“Thank you, Adam,” she murmured when he returned to the hall. The light was so dim this far from her bed that she could barely see him, but from the soft rustling of his clothing she knew he was very close. She could smell him, too, that heavy, masculine scent that always had such a strange effect on her. Becoming disconcerted by his nearness and the enveloping darkness, she moved abruptly to the door. “I had a very nice evening. I hope we can play billiards again soon—”
Susanna gasped sharply as he grabbed her arm, not roughly but firmly, and drew her back to him.
“You’re in such a hurry, Camille,” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck as he enfolded her in his embrace. “I’ve taught you so many things today, I thought you might want to learn how a man courting a woman says good night.”
“V-very well, Adam,” she replied, desperately wanting to scream out “No!” yet knowing that if she refused she would negate all the progress she had made in misleading him tonight. Her mind raced as he gently nibbled her earlobe, her thoughts somersaulting.
She could manage this, she assured herself, feeling shivers of sensation radiate from the ticklish point just beneath her ear where his mouth was wandering. She was the one teasing him. She was in control here, not him. She was in control … oh, dear God, why was he nibbling her ear again? She clutched his coat, unable to deny how wonderful it felt.
“When a man bids his beloved good night, he kisses her on the lips,” Adam murmured, his breath a feather-light whisper on her flushed cheek. “Like this … very gently at first, so he doesn’t startle her.”
Susanna tensed when his mouth moved over hers, warm and fragrant with wine, yet with such a light pressure she unwittingly ached for more. She relaxed in his arms, liking very much what he was doing to her mouth yet knowing she should stop him. Why, then, couldn’t she find the words with which to speak?
“If he thinks she’s pleased with his kiss,” Adam whispered against her slightly parted lips, “then maybe he’ll make it a little rougher … a little deeper …”
A low moan broke from her throat when his mouth became heavier upon hers, growing more insistent, more demanding, and she wound her arms around his neck as she leaned into his hard body. She felt a frightening wildness brewing inside her, like the time that boy had kissed her in the coach house, but now it was so much stronger that she was shaken all the way to her toes by its gathering intensity. She sensed there was more he could give her and she wanted it … oh, she wanted it terribly.
With a wantonness she didn’t know she possessed, she opened her mouth to him as his tongue slowly wet her lips then plunged inside to seek her softness, his arms tightening around her like bands of iron. She tasted his mouth as boldly as he ravaged hers, his husky groan exciting her all the more. Then, just as suddenly, she was standing dazed and disoriented against the wall with only his hands supporting her waist.
“And if a man knows what’s best for the woman concerned,” she heard Adam say, his fingers tracing her swollen lips in the dark, “though he would like nothing more than to stay … Oh, God, Camille …”
He didn’t finish but guided her quickly into her room and shut the door firmly between them. Trembling and breathless, she leaned her forehead upon the wood, her hand to her throat, her pulse racing beneath her fingertips.
“Draw the bolt, Camille,” came his voice through the door, ragged yet resolute. “I want to know that you’re … safe.”
As she did what he commanded, her fumbling fingers at last managing to hold onto the lock, the jarring sound of the bolt sliding into place shattered the spell that gripped her.
Tears stung her eyes, her emotions in chaos. She waited until his footsteps receded down the hall, then she silently cursed him for how he was making her feel … wishing futilely, incredibly, that she was still just a lady’s maid and that he wanted her, Susanna Jane Guthrie, not Camille.
Chapter 9
Adam leaned his shoulder against a tree and watched with barely concealed irritation as the absurd scene was played out not far from him on the mansion’s side lawn.
Camille was seated in the shade of a giant spreading oak, looking lovelier than any woman ought to in a sky-blue frock and matching straw hat, while sitting on the bench next to her, standing behind her, and kneeling on the ground at her feet were well over a dozen young men, planters’ sons every one. The only redeeming factor in the picture that so frustrated Adam was that several women were there, too, clutching tightly to their sweethearts’ arms and appearing none too happy about the sudden appearance of this new rival in the Tidewater.
