Defiant Impostor (31 page)

No, it was just as well this way, she amended vehemently,
berating herself for ever having believed he might care and shoving away any
thoughts of love. Bastard! It was about time they started looking at each other
from the same level . . . hired man to lady's maid.

"I told you Camille and I were friends, almost
like sisters," she insisted, her outrage mounting anew. "Camille
truly cared about me, cared about what would happen to me if she didn't make it
to Virginia—"

"How touching," Adam broke in sarcastically,
trying to forget what Polly had told him about the woman she thought had been
Camille weeping so miserably at the burial. "But I don't believe you. When
you realized that Camille wasn't going to recover, you saw an opportunity that
you couldn't resist and you took it! The chance for a lady's maid to become a
real lady."

"That's not true! It wasn't like that at
all!"

"It must have been! No one would give away so much
wealth to a servant—"

"Camille would, and she did! She was the most
gentle, the most kind and generous person I've ever known. She never thought
about herself. That's why she got struck down with the fever. One of the rare
times she left our cabin, she tried to help a little boy who had taken sick,
but then she caught it herself. The boy died, his parents . . . and then
Camille."

As Adam briefly pondered Susanna's impassioned words,
he had to admit that, however farfetched her story sounded, everything he had
heard from James Cary about Camille's sweet and giving nature indicated that
she very well might have done such a thing. Then another thought struck him.

"What of Lady Redmayne? She's the rightful heir,
the only one remaining. Surely Camille realized that Briarwood would go to her
aunt if she died—"

"Of course she did!" Susanna interrupted him,
her brilliant eyes flashing emerald fire. "That's the other reason why she
wanted me to have her inheritance, probably the most important one. Camille
thought she was being selfish, but she wasn't. She came up with such a plan out
of love for her father, knowing how hard and long he and her grandfather had
worked to build Briarwood out of Virginia's wilderness and how much they had
loved the land. She knew that her aunt hated the colonies and would never come
here to live. If Lady Redmayne ever inherited Briarwood, the plantation would
be sold outright!"

That much was probably true, Adam grudgingly granted
her, having heard from James Cary of the deep resentment harbored against the
planter and his late father by Lady Redmayne. James had told him that the
stubborn baroness had refused his every invitation to visit Briarwood, saying
she would rather die than ever set foot in such a vile, uncivilized place.

"I was Camille's only hope to save everything her
family had worked and struggled for," Susanna continued, her chin raised
defiantly, "but now Lady Redmayne's going to find out the truth, and where
will that leave you and your own schemes, Mr. Adam Thornton? You won't have
Briarwood, that's for sure—not that I would have let you have it, even if you
hadn't discovered who I was. Either way, you'd find yourself soothing your
grasping ambition with some lesser planter's daughter, like Celeste
Grymes!"

"What are you talking about?" he demanded,
stunned by her vehemence.

"Surely you can imagine! You're an intelligent man
to have come so far! Did you really think that I, as Camille Cary, could have
ever married you, a hired man, a paid worker, a former indentured servant?
Perhaps, as a high and mighty crop master, you might be good enough to wed some
other planters' daughters, but not one who owned the richest plantation on the
York!"

Adam felt as if he had just been slammed hard in the
chest, the tide of their heated exchange suddenly turned against him. "I
had James Cary's permission, his wholehearted approval of the match—"

"So you say. But how do I know you didn't seize
upon Mr. Cary's death to better your own station in life? A hired man becomes
one of the Tidewater's wealthiest planters. What a coup! How do I know that
everything you told me wasn't a lie? You have no proof that he gave you his
blessing, Adam, as I have no proof that Camille wanted me to have Briarwood.
Now, where does that bloody well leave us?"

She was right, Adam thought grimly as a charged silence
rose between them, broken by the distant restless neighing from the Grymes's
matched bays. He had no proof.

