“I’m sorry,” Susanna asked, not sure what he had just intimated. “I don’t understand—”
“It was nothing. Don’t trouble yourself,” he interrupted as smoothly as silk when they stepped toward each other. “Beautiful young women leave such details to their husbands. In your case” —he smiled meaningfully at her— “to your future husband.” They parted, then drew together again, although now his expression was serious. “Bluntly speaking, I want to be that man, Camille. “
Susanna drew in her breath sharply, astonished and cautiously elated by his bold admission.
Now that she knew exactly what Dominick’s intentions were toward her, she would have to move with some restraint. She had to make an important decision, after all, one which would affect not only her future but Briarwood’s as well. She wanted to become better acquainted with him and to see his home, Raven’s Point. She already sensed that he was the kind of man she had vowed to wed—rich, prominent, and eligible—but she wanted to be sure he met with all of Lady Redmayne’s criteria. Camille had charged her to marry wisely, and so she would.
Of course she would also have to consider Adam, Susanna thought resentfully, spying him out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning against the doorjamb, glaring not so much at her as at Dominick. Oh, if only he wouldn’t scowl so! Someone would surely guess why he was upset.
“Has my confession pleased or dismayed you?” Dominick asked, catching her furtive glance in Adam’s direction. “You seem troubled, Camille.”
“It is only that this is so sudden,” she answered hastily, gifting him with a smile that she hoped would divert him. “Perhaps when we know each other better …”
“That is my desire, to know you better, ” he murmured, his cool fingers caressing her hand as they circled each other. “If I may, I would like to call upon you in the coming days—”
“Well, actually I’ve been invited to a host of social events which will take me away from Briarwood much of the time,” Susanna said, doing her best to sway him from any thoughts of visiting the plantation during the next few weeks. Adam would know at once that Dominick was paying her court, and until she was sure she wanted to marry this man, she didn’t dare risk losing Adam as her plantation manager.
“Then perhaps you can tell me where I might find you,” Dominick suggested. “We could meet here and there and become better acquainted.” He glanced pointedly at the half dozen or so young men who weren’t yet dancing, a cow-eyed Matthew Grymes among them. “I fear that tonight we’ll have little chance to speak further, my dear. You have a wealth of eager partners seeking your hand, and it is only fair that I relinquish you to them, since it is your welcome ball. In the future, however, I promise that you won’t find me so charitable.”
Susanna shivered at the forceful intent behind his words, although he still spoke in low tones. Dominick Spencer was clearly a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted. Obliging him, she enumerated her plans for the days ahead, at least as far as she knew them, adding softly, “If I decide to attend any other functions, I could always send you a message …”
“Splendid,” he murmured with an almost smug smile as the minuet began to draw to a close. “By the way, beautiful lady, I must tell you that you dance exquisitely. You must have had an excellent teacher in England. I would say your grace and skill surpass most of the ladies present.”
She nearly choked, gratified by his compliment yet flushing uncomfortably as she recalled her lesson with Adam and its passionate conclusion. “Thank you,” she replied simply, not trusting herself to say more.
“Remember,” Dominick reminded her when the music ceased, the guests’ conversations and enthusiastic applause swelling around them, “I claim the last dance, Camille.”
Before she could respond, he bowed with the same practiced flourish and left her, his back stiff and straight as he walked toward the game room, his voice authoritative as he acknowledged greetings and comments from other guests. Yet Susanna had little time to reflect upon how well-respected he seemed to be, before Matthew Grymes practically ran across the dance floor in his unabashed haste to beat the other gentlemen to her side.
“We’re going to dance the Sir Roger de Coverley,” he said excitedly, his round face already mottled and sweaty despite the fresh breeze wafting through the open windows. “Do you know it, Miss Cary?”
“I think so,” she replied, vaguely recalling Adam telling her it was the name for a lively reel.
“Well, don’t worry, I’ll show you. It’s great fun!”
As Matthew took her hands in his clammy palms, she forced a smile while wishing that Dominick had insisted upon being her partner for the entire evening. She expected he would now have to amuse himself in that smoky game room, playing cards and shooting billiards while most everybody else danced the hours away. What a sad reward for his thoughtful gallantry.
The music began and Susanna was swept into the dance by her enthusiastic yet clumsy partner. It turned out to be the same dance she and Adam had enjoyed the night before, which had ended when she had collapsed breathlessly into his arms. She had no intention of doing that with Matthew. She was delighted when he told her that at intervals everyone exchanged partners, although when she suddenly spied a giggling Celeste being whirled along by Adam, she hoped she wouldn’t end up paired with him.
To her surprise Adam actually seemed to be having a good time now that she wasn’t dancing with Dominick, or else he was putting up a very good front. Occasionally she heard his low, husky laughter, which irked her. She had told him to deceive Celeste, but he didn’t have to charm her so thoroughly—
What the devil’s the matter with you? Susanna scolded herself, wincing as she failed to avoid Matthew’s stomping feet. What did she care if Adam was paying attention to Celeste? No doubt he would end up marrying the vivacious redhead when she herself chose someone else.
