Destiny's Daughter (22 page)

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Lunch was a lighthearted meal, occasionally served in the elegant dining room, but more often taken in the bright, airy kitchen. Most of the women slept until nearly noon, and upon request, a maid delivered coffee and beignets or French rolls to their rooms. They assembled for lunch dressed in anything from cotton wrappers to silk peignoirs. Many of them wore their hair streaming down their backs, or pulled back with simple ribbons. In the bright light of day, their faces free of makeup and freshly scrubbed, without their finery, they appeared to be what they really were—young women who shared a bond of friendship.

The meal was simple. The cook had made a gumbo, which she ladled from a black kettle. Freshly baked bread cooled on a sideboard, along with slabs of cold meat and cheese. A basket of ripe peaches dripped moisture in the sun.

"This is wonderful, Thelma," Annalisa sighed as she finished her soup and bit into a juicy peach.

"Did you see Lafourcade last night?" Gabrielle asked, helping herself to a second bowl of gumbo. "He preens like a peacock."

The others laughed.

"I was stuck with Willis," Francine sighed. "The man is so pompous. Always talking about money. Sometimes I swear that man thinks everything in that bank belongs to him."

Delia nodded in agreement. "It’s the only thing he really loves."

Lowering her voice, Francine went on, "He’s so sly. Always dreaming up new ways to make more money for the bank. Last night he told me he’s found a buyer for Durier’s Park. Some eastern millionaire will buy the entire six hundred acres for ten cents on the dollar. Can you imagine?"

Annalisa gripped her teacup tightly in both hands, losing the thread of conversation that went on around her. Could it be possible that the Durier family could lose their precious plantation?

Shortly after her arrival in New Orleans, Annalisa had learned about the Durier plantation. Francois Durier, a transplanted Parisian, had brought a cosmopolitan flavor to his lovely plantation. All the roads had been turned into wide boulevards, with rows of stately oak trees offering shade. There were lovely beds of azaleas and camellias, and formal rose gardens with decorative topiary trees and carefully manicured hedges. The mansion, three stories tall, with wide, pillared steps and an elaborate upper balcony, was designed in the Greek Revival style. During his lifetime, it had been a magnificent showplace, filled with the finest furnishings from Europe. Riverboats delivered elegant wallcoverings from Paris, as well as chandeliers, silver and crystal, and marble statues from Italy. It was called Durier’s Park because every year the entire population of New Orleans was invited to a summer picnic, with games and pony rides for the children, and exotic food and refreshment for the adults. After Durier’s death at Richmond, his widow and young son valiantly tried to maintain the estate. With their servants scattered, their crops destroyed, and many of their outbuildings burned, Durier’s Park fell into disrepair. Most of the lovely furnishings and antiques were sold to pay off their mounting debts. When the widow Durier died, her son married and continued to work the land, determined to restore his father’s estate to its former magnificence.

Hattie Lee shook her head. "Poor Georges Durier. Just last week I heard his young wife is expecting their first baby."

While the others mumbled their sympathy, Annalisa asked, "Are you certain of this, Francine? Mr. Willis sat in on the poker game last night and never mentioned a word of it."

The tall girl shrugged. "Maybe he’s afraid the Archangel will intervene once more and spoil his plans."

Of course. Sitting very still, Annalisa’s mind raced. Nate. She had to get word to Nate, so that he could save Durier’s Park. But how? If she went to him with this news, he would know that she had discovered his identity. Their friendship wasn’t strong enough to invade his privacy in such a manner. Yet, she reasoned, the future of the Durier family was more important than Nate’s feelings. She had to let him know what was happening.

Excusing herself, she hurried to her room and began pacing. A plan. She needed a plan. Whom could she trust to take the news to Nate Blackwell?

It couldn’t be anyone from this house. Even the maids would be spotted traveling to the Blackwell estate. It had to be someone whose travels wouldn’t be noticed. Someone who could be trusted not to go to the city officials with the information. Someone who hated carpetbaggers as much as she.

Annalisa stopped her pacing. Chase Masters spent most of his time traveling. No one would even notice if he made a stop at the Blackwell plantation. Chase had intervened before when she had trouble with officials. And on the riverboat, he had let her know his opinion of carpetbaggers.

Annalisa thought of the dark look in Chase’s eyes when he’d seen her with Nate. He would be a reluctant emissary. But there was no one else she could trust. It had to be Chase. Hurrying to her desk, she wrote a hasty note, sealed it, and handed it to a maid to be delivered immediately.

