Defiant Impostor (30 page)

"Oh, no, me mistress is wavin' to me," Polly
said. "I've got to run. She'll give me a tongue-lashin' for sure if I
don't bring her some cider, and quick." Placing her small hand boldly on
his arm, she gave him a meaningful smile. "It's been wonderful to see y'
again, Mr. Thornton. If things don't work out between ye and Miss Cary, I'd be
more than willin' to help ye forget her. She may not appreciate a fine man like
ye, but I surely would. Just remember, y' can find me in Williamsburg."

She grabbed her two cups of cider and hastened away
just as Celeste reached his side.

"Who was that little chit?" she asked
petulantly, her jealous gaze following Polly's shapely form.

"No one," Adam muttered, tensing as Celeste
turned her face to him, her blue eyes flashing.

"Well, for being no one, you certainly were having
a fine little talk with her. Here I sent you to fetch me a glass of punch and
when I turn around, I see this . . . this common wench fawning all over you.
You can imagine how embarrassing it was to me in front of Annie Custis—"

"Drop it, Celeste," he said, in no mood for
her babble. He had had enough of playing games, and this one he was going to
end. But before he had a chance to say anything, she wound her arm through his
and smiled apologetically in a decided effort to placate him.

"Oh, Adam, let's not quarrel," she cooed.
"If you say that girl was nobody special, then I believe you." She
squeezed his arm, her expression becoming almost conspiratorial. "Besides,
I have the most startling news to tell you, although poor Matthew isn't going
to be very happy about it. But I suppose all is fair in love—"

"What news?" he queried, his breath snagging
in his chest when Celeste glanced toward the willow and then back at him.

"It's a secret yet, Adam, so you have to promise
not to tell anyone. The announcement won't be made until Dominick Spencer
arrives." When she paused, clearly waiting for him to swear his silence,
he considered grabbing her throat and throttling the news out of her. But her
eagerness got the better of her as she blurted in a loud whisper, "Camille
is going to marry Dominick! It's all been arranged."

Adam was so stunned that he stared at her as if she had
just uttered pure gibberish What are you talking about?" he finally
managed, his voice sounding hoarse.

"Annie Custis told me all about it. You know her
family and Dominick are neighbors, don't you? Well, apparently he came by their
house last evening to share his good news. It seems Camille spent a good part
of yesterday with him at Raven's Point, and they decided to announce the
betrothal here at the Tates' before the races get started." Celeste's gaze
skimmed the lawn. "Except I don't see him yet . . . Adam! Where are you
going? Adam!"

He scarcely heard her cries for the blood pounding in
his brain, his narrowed gaze focused upon the pastel splotch of shell pink that
was scarcely visible now for the young men blocking it from his view. He strode
across the lawn, his every step fueled by emotions that twisted in his gut, his
rage at her cruel deception overpowered by an agonizing sense of betrayal.

Why had she done this to him? Why? All he could think
of was how he had held her in his arms last night, swearing his love to her,
while she must have been laughing inside at him . . . laughing . . . laughing .
. .

"Move! Get out of my way," he demanded,
shoving aside several young men before coming face-to-face with her. Looking
into her wide, questioning eyes, a sparkling green as beautiful as a sunlit
sea, he felt such a stab of anguish that he almost doubled over.

"Adam—Mr. Thornton, is something wrong?"

"There's been a fire . . . a fire at Briarwood. I
just received word."

As a collective gasp went up from the assembled
gentlemen, she jumped up from her chair, her lovely, treacherous face gone
white.

"Dear God, no! What are we going to do?"

Adam grabbed her arm and began to pull her through the
crowd. "We've got to go. We've got to get there . . ." He glanced
over his shoulder at Matthew. "We'll take your carriage, Grymes, but I'll
send it back to you as soon as we get to Briarwood."

"All—all right, Mr. Thornton."

"Yes, yes, of course!" she agreed, hastening
beside him. "Oh, this is terrible!"

"Yes, it is," he said, knowing his grip was
cruelly tight upon her arm.