Too bad he couldn’t tell those nervous belles that their fears were misplaced, Adam thought, and tell Camille’s fawning entourage that their hopes were for naught. He certainly had been tempted to do just that many times already, and there was still the long evening ahead of him.
She had been surrounded like this since the carriages had first begun arriving at Briarwood shortly before noon, starting first in the main hall where she had greeted her guests, then in the drawing room and adjoining dining room where light refreshments had been served while a sumptuous picnic dinner was being set up outside. Adam hadn’t been able to speak with her yet due to an inspection of the fields which had occupied him much of the morning, and now with this admiring audience, he didn’t know when he would find a chance to be alone with her. Everywhere she went she was being hounded by these persistent pups, some of them barely out of their teens, their faces still spotted.
It made him sick to watch the ridiculous spectacle they were making of themselves, posturing and preening in their attempts to outmaneuver each other in hopes of gaining her notice, yet thankfully Camille appeared to be holding up well. So far she hadn’t burst into tears or hidden herself in her room; actually, she seemed to be making a very brave attempt to enjoy herself and become acquainted with her guests. He could tell from her shy responses to their eager queries, however, that she must be overwhelmed by all the attention.
“Could I bring you something more to eat, Miss Cary? Another piece of barbequed chicken or a slice of veal pie?”
“No, thank you.”
‘Tow about more lemon punch?” another piped up.
“I still have some in my glass, thank you.”
“Would you like dessert, Miss Cary? I saw a tempting peach cobbler on the table—”
“No, not yet, but maybe in a little while.”
“I could bring a cushion for your feet. Would you like that, Miss Cary?”
“Thank you, Matthew, but I’m fine. Really.”
The bastard, Adam thought, his narrowed gaze settling upon Robert Grymes’s eldest son.
Already as portly as his father, with soft, rounded shoulders that had never seen a day’s hard work, Matthew Grymes had been pestering Camille since he had clumsily dismounted from his horse and offered her an enthusiastic bow so low to the ground he had practically lost his powdered wig. Somehow he had weasled the seat next to her on the bench, his fat, pug-nosed face sickeningly adoring as he stared at her as if she was the answer to his prayers. By God, what Adam would give to collar that rascal, all of them for that matter, and toss them into the river to cool their ardor.
“Lovely day for a welcome ball, wouldn’t you say, Adam? Shade on the warm side, but that’s to be expected for early August, I suppose.”
Adam glanced at Robert Grymes, who was sopping up the sweat on his forehead with an already stained handkerchief. Adam offered the planter only a curt nod before veering his gaze back to Camille.
“The heat doesn’t appear to be affecting Miss Cary, I’m happy to see,” Robert added. “She looks as pretty as a flower and quite fully recovered from her journey. I would even venture to say that she seems to be having a good time for someone who supposedly doesn’t like parties, which is just what I expected. When she sees how much fun we Virginians have at our gatherings, she’ll forget all this nonsense about being shy and join right in. That’s what my Celeste did.”
Adam wanted to reply that Grymes didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, that Camille was simply enduring her neighbors’ attentions for her father’s sake, but he refrained when the sound of laughter carried to him. Camille was smiling at someone’s comment, which annoyed him, but he had missed whatever had been said due to the planter’s asinine babbling.
Wondering with a twinge of jealousy what had so amused her, Adam recalled the countless smiles she had bestowed upon him last night. There were so many incredible things for him to remember about their evening together, the kinds of memories that had made sleep almost impossible: the throaty warmth of her laughter, the way her eyes glowed in the candlelight, her delightfully flirtatious manner, the delicate lavender scent of her perfume, her kiss, the astonishing depth of her passion … Dammit, he didn’t want her smiling at anyone but him!
“They’re starting up some card games in the house,” Robert continued, undaunted by Adam’s reticence. “Have any inclination to play? With this crowd of planters, I’ll wager the stakes will be high. I know how free my boys are with their money—”
“I don’t gamble,” Adam said, cutting him off.
