Chapter 2 #2
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 become 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.”