“We’re about to … change partners, Miss Cary,” Matthew said, huffing, sweat trickling from beneath his powdered tie-wig. “But I’ll have you back … by the end of the dance.”
It was on Susanna’s tongue to utter a gracious reply, but when he trounced again upon her toe she hissed in exasperation, “Watch your bloody feet, Matthew!”
Gaping at her in astonishment, he spun her into the next gentleman’s arms. Susanna, regretting her unthinking remark and knowing she must apologize later, was relieved to discover her new partner was Adam, but only for the respite she knew he would offer her bruised toes.
“I’ve missed you, my love,” he said, loud enough for only her to hear as they followed the spirited line of couples across the dance floor. His eyes glittered at her possessively, the tiny flecks of gold in his gaze heightened by the blazing candlelight overhead, and she felt a heady rush of warmth.
“And I, you,” she lied, although she suspected from her strange giddiness in holding his hands that she had missed him, if only a little. Fleetingly she marveled at how warm his skin felt while Dominick’s had been so cool, then she added, “You and Celeste seem to be enjoying yourselves. I heard you laughing.”
“Jealous?”
Susanna attempted a flippant smile, realizing in that moment how deeply his query had cut her and that she might very well be jealous. “Not at all,” she replied, keeping her voice light. “And you?”
He sobered, his expression becoming hard, although his eyes held a tormented and poignant vulnerability she had never seen before. “Should I be?” he asked as he prepared to hand her over to her next partner.
“Of course not, Adam,” she lied again, feeling guilty when relief flickered over his handsome features. Then she was whisked from his arms and halfway across the floor before she caught another glimpse of him, his gaze hungrily capturing hers through the swirl of laughing dancers.
For one heart-stopping instant she had the oddest sensation that they were alone in the room, just the two of them, dancing together despite that she held another man’s hands and he, another woman’s. Unwi
ttingly, again she found herself wishing that she wasn’t living a lie with its rigid obligations … wishing he didn’t have his every hope set upon marrying a rich heiress … oh, God, wishing … wishing …
“There! I told you I’d get you back!” enthused Matthew, his breathless voice shattering her thoughts into shards of hopeless fantasy. Seemingly undaunted by her earlier rudeness to him, he added earnestly, “I’ll try to be more careful, Miss Cary, I promise. I didn’t mean to step on your feet.”
Susanna smiled, but there was no pleasure behind it, even as the dance ended and Thomas Dandridge, despite Matthew’s protests, swept her into another minuet.
For her, the sparkling excitement of the evening was gone. All she could think of was the tortured look in Adam’s eyes which had revealed not only that he was jealous, painfully so, but also that he might be falling in love.
With Camille.
Not with Susanna Jane Guthrie.
And, heaven help her for being a fool, there was a chance she might be falling in love with him, too.
***
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Dominick said, maintaining a congenial tone despite the irritation that gnawed like a thousand maggots at his gut. As he rose he attempted not to dwell on the large sum of money he had lost so far this evening. “I’d like to see how the ball is progressing. But rest assured, my friends, I will be back. “
As he swallowed the last of his ruby port and moved to the door, the grandfather clock chimed a quarter past eleven.
It was early yet. He still had plenty of time to recoup his losses before the last dance of the evening, and no doubt the card playing would continue even after the rest of the house grew quiet. He had seen many a sunrise from gaming tables, as had other gentlemen of his acquaintance for whom gambling was as essential as breathing.
Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if he and his half dozen or so compatriots heralded the dawn with a rousing and bloody cockfight. He knew he wasn’t the only planter who had brought along his prize bird for just such a possibility. He usually fared better wagering on cockfights and horse races anyway, although not so well that he didn’t suffer some financial loss. He had been on one long losing streak for the past eight years, the good days when he chanced to break even becoming fewer and farther between.
As an acute pain twisted his stomach again, Dominick cursed under his breath. Closing the game room door behind him, he surveyed the crowded ballroom.
Where was that little chit? he wondered with annoyance, his narrowed gaze skimming over the many couples engaged in a lively saraband. Where was Miss Camille Cary, the mistress of Briarwood and the answer to his prayers?
She was a pretty piece, though she could have been as ugly as a field toad for all he cared. All he wanted was her vast fortune, which would save him from bankruptcy—and he would have it, too. She had been like butter in his hands earlier tonight, as acquiescent as a lamb going to the slaughter. He had seen in her eyes how impressed she was with him. For the way she had stared after he introduced himself, he might as well have been King George II of England!
If there was one thing he knew how to do well, it was to keep up the appearance of wealth no matter how bad things were getting at Raven’s Point. Even his immediate neighbors and gambling associates didn’t know how deeply into debt he had fallen, a further testament to his ability to deceive the world. Fooling a naive slip of a girl would pose him no difficulty. He had every expectation that after a few more pleasant meetings, a good sprinkling of compliments, and another costly gift or two—all of which would revert back to his possession once they were married—she would play right into his hands.
It seemed that the hardest part had been getting her father out of the way so he had the freedom to court her, and even that he had accomplished easily enough. Making it appear that James Cary had accidentally shot himself with his own loaded hunting musket while climbing over a low fieldstone wall had truly been an inspired touch—
“Enjoying the ball, Dominick?” Robert Grymes blustered jovially as he ambled up, his bulbous nose and fat cheeks red from drinking.