Yet had she really believed that everything he had said
to her was a lie? Even that he loved her? No, that couldn't be true! He would
have sworn that she cared about him . . . he had seen a softness in her eyes
whenever she looked at him. He had felt it in the way she returned his kisses,
melted in his embrace, called his name at the height of her passion

What the hell does it matter now? he railed at himself,
attempting to repress his powerful feelings. He had obviously been wrong about
her.

This manipulative, calculating wench was incapable of
love, incapable of thinking of anyone but herself. He didn't believe her story
for a minute. Any woman snobbish enough to reject him just because of his
background would be too insensitive to honor the wishes of a dying heiress.
Susanna's greed lay at the heart of this charade, and nothing else. She might
have been an actress born to the stage, she had deceived him so completely.
Well, there were ways to make her pay, to hurt her as much as he was suffering
right now. It was time to think of the revenge that might still be within his
grasp.

Yet one agonizing question still burned in his mind. He
had to know the answer before their discussion went any farther.

"Why didn't you tell me how you felt at the
beginning, rather than accept my courtship and play me for a fool? When I think
of all the time we spent together . . ." He swallowed hard, his anger
almost choking him. "Dammit, woman, you let me kiss you! Hold you! Touch
you! You led me to believe that you wanted to marry me, that you might even
lov—"

Adam caught himself just in time, knowing he had
revealed too much already. He swore in that moment that the last thing he would
ever tell her again was that he loved her, even when he knew that he still did.
It didn't seem to make any difference to his heart whether she was an heiress
or a waiting-maid. God help him, he still wanted her, and not just for his
revenge. That made him an even bigger fool.

"Everything you said to me, everything you did was
a lie," he went on harshly when she still hadn't answered him, her eyes
large in a lovely face grown pale. "Your promises, your kisses, your
tears, the other night in your bed . . . Damn you, why did you lead me on?
Why?"

Unsettled by the pain in his eyes, Susanna nonetheless
told herself that it was just his male pride which had been sorely bruised and
nothing more. How could it be? He had made it clear he didn't care about her,
Susanna Jane Guthrie, a common waiting-maid. In fact, he seemed to hate her for
what she had done to him. He probably had every intention of throwing her in
prison no matter what she said.

"I had no choice," she finally replied.
"I didn't know anything about tobacco or running a plantation, and until I
found the proper husband, I needed someone to manage the place. If you had
known the truth, you would have left Briarwood."

"It's as simple as that?" he asked, his tone
incredulous.

"Yes."

He gave a short laugh, but it held no amusement.
"So you chose Dominick Spencer for your
proper
husband."

"Why not?" she demanded. "He's wealthy
and respected. One of the governor's councilors. Lady Redmayne taught Camille
that she must marry someone who would enrich her fortune, and since I was here
in her place, that is what I fully intended to do. Marry wisely, like Camille
asked me to—the richest, most prominent gentleman I could find. I knew I didn't
have much time, especially when you began to press me. That's why I went to
Raven's Point yesterday and arranged with Dominick to announce our betrothal at
the Tates'. He had already said he wanted to marry me."

"And when did he do that?" Adam queried, a
tic flashing along his jaw.

"At my welcome ball, during the first dance."

"How like him not to waste a moment in pursuit of
his unsuspecting quarry," he muttered.

"I . . . I imagined that hearing the news today
might upset you. I always sensed that you didn't like him, probably because you
used to work for him. But there wasn't any way to spare you . . ."

"You don't know the half of why I hate that bastard,
Susanna, and I'm certainly not going to explain now," he began. "What
would you say if I told you that your precious Dominick is not quite the man he
makes himself out to be?"

"I don't understand—"

"No, you don't understand. You don't understand
anything! What did you see when you went to Raven's Point yesterday? A
sumptuous house, yes, but when you went inside, did you find it somewhat
lacking in comfort? Did you think it not quite up to the luxury you might have
expected from such a rich man?"

"No, I didn't," she responded tartly, not
willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that was exactly what she had
thought.

