Free Defiant Impostor by Miriam Minger Page A

could see full-sleeved white
lawn shirts, dark riding clothes, and even a fine forest-green coat and gold
brocade waistcoat hanging inside.
    This was a
man's room. But whose? Was there an overnight guest visiting Briarwood, someone
Ertha had failed to tell her about in the commotion of her arrival?
    "I hope you can forgive the mess. I left in quite
a hurry this morning to meet the Charming
Nancy , and it appears the servants neglected to straighten my room in all
the excitement."
    Susanna spun, her heart hammering in her throat. She
gaped at Adam, who stood leaning against the doorjamb. He was smiling that same
self-assured smile, his arms crossed casually over his chest.
    "Y-your room?" she stammered in disbelief,
her thoughts racing. Who had ever heard of such a thing? A hired man living
under the master's roof? The mistress's roof? Her roof?
    "Yes. My room," he stated with emphasis, his
smile fading into a look of irritation and his eyes growing hard. "It's
been mine since I became the plantation manager three years ago. A quaint
custom in the Tidewater, and obviously one you're unfamiliar with. If there's a
spare bedroom in a planter's house, it is often given to either the tutor or
the manager, both highly esteemed positions on a plantation. Since there are no
children here, and thus no tutor, I was given the honor."
    "Oh . . ." Susanna barely managed to say,
shocked by such an arrangement. She could just hear Lady Redmayne's snort of
disapproval!
    Her place had always been in the servants' wing—except
for that one night in London when she had slept in that lovely feather
bed—although Camille had often begged her aunt to allow Susanna to move into
the smaller bedroom next to her own. Lady Redmayne would hear none of it.
Although she knew they were best friends, the baroness had insisted that there
remain a firm distinction between mistress and waiting-maid.
    "I also eat my meals at the planter's table and
drink his wine," Adam continued tightly. "Another fine custom. And if
you're a crop master, the rewards are even greater."
    "Crop master?" she asked. She shifted
nervously as he walked toward her. So he would be dining with her, just as he
had said. A hired man!
    "Yes, crop master," he repeated, his tone
growing angrier, his eyes demanding that she look at him. "A title
bestowed upon only a few men, usually planters. I acquired it by learning as
much as I could about tobacco. It's the kind of knowledge that impresses the Tidewater
gentry. Earns a self-made man their respect." He came even closer, his
gaze not wavering from her face. "That title has given me something else,
Miss Cary, something which you've always possessed. The gentry see me as one of
their own now. I can go to their house parties, ride in their horse races, and
even court their women—"
    "Ex-excuse me, Mr. Thornton," Susanna cut him
off, giving him a wide berth as she hurried to the door. Her words emerged in a
distracted torrent. "I didn't mean to pry. I didn't know this was your
room. I thought I would just look at all the bedrooms since I haven't seen them
before . . . I mean for so long . . ." She tore her gaze from him and
didn't look back, acutely aware that he was watching her, and growing all the
more flushed because of it. She hastened down the hall to her room, and leaned
breathlessly against the door when she was inside.
    She had a madman sleeping down the hall from her! she
thought wildly. Either that or Virginia was a very strange place indeed. She had
never heard of such customs! And why had he become so angry? How direct and
rude he had been, considering she was now his employer. She couldn't make sense
of all he had said, and right now, she didn't even want to try. All she wanted
was to lie down and give her whirling thoughts a rest!

     
    ***

     
    Adam shut the door, cursing under his breath.
    Now you've done it, he berated himself, tearing off his
coat and tossing it on the chair. If this was his idea of wooing Camille
gently,