“Oh, that’s right. I’d heard that … Guess I simply forgot. Forgive me for asking, my boy.”
Silence settled between them, and Adam was just about to excuse himself and move closer to where Camille was sitting when Robert suddenly blurted, “Ah, there’s Celeste now, just come from the house with her mother. It’s been a while since you’ve seen my darling girl, hasn’t it, Adam? Why, I believe the last time was at the Carters’ ball in May. If I remember correctly, you and she even danced a time or two. What a fine pair you made!”
Adam groaned inwardly, surmising exactly what Grymes was up to as he waved over his wife and daughter.
The planter had foisted the pretty redhead upon him on several occasions since James Cary had died, and although Grymes hadn’t come right out and said it, he seemed eager for Adam to spend time with her. No doubt he wanted him to ask for permission to court Celeste, much as a half dozen other planters wanted him to make the same request for their daughters. They all seemed to believe that a crop master marrying into the family was the same thing as gold jangling in their pockets.
True enough, Adam thought, watching as Celeste smilingly approached with a cheerful-faced Mrs. Grymes, but he didn’t want any of their daughters. Nor did it matter to him that most of these young women were beauties in their own right, with sizable dowries to match.
The only dowry he wanted was Briarwood. The only woman, Camille. Especially now.
All he had to do was recall the raging heat in his loins last night to know that his need to possess her was reaching new and altogether unexpected proportions. It was coming to the point where he wasn’t sure anymore if revenge was driving him or desire. He was only certain that he wanted her, more than he had ever wanted any woman, and that soon she would become his wife. That knowledge was the one thing that made it possible to tolerate this insufferable gathering.
Adam glanced again toward the gigantic oak and cursed under his breath when he saw that she was now walking toward the garden with her burgeoning entourage in tow. Damn, he would follow her if only
“How nice to see you again, Mr. Thornton,” said Charity Grymes, her pleasant voice only irritating him further. Reluctantly he forced his attention back to their little group.
“Mrs. Grymes. Miss Grymes.”
“It’s indeed a pleasure,” Celeste added saucily, fluttering her fan, “although I do wish you’d call me by my first name, as I asked you to the last time we met, Mr. Thornton. ‘Miss Grymes’ sounds so stiff. And would you mind if I called you Adam? It seems only right, considering we’re such close neighbors. And we have danced together before…”
“As you wish,” Adam replied, dryly amused by her boldness. He couldn’t imagine this young woman ever having been shy, no matter what her father had said about her. Though her freckled cheeks were flushed pink under his scrutiny, he could tell by the lively sparkle in her china-blue eyes that she was enjoying the attention. Clearly she welcomed her father’s plans for her.
“My, it is warm out here, don’t you agree?” Robert asked his wife, mopping the back of his neck. “Why don’t you and I retire to that refreshing punch bowl while Adam escorts our Celeste through the garden.” He smiled at his daughter like a true co-conspirator. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my dear?”
Appearing not at all embarrassed by her father’s obvious ruse to get them alone, Celeste replied, “I’d adore a walk in the garden.”
“By all means, then,” Adam said, knowing from their surprised expressions that they were somewhat taken aback by his ready agreement. He was aware that he had a reputation throughout the Tidewater for being aloof and brusque, a facade he had assumed to protect himself from just this sort of situation. But Grymes’s opportune suggestion was the perfect way to keep an eye on Camille. “I would hate to disappoint so pretty a young lady.”
“Harrumph … uh, yes,” Robert said, his expression still tinged with disbelief as he looped his arm through his wife’s. “Well, enjoy yourselves.”
Adam put his hand lightly beneath Celeste’s elbow, then wished he hadn’t when she smiled flirtatiously up at him through her long russet lashes. As they strolled toward the garden, he knew they were turning some heads, which also annoyed him. Datum if two people couldn’t be seen innocently together without starting up the rumor mill!
“The Carys have always had the loveliest garden,” Celeste commented, pausing to smell a scarlet rose.
