make no difference to Adam.
When he had ascertained by her soft-spoken
"No" that she remembered nothing about her place of birth—which was
entirely believable since Camille had been only three years old when she was
sent away to England—he kept up a steady and interesting commentary about
Yorktown and the rest of the colony, until, after a while, she felt her
melancholy begin to lift. The countryside was beautiful, although lacking the
lush rolling hills of the Cotswolds, and it felt so good to be on dry land
again. Only at one point did she venture to ask a question, her avid curiosity
getting the better of her.
"I heard there are still Indians in Virginia. Do
you think we might see any?"
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. "Not unless
you travel far to the west and into the wilderness. The Indians retreated from
this region years ago when the white men became too plentiful." His gaze
traveled slowly over her features, lingering overlong upon her lips, then he
looked directly into her eyes, his expression sobering. "Don't worry, Miss
Cary. If any wild savages chance to cross our path, have no fear that I will
protect you."
Feeling her cheeks grow warm at the strange intensity
of his gaze, Susanna was tempted to retort that she wasn't worried or
frightened. She would have liked to see some Indians, but since that would
hardly be something Camille would have said, she directed her attention out the
window, becoming increasingly exasperated with herself.
Dear Lord, what was it about this man that so easily
pricked her temper? It didn't make sense. She had known him for perhaps two
hours! Maybe it was because he seemed so sure of himself, and so completely
sure of her. Or perhaps it was his condescending attitude that most irked her;
that, and the tone that crept into his voice sometimes, as if he was speaking
to a child instead of a young woman.
Susanna hazarded a glance at him to find that he was
still looking at her. He smiled, his teeth a startling white against his tanned
face. As she quickly turned back to the window, flustered anew, she decided
that he must spend a great deal of time out-of-doors to have skin so darkened
by the sun. She imagined his chest and back must be bronzed as well, in keeping
with his job as a plantation manager. She had no doubt that he stripped off his
shirt to work as any hired man might in the summer heat. She could almost
picture him . . . his golden-brown skin glistening with sweat, the muscles
across his shoulders and upper back bulging powerfully as he lifted the ax or
hoisted a heavy barrel—
Susanna gasped as Adam suddenly leaned against her, his
arm grazing her breasts as he pointed out the window, his hard muscled thigh
pushing against her leg.
"See those trees?"
"Y-yes."
"They form the southern boundary of Briarwood.
Welcome home, Miss Cary."
Flushed with embarrassment and not daring to breathe or
move, she kept her gaze trained upon the towering oak trees, but she scarcely
saw them. Her senses were blinded to everything except the heat of Adam's body
pressed against her and the compelling scent of him, clean yet slightly musky.
She had been so close to a man only once before, a few
weeks before leaving Fairford, when a handsome village swain who had taken a
fancy to her had cornered her in the Redmayne coach house. He had kissed her
full on the mouth, his passionate ardor nearly dragging the breath from her
body until she had stamped upon his foot and he had abruptly released her. Then
she had slapped his face and run away. But some wild part of herself had wanted
to feel his hands roaming over her body and his hard desire pressing through
her skirt.
Susanna rolled her eyes, dismayed by her wanton
thoughts.
This wasn't the same thing! Adam was this close to her
merely because he was pointing out something of interest to her. The boundary
of Briarwood, for God's sake! She could hardly grind her heel into his foot or
slap him for that. His nearness was entirely
When he had ascertained by her soft-spoken
"No" that she remembered nothing about her place of birth—which was
entirely believable since Camille had been only three years old when she was
sent away to England—he kept up a steady and interesting commentary about
Yorktown and the rest of the colony, until, after a while, she felt her
melancholy begin to lift. The countryside was beautiful, although lacking the
lush rolling hills of the Cotswolds, and it felt so good to be on dry land
again. Only at one point did she venture to ask a question, her avid curiosity
getting the better of her.
"I heard there are still Indians in Virginia. Do
you think we might see any?"
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. "Not unless
you travel far to the west and into the wilderness. The Indians retreated from
this region years ago when the white men became too plentiful." His gaze
traveled slowly over her features, lingering overlong upon her lips, then he
looked directly into her eyes, his expression sobering. "Don't worry, Miss
Cary. If any wild savages chance to cross our path, have no fear that I will
protect you."
Feeling her cheeks grow warm at the strange intensity
of his gaze, Susanna was tempted to retort that she wasn't worried or
frightened. She would have liked to see some Indians, but since that would
hardly be something Camille would have said, she directed her attention out the
window, becoming increasingly exasperated with herself.
Dear Lord, what was it about this man that so easily
pricked her temper? It didn't make sense. She had known him for perhaps two
hours! Maybe it was because he seemed so sure of himself, and so completely
sure of her. Or perhaps it was his condescending attitude that most irked her;
that, and the tone that crept into his voice sometimes, as if he was speaking
to a child instead of a young woman.
Susanna hazarded a glance at him to find that he was
still looking at her. He smiled, his teeth a startling white against his tanned
face. As she quickly turned back to the window, flustered anew, she decided
that he must spend a great deal of time out-of-doors to have skin so darkened
by the sun. She imagined his chest and back must be bronzed as well, in keeping
with his job as a plantation manager. She had no doubt that he stripped off his
shirt to work as any hired man might in the summer heat. She could almost
picture him . . . his golden-brown skin glistening with sweat, the muscles
across his shoulders and upper back bulging powerfully as he lifted the ax or
hoisted a heavy barrel—
Susanna gasped as Adam suddenly leaned against her, his
arm grazing her breasts as he pointed out the window, his hard muscled thigh
pushing against her leg.
"See those trees?"
"Y-yes."
"They form the southern boundary of Briarwood.
Welcome home, Miss Cary."
Flushed with embarrassment and not daring to breathe or
move, she kept her gaze trained upon the towering oak trees, but she scarcely
saw them. Her senses were blinded to everything except the heat of Adam's body
pressed against her and the compelling scent of him, clean yet slightly musky.
She had been so close to a man only once before, a few
weeks before leaving Fairford, when a handsome village swain who had taken a
fancy to her had cornered her in the Redmayne coach house. He had kissed her
full on the mouth, his passionate ardor nearly dragging the breath from her
body until she had stamped upon his foot and he had abruptly released her. Then
she had slapped his face and run away. But some wild part of herself had wanted
to feel his hands roaming over her body and his hard desire pressing through
her skirt.
Susanna rolled her eyes, dismayed by her wanton
thoughts.
This wasn't the same thing! Adam was this close to her
merely because he was pointing out something of interest to her. The boundary
of Briarwood, for God's sake! She could hardly grind her heel into his foot or
slap him for that. His nearness was entirely
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