"Is there anything we can do?" Thomas
Dandridge called out, easily catching up to them on his long legs while the
other gentlemen were still gathered in shock beneath the willow. "We could
ride along—"

"No, that won't be necessary," Adam said,
keeping up their frantic pace as they rounded the corner of the house to the
driveway, which was lined with carriages. "The fire's been put out, but
Miss Cary should be there. Some of her servants were injured—"

"Oh, Adam, no!" she cried. "Who?"

"We'll talk about it on the way. Just get
in," he ordered, his loud voice jarring awake the Grymes's coachman, who
had apparently been napping inside the carriage. As Adam swung open the door,
the sheepish man jumped down with a mumbled apology and scrambled into the
driver's seat while she was lifted up into the coach.

"Let's hurry then, Adam. Oh, please, let's
hurry!"

"We will," he replied grimly. He wheeled on
Thomas, who stood helplessly nearby, while some of the other gentlemen were now
rushing around the house toward them, Matthew in the lead and, not
surprisingly, an openmouthed Celeste bringing up the rear.

"Tell everyone what I told you, Dandridge. The
situation is under control, the fire is out. There's no need for anyone to
leave the races. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Thornton. I'll tell them."

"Good. Please give our regrets to the Tates."
He glanced in the shadowed interior of the carriage to find the object of his
wrath sitting at the edge of the seat, her face stricken, then added, "And
give Miss Cary's regrets to Mr. Dominick Spencer. I believe she might have been
expecting him today." Hearing her startled gasp, Adam shouted to the
driver as he climbed into the coach and slammed the door shut. "Briarwood!
With all haste!"

The coach jolted into motion and he was almost thrown
against her, but he regained his balance and took the opposite seat, breathing
hard.

"Wh-what did you mean . . . that I was expecting
Mr. Spencer?" she asked in alarm.

"Only a rumor, really," he said tightly, even
in his fury aware of how truly beautiful she was in her exquisite gown.

"Rumor?"

"Yes, something about a betrothal
announcement."

She blanched, and he could see in her strained
expression her effort to maintain control. Yet her gaze held more than a
glimmer of fear, and he knew then that she suspected he had discovered the
truth.

"You . . . you are mistaken, Adam. We're going to
announce
our
engagement next Saturday
at Briarwood."

"Funny. The rumor I heard was that you and
Dominick Spencer were going to announce your plans to marry today. Oh, yes, and
something about you spending several hours with him yesterday at Raven's Point
to make the arrangements—"

"That's a lie!" she cried. "Surely you
don't believe it, Adam. Who told you? Celeste? She would fabricate something so
absurd."

"Perhaps Elias and Corliss can enlighten us
further when we arrive home," he said, knowing he was tormenting her and
thinking how much she deserved every bit of it, and more. "No wonder they
seemed so unusually quiet after your long day of
shopping
in Yorktown. It's unpleasant when one is forced to lie for
another. Of course, you know all about lying, don't you? You seem to be a
master of it."

"Adam, I can explain," she said, tears
swimming in her eyes. "I can explain!"

"Say what you will, but don't cry for me
again," he said bitterly, hardening his heart against her. "I promise
you, such a ploy will not work with me this time."

"I—I went to his house to return the emerald
necklace, that's all. You must believe me! I knew how much you wanted me to be
rid of his gifts, and I thought that that would please you. I just didn't know
how to tell you that I had gone there. I know you don't like him."

"No, I don't like him," Adam agreed,
"and I might have believed your pretty story if you had told it to me
yesterday. But I'll never believe anything you say again . . . Susanna
Guthrie."

Her mouth fell open in stunned surprise. She remained
silent for a long time, the carriage wheels rumbling and hooves thundering
along the road the only sounds around them. Then she asked him in a small,
monotone voice which he barely heard above the din, "Why did you call me
that? I'm Camille. Camille Cary."

"That's the last lie I'll grant you, Susanna.
Ever. Now, I'm going to have the driver stop this carriage on a side road off
the main thoroughfare and we're going to get out and take a walk. I want to
hear every single word you have to tell me, and God help you, woman, it had
better be the truth! If not, there's a prison nearby in Williamsburg that would
welcome a lying impostor like you with open arms."