"Really? I'm surprised. And outside, did you see
anything strange? No ill-fed, ill-clothed slaves? By the way, Dominick Spencer
doesn't have any free laborers at Raven's Point, as we do at Briarwood. His
only free slaves are dead slaves, and the few lucky ones like myself who
managed to earn back their indentures before he worked us to death. He doesn't
employ any more indentured servants for that very reason. He didn't like having
to set anyone free, white or black. He imports convicts now, I hear. They make
better sport."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she
insisted stubbornly, willing Corliss's disturbing observations from her mind.
"I didn't see any of the things you've described."

"Well, you would have eventually, but not in time
to save you from making the biggest mistake of your life," Adam said
tightly, then he abruptly changed the subject. "You said that Lady
Redmayne would never come here to the colonies. Do you believe that to be
true?"

"If I didn't, I would never have attempted to
fulfill my promise to Camille," she said, not sure why he wanted to know.
"Whatever you might think of me now, Adam, I am no fool."

"What I think of you . . ." He grabbed her
arm and began pulling her along with him toward the carriage.

"What are you doing?" she cried, his cruel
grip hurting her. At his hard expression, apprehension flooded her. "Where
are we going? Back to Briarwood?"

"No. Williamsburg.

"Oh, God, you're taking me to prison, aren't you?
After I told you the truth? You could at least let me go. I'll leave the
colony, go back to England. You'll never see me again—"

"Now why would I want to do that?" He stopped
to face her, his eyes ablaze with anger. "Why would I want to spoil
something you have so skillfully engineered? I'm the only one who knows about
your masquerade, Susanna, and I plan to keep it that way. But I can't do it
without your help, so now you must make a very important decision. Either
continue on as Camille Cary and become my wife this very afternoon, or I shall
convince the constable that you are a murderess and see you hang before the
week is out."

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

At that moment Susanna became convinced with icy
certainty that he had never been in love with her. It was only Briarwood he
wanted and he would have it, even if it meant forcing her to marry him against
her will. She had been right about him from the very start. He was nothing but
a vicious, coldhearted, opportunistic blackguard—

Suddenly she thought she saw uneasiness in his gaze,
almost as if he feared from her hesitation that she might choose prison and its
terrors over marrying him. But then it was gone, and he was shaking her so hard
that her head snapped back.

"Choose, Susanna, for you have tried my patience
long enough!"

"I said I was no fool!" she cried, infuriated
by his rough treatment of her. "How can I not choose life over death . . .
even if it means I must spend my days with a conniving bastard such as you?
Maybe to hang would be a better fate!"

For a fleeting instant his expression became so
thunderous that she thought he might strike her, but the poignant anguish in
his eyes tempered her fear. Why did he seem to hate her, when at the same time
she sensed a hurt deep within him?

"Come on." Yanking her alongside him until
they came to the bend in the road, he wound his arm through hers and said in a
harsh whisper, "Smile, damn you. We don't want the Grymes's poor coachman
to think anything is amiss. He's confused enough already. In fact, I'm sure
everyone is bewildered, but I don't doubt you'll come up with some clever
excuses for our strange behavior today. I commend you. You're as quick-witted
as they come. Your upbringing in London's slums has served you well,
my love
."

Thinking how hollow his endearment sounded, Susanna
reluctantly did as he bade her and pasted a false smile on her face. As the
coachman, who appeared relieved to see them again, drove the carriage up to
meet them, Adam lifted her inside and ordered, "Take us to the Market
Square Tavern in Williamsburg! As quickly as you can get us there!"

"Market Square Tavern?" she asked in
confusion as he took the seat opposite hers.

"Yes. You didn't think we could be married in
Bruton's Parish church, did you? We have no license, and wedding banns must be
posted there for three Sundays before the minister would wed us. I'll be damned
if I'm going to wait that long. I know of an old parson who lives upstairs at
the tavern who'll marry an eager couple for the price of a bottle of wine. It's
legal—and permanent."