Adam scanned the grounds as she bent her head. His heart raced as he spied Camille, seated by the river at the same point where he had first revealed his intention to marry her.
Was she sending him a private message? he wondered. That despite the many young men surrounding her, she was thinking of him? He would like to believe that was the case. He wished there was some way he could hurry Celeste, but she seemed determined to smell every flower along the path.
“Have you met Miss Cary?” he asked, hoping there was a remote chance she hadn’t. That would certainly make a good excuse for hastening her toward the river.
“Yes, when we arrived,” Celeste replied, smiling as she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Lovely girl. A bit reserved, just like Papa told us she might be, but I’m sure that will change once she becomes better acquainted with everyone.” She turned back to the roses, inhaling deeply. “In fact, I think Camille and I might become good friends. We had a nice chat in the drawing room.”
“Really?” Adam queried, his casual tone belying his vexation that her assessment of Camille’s character matched her father’s.
Did they seriously believe a few outings would permanently alter Camille’s personality? So the woman was shy! Why did everyone feel the need to change her? He liked her exactly the way she was—well, he had to admit her coquettish behavior last night had captivated him. But that was different. Of course she would feel free to behave like that around him. She trusted him, and they were going to be married, for God’s sake.
“Yes, a lovely chat,” Celeste said, twirling the yellow rose she had just plucked as they proceeded down the path. “I told her about all the exciting events coming up—Amy Johnson’s birthday picnic, dinner parties here and there, the horse races at the Tate plantation near Williamsburg, the Byrds’ annual summer ball at Westover near the end of the month. Oh, so many more, and I insisted she must attend them all. She balked a little, but when I said she could accompany me and my brothers, she agreed. Such a silly goose! I think she imagined at first that she might have to go alone, which I suppose would be a daunting prospect for any newcomer.”
If Adam had ever come close to strangling anyone, it was in that moment.
First Robert Grymes had coerced Camille into having this ball, and now his social butterfly of a daughter was demanding that she traipse all over the Tidewater with her. He didn’t believe for an instant t
hat Camille had agreed to such a proposition. Knowing her as he did, he’d wager his last dollar that she had simply said she might go along even though she hadn’t really meant it. That would have been the courteous thing to do, and from what he had seen, Camille was unfailingly polite.
“Matthew was elated when he heard the news, of course,” Celeste continued, oblivious to Adam’s growing anger. “He’s smitten with her and actually begged her to call him by his first name, though he wouldn’t dare presume to address her as anything but Miss Cary, at least for now. He’s very concerned with propriety, especially when it comes to courting a woman—”
“Courting?” Adam said abruptly.
“Why, yes,” she answered, pausing to study him. “It’s been common knowledge for months that Camille came home to Virginia to find herself a husband. The only question is when. Don’t tell me you didn’t know this, Adam.”
He was so tempted to tell her that he was already courting Camille, with the full expectation that they would marry, that he could barely choke down the words. Silently cursing his agreement to keep their courtship secret, he said tightly, “James Cary informed me last autumn that he was sending for his daughter, and why.”
“Well then, why do you seem so surprised?” Celeste asked, giggling as she gestured to the animated group by the riverbank, which was made up of twice as many young men as women. “Most of those gentlemen are interested in courting Camille, and the ones already spoken for probably wish they hadn’t been cornered before she arrived.”
Adam’s gaze was focused not on the crowd but upon a wide-brimmed sky-blue hat and the beautiful face beneath it. It seemed as if she was looking at him across the garden, though he couldn’t be sure. Yet the thought that she might be made him ache to be near her.
“Matthew is going to have an uphill on his hands with so much competition. That’s why I decided to take it upon myself to help him out. Perhaps her spending time with us will give him the edge he needs to win her. She’s the prize catch of the Tidewater, you know.” Celeste turned back to Adam, the rose falling still in her fingers. Her eyes were as inquisitive as her expression was guarded. “I don’t suppose you’ve considered courting her yourself, have you, Adam? I know it’s presumptuous for me to ask, but there are those who would find such news … distressing.”
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