Again she paused, clearly in shock, only to ask after
another few interminable moments, "What . . . what of the fire? The
servants who were injured?"

"I lied," he said, then, in shock himself, he
began to laugh. The ragged sound held only raw pain.

Chapter 17

Susanna hurried with a grimly silent Adam past a
densely wooded bend in the road, the Grymes's waiting carriage and the
bewildered coachman vanishing from view.

She scarcely noticed the prickly brambles snagging her
silk gown, or the birds overhead twittering nervously at their sudden
appearance. Nor did she feel the warmth of the early-afternoon sun, which was
intense despite the dappled shade and light breeze. All she knew was that her
careful deception had suddenly been revealed and she was going to pay.

She had no idea what was to become of her. Would Adam
turn her over to the county constable in Williamsburg, as he had threatened in
the coach? What would they do to her when they determined her crime? Lock her
in the pillory where she would be pelted with sticks, stones, and rotten eggs?
Whip her at the post until her back was striped and bleeding? Hang her?

"This is far enough," Adam said, his harsh
voice causing her to flinch as he caught her arm and abruptly stopped her.
"The coachman can't hear us this far away." His expression was deadly
serious, although his arresting brown eyes were filled with torment.
"Camille died aboard the
Charming
Nancy
, didn't she, Susanna?"

How strange it was not to be addressed as Camille, she
thought, remaining dazedly mute. Yet it was almost a relief to be herself
again. She had always known deep in her heart that her masquerade had only a
slim chance of succeeding, that someone might discover she was an impostor. She
had done her best to fulfill her promise to Camille . . . but then again, had
she?

How had she given herself away? Everything had been
going so perfectly up until this morning, when she had sensed that something
was bothering him. Had he known her real identity even before he heard about
her and Dominick?

"Dammit, Susanna, answer me! Did Camille die from
the fever or did you murder her to suit your own selfish ends?"

"What?" she exclaimed. Fierce indignation
swept her at this preposterous charge. "How . . . how dare you ask me such
a thing! Camille Cary and I were friends, the best of friends!" Realizing
she had just admitted to him that she was an impostor, she clamped her mouth
shut. Yet, astonishingly, she didn't regret the revelation. She hadn't felt so
much like her true self since she'd arrived in Virginia.

"Friends have killed friends, and scheming
servants their hapless employers for much less than what you had to gain,"
he countered. "The richest tobacco plantation on the York—"

"Is that what you're going to tell the
constable?" she demanded, finding it exhilarating that she could finally
vent her feelings after weeks of keeping them to herself. Considering the
bleakness of her situation, what did it matter? She had nothing left to lose .
. .

Except, perhaps, her life.

"I might if you don't start talking,
Susanna," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Now answer my
question."

"Of course I didn't murder her," she replied,
her resentment tempered not so much by his threat as by her recollections of
those last terrible days aboard the
Charming
Nancy
. "Camille died from the fever. She was sick for over two weeks .
. . and then she was gone."

"How was the death recorded?"

"I gave them my name, Susanna Jane Guthrie. It's
what Camille wanted me to do."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"A few days before she died, she asked me to take
her place in Virginia if anything happened to her. She must have known how sick
she was . . ." Susanna sighed heavily, remembering their painful
conversation as vividly as if it had taken place only yesterday. "She
wanted me to become Camille Cary, to inherit Briarwood for her. She insisted we
looked so much alike her plan couldn't fail. I tried to tell her that it
wouldn't work, but she wouldn't hear of it. She made me swear."

Adam snorted in derision, his expression incredulous.
"You expect me to believe that? Why would anyone give such a vast
inheritance to someone who wasn't even a family member? You're nothing but a
common waiting-maid, for God's sakes!"

So that's all she was now in his eyes, Susanna thought,
his callous words cutting deeply. It was obvious his professed love had
vanished the instant he realized she was not Camille Cary. Oh, if only her own
overwhelming feelings for him would fade so quickly!