known that he would somehow marry her, and no one would keep him from it. Not Matthew Grymes. Not any other planter’s privileged, indolent son with his eye on marrying an heiress. Not Satan himself. Camille formed the very heart of his plan. He couldn’t enact it without her.

  Everything Adam had done since that first day at Briarwood, everything he had become, had been for one reason: revenge. Not a swift revenge settled by sword or pistol, but a long, tortuous revenge like the slow oozing of blood from a tiny puncture wound. Until he destroyed Dominick Spencer, the planter who had made his life a horrible nightmare during his eleven years of indenture, the man responsible for the senseless deaths of his parents, he would never be at peace.

  Perhaps he would find no peace even then. His body, mind, and heart bore permanent scars from Dominick’s cruel abuse. He would never forgive, or forget.

  Just to be standing here among these prosperous merchants and planters, and treated as an equal, had taken years of backbreaking work. He had come a hell of a long way since his days as an indentured servant laboring in the tobacco fields with a hoe in his callused hands.

  Within two years as an overseer at Briarwood, he had been elevated to plantation manager and James Cary’s trusted right-hand man, yet that hadn’t been enough for him. He had worked even harder and become renowned as a crop master, a man possessing superior judgment in the production of tobacco, a man called upon for advice by other planters even though he owned no land himself.

  This title had won him respect and entrance into the Tidewater’s highest social circles, but it still wasn’t enough. Only when he possessed his own plantation would he have the wealth he needed to set into motion his plan for revenge, and he wanted Briarwood, one of the richest and most fertile plantations along the York River.

  There was only one way to get it: Camille.

  Upon hearing that she had finally been summoned home to Virginia, Adam hadn’t been surprised when James Cary had given him permission to court her; the planter had been pleased that Adam had asked, saying he would wholeheartedly recommend the match to Camille when she arrived. James had taken a liking to him and had always treated him like a son, having lost his own two young sons many years ago. Adam had used this affection to his advantage. He had done everything in his power to prove to the planter that he could be trusted, that he was worthy to be considered as a suitor for his daughter, and as damn good as any other man who might offer for her.

  At first, considering his motives, Adam had experienced some guilt for the strong bond that had developed between them, but it had faded in the knowledge that when he owned Briarwood, he would respect and care for the house and land as well as James Cary had and make it prosper as never before. Adam had allowed himself to grow close to his employer, as close as he had been to anyone since the death of his parents.

  Only a few months after Adam had received permission to court Camille, James Cary had been killed in a hunting accident, or so it had been concluded by the county constable. Although Adam had no proof, he believed it was murder. Now he had another score to settle with Dominick Spencer.

  He had seen the two men arguing heatedly the day before the “accident,” and had already learned from James that Dominick also wished to court his daughter, a desire James vehemently opposed. James Cary had made no secret of his intense dislike for the man, especially after seeing the jagged, crisscrossing scars from numerous whippings that were permanently etched across Adam’s back.

  Adam’s suspicions about Dominick Spencer made him all the more impatient to woo Camille quickly and marry her. He would let nothing, and no one, least of all that conniving bastard, stand in the way of his revenge.

  “Careful, man, you’re crushing the passenger list!”

  Robert Grymes’s exclamation pierced Adam’s dark reverie. He opened his tightly closed fist and handed the crumpled document to the planter, and was saved from making a reply by the dull thud of footsteps descending the gangplank. As everyone turned expectantly, Adam could tell at once from the relieved expression upon the physician’s lean, craggy face that the news was good.

  “Well, can the ship be unloaded or not?” one of the merchants demanded. “I’ve a full year’s income of goods in that hold!”

  “Yes,” the physician replied, then added pointedly, as if to reprimand the man for his mercenary concerns, “and the passengers and crew may also disembark. I see no signs of the fever among them, thank God.”

  Adam had to restrain himself from brushing past the physician and bounding up the gangplank to meet the young woman who would bec
ome his wife. Yet he didn’t want to startle her; James had told him she was painfully shy. He planned to court her gently, albeit swiftly.

