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.”
“How 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.”