“Well enough,” Dominick replied, paying the drunken planter little heed as his gaze again swept the ballroom. “What of our beautiful hostess? I don’t see her.”
“Miss Cary retired to her chamber over a half hour ago,” Robert informed him, shrugging. “My son Matthew was dancing with her when she suddenly complained of a headache and bade him good night. She must still be recovering from her journey after all.”
“I suppose,” Dominick murmured, thinking it strange.
Camille had seemed radiant and happy enough while they were dancing, except for that brief moment when he had caught her glancing at Adam Thornton. Now there was one insolent bastard he should have whipped to death when he had the chance. He wouldn’t be surprised if her sudden unease had been due to his unwelcome appearance in her ballroom.
It must have been a rude shock for her to discover the license her father had granted that base, illiterate son of a miner who had somehow managed over the years to distinguish himself as a crop master. It made Dominick sick to think that his former indentured servant, the surliest, most mutinous he’d ever come across, was living in this house and managing one of the richest plantations in the Tidewater. He certainly wouldn’t tolerate Adam’s loathsome presence once he was the master of Briarwood. He would have him horsewhipped right off his property.
“She did look a bit pale to me, I must admit,” Robert added with a loud hiccough, then he grimaced. “Nine weeks at sea aboard a disease-ridden vessel …”
Banishing Adam from his mind, Dominick reasoned that it did make sense that Camille might still be fatigued from such a long and arduous voyage. He would have to be extra solicitous of her at the Johnson girl’s birthday party on Tuesday, which would be the next time he saw her. He intended to leave Briarwood shortly after daybreak tomorrow. He always spent Sunday afternoons in bed with his mistress, Cleo, the only woman he had ever come close to loving.
“Pity, though. Miss Cary’s missing a splendid good time.” Robert belched loudly, reeling a little to the left. “Too bad about the last dance she promised you, eh, Dominick? Heard all about it from Matthew, who hoped he’d be the one honored. You’re not thinking of throwing a bid for her into the hat with all the younger boys, are you? Good God, man, you could be her father!”
Dominick didn’t deem the slurred comment worthy of an answer, nor would he waste more of his time on this fat, babbling fool. If Camille had gone to bed, there was no point in remaining in this noisy ballroom.
Without even a nod of farewell, he disappeared into the dim, smoke-filled game room, his palms itching to once again pick up the cards.
***
Adam stood just outside the yellow spill of light from the ballroom’s high arched windows, the shadows of the humid summer night enveloping him, and watched grimly as Dominick closed the game room door in Robert Grymes’s face.
“Go on, you bastard,” he muttered, his fingers tightening around his snifter of brandy. “Murdering devil. Go gamble away what little money you have left. You’ll only make my revenge that much easier, and that much sweeter.”
He lifted the glass and drank deeply, the dark amber liquid burning his throat like the fiery hatred coursing through his body.
The intensity of his feeling echoed the jealous fury he had felt earlier when he had entered the ballroom to find Dominick dancing with Camille, smiling at her, conversing quietly with her, holding her hand. His beautiful Camille! If not for her assurances that they would announce their betrothal in a few weeks’ time, he would have ended their secret courtship then and there by throwing that fiendish spawn of Satan right out the front door, along with the rest of her slathering suitors.
Drawing a deep, ragged breath, Adam’s gaze shot to the second-story window high above him, the soft candlelight that streaked the delicate lace curtains proof that she was still awake. She had disappeared from the ballroom s
o suddenly while he had been dancing a gavotte with Celeste that he hadn’t had a chance to bid her good night. He had left immediately thereafter himself, despite his partner’s pretty sulking. He had been standing beneath Camille’s window for almost an hour now, hoping to catch a last glimpse of her before he, too, went to bed.
It was not to be. Suddenly the dim light was doused, her room falling dark.
“Damn.” Adam turned on his heel and strode toward the coach house, growing angry with himself.
He could have gone to her and inquired as to how she was feeling, if he hadn’t so readily agreed to sleep in his office. Matthew had told him she had complained of a headache and fatigue, which told him that the commotion of the evening had been too much for her. Now he would have to wait until morning to see her while someone else slept in his bed, in his room, only two doors away from his beloved.
He stopped, stunned, and glanced back at her darkened windows.
His beloved. Was that what Camille was becoming to him? He had never expected that he might fall in love with her, but it was happening, he admitted, and almost without his awareness of her evolution from the mere instrument of his revenge into the fascinating woman who was capturing his heart.
If anything, this long, frustrating day had driven home his powerful feelings with resounding force. He didn’t want any other man near her. He didn’t want any other man touching her. He didn’t want anyone sharing her beautiful smiles, her laughter, or her playful glances. Dammit, then why had he agreed to continue their secret courtship? Why had he agreed to play her deceptive little game, which would only draw more men to her like buzzing bees around the sweetest, most fragrant wildflower in the field?
Remembering the plea in her incredible green eyes, Adam shook his head as he resumed his stride. It was amazing what a man would do for the love of a woman.
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