  He had always had a way with women; it was not conceit to think so, just a fact. He had a gift for sensing what a woman wanted, and he had warmed his bed with lonely, neglected wives seeking discreet diversion, and with willing waiting-maids desiring a night’s pleasure. He already knew that Camille shunned social events, preferring a quiet, sheltered life. He planned to offer her the same, along with his protection. By promising her the serenity she wanted, and backed by her late father’s approval, he was certain that in no time he would easily win her hand in marriage.

  If she was the romantic sort, his wooing of her would be even easier. A few kisses and well-chosen words would only hasten her into his arms. He would do anything, even tell her that he loved her, to ensure his success. Admittedly, such a measure would be despicable—he had never before intentionally misled a woman’s affections—but he had worked too damn long and hard to leave anything to chance.

  “Mr. Thornton.”

  Hearing the familiar deep baritone voice, Adam turned to find a strapping black man standing just off to one side.

  “Good, Elias, you’ve returned with the carriage.”

  “Yes, sir, it’s right over there,” Elias said, nodding to the glistening black coach near Adam’s tethered horse. As the slave glanced with anxious dark eyes at the ship, he twisted his tricorn hat in his huge hands. “Any word about Miss Cary?”

  “She’s aboard and well, as far as I know, but I haven’t seen her yet,” Adam replied. He stepped back as some passengers began walking down the gangplank, their trunks and other goods being hoisted to the dock by the remaining crew.

  “That’s good news, Mr. Thornton! Good news!” Elias exclaimed, a grin cutting across his face. “I’ll go wait by the carriage. Just give a nod when you want me to load the trunks.”

  “Thank you, Elias.” As the big man strode away, his broad back proud and straight, Adam ignored the disapproving looks of his neighboring planters. He had heard it all before. Familiarity with your inferiors will only breed contempt and disrespect. But that had not been James Cary’s creed, nor was it his.

  It was well-known throughout the Tidewater that Cary slaves were treated humanely; many of them had earned their freedom and remained by choice as paid workers at Briarwood. As for himself, Adam had served long enough under the whip to know that cruelty and mistreatment were the surest ways to inspire hatred. None of the overseers at Briarwood owned whips. He could not stomach the sight of them.

  Adam watched intently as more passengers filed off the ship, their sickly pallor and uncertain gait suggesting they had narrowly escaped the fever’s dread clutches. Yet everyone seemed happy to be setting foot upon dry land once more, especially that pretty, dark-haired lady’s maid who had eyed him so lustily a short while ago. As the giggling wench followed a stout matron down the gangplank and onto the dock, her slim arms laden with floral-papered hatboxes, she passed by Adam and tripped. The next thing he knew she was in his arms, hatboxes tumbling to his feet.

  “Oh, thank ye, sir, what a fine, handsome gentl’man ye are!” she gushed, smiling up at him through charcoal-black lashes as she pressed her hands against his hard, well-muscled chest. “I would have taken a nasty tumble for sure if y’ hadn’t caught me.” Wetting her lips seductively, she made no effort to extricate herself from his embrace, adding in a rush, “Me name’s Polly. Polly Blake. Me mistress and I are on our way to Williamsburg. I don’t s’pose y’ might have a residence there, too?”

  Wryly amused by the wench’s boldness and the open invitation in her flirtatious dark eyes, Adam was equally relishing the stirring sensation of her pert breasts pressed against him. But he pushed her away when he realized that they were creating a scene, from his companions’ laughter and the matron’s shocked stare.

  “Allow me to help you with your packages, Miss Blake,” he offered, bending to retrieve the hatboxes.

  As he straightened and handed them to the flattered maid, he spied the glint of honey-gold tresses trailing down the slender back of an elegantly dressed young woman who had just passed him. She continued a short way, swaying ever so slightly, as if she was having difficulty adjusting to walking upon a stationary surface, then she stopped and seemed to study the long line of carriages and wagons just beyond the dock.

  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—certainl
y 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.