*  *  *

Deep in the woods, hidden by the sweeping branches of the willow, Annalisa waited, impatiently clasping and unclasping her hands.

"Your note said to meet you here immediately. But you gave no reason. I can only hope that you wanted to be alone with me."

At Chase’s familiar deep voice, Annalisa whirled to face him. As always, there was a trace of laughter behind his slate eyes.

She moistened her lips and saw his gaze settle on her mouth. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"A favor." He stepped closer.

Her gown was sheer lilac voile, worn off the shoulders, with a ruffle that rippled in the slight breeze. Beneath the fine fabric the lush curves of her breasts were evident. His gaze lowered to her tiny waist, and he ached to see if his hands could span it. Glancing upward, he saw the slight coloring of her throat and cheeks that told him she was aware of his scrutiny.

He gave her a dangerous smile. "Better be careful, Miss Montgomery. As I warned you earlier, I may choose to demand payment for services rendered." He glanced around the sheltered setting, then gave in to the need to touch her. Placing his hands lightly on her shoulders, he felt the softness of her skin, and found himself wondering what she would taste like, just there at the base of her throat.

Glancing down, he saw the little pulse beat and wondered if it were possible for her to read his mind. Running his hands lightly along her shoulders, he watched her eyes darken from amber to rich golden topaz. His pulse quickened at the knowledge that it was his touch that excited her.

"Why this sudden desire for privacy?" He bent toward her, inhaling the delicate fragrance of roses that lingered in her hair. Brushing his lips over her temple, he felt her hands push against his chest and tightened his grip, drawing her inexorably closer. Burying his face in her hair, he murmured, "I suppose it really doesn’t matter why we’re here, Annalisa. It’s what we’ve both wanted for a long time."

She felt her blood heat, her pulse race, as his arms came around her. What was the matter with her? What sort of woman was she, that the mere touch of this man could leave her trembling? There was important business to attend to. The future of good people was in her hands, and she was indulging herself with stolen kisses.

Against her cheek, Chase whispered, "I can see that this is something we wouldn’t wish to discuss in your office." His smile grew. "Maybe later we can shed our clothes and take a swim in the river."

Annalisa balled her hands into fists as a barrier between their bodies. It would be so easy to let a man like Chase Masters sweet-talk her. He’d probably had enough experience in situations like this. After all, it was obvious that he was a whiskey-drinking, card-playing womanizer. The very thought was like a dash of cold water.

"Please, Chase." She pushed herself away and kept her hands firmly against his chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel the unsteady beat of his heart, echoing her own. "Please don’t tease me."

His tone was low. "Believe me, I’m not teasing. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than be with you under the shade of this old willow."

"Chase, this is so important, and I have no one else to turn to. Please listen to me."

Hearing the pleading note in her voice, he sobered, once again banking his needs. Calling on all his willpower, he forced himself not to touch her. "Maybe you’d better tell me what’s wrong."

"I have some news. Important news, about impending danger that can only be resolved by one man."

"What is this danger?"

She took a deep breath. "I trust you, Chase. That’s why I’m going to tell you. Durier’s Park is going to be sold to an eastern millionaire."

His hand paused in midair. "How do you know this?"

"Jasper Willis bragged to . . ." She glanced down, allowing her thick lashes to veil her eyes. ". . . one of my girls."

His eyes narrowed. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I know who the Archangel of Mercy is."

A boat’s horn sounded on the river and was immediately answered by another. On the banks, crickets chirped and birds sang. Turtles splashed and fish leaped. But the man facing her was aware of none of those things. Except for a tightening of his jaw, he showed no emotion. His eyes had become as dark as storm clouds.

"I think we’d better have a talk."

Everything about Chase had suddenly changed. While Annalisa watched, the humor faded from his eyes. There was a hardness, a grimness about him that she’d never seen before. What if she was wrong to confide in him? What if he went to the authorities about what she knew?

"Sit down, Annalisa." Taking her hand, Chase settled her at the base of the tree, with her back against the cool, rough bark.

While she spread out her skirts around her, he sat facing her. Though she was vaguely aware of his crisp white shirt straining against wide shoulders, his fawn-colored riding breeches outlining muscled thighs, it was the quiet, deliberate tone of his voice that held her attention.

"I think you’d better begin at the beginning," he said. "When did you make the connection?"

"I suppose at first I was, like everyone else, merely fascinated by the dramatic way in which the Robichaud family was rescued from the brink of financial ruin." Annalisa toyed with the ribbons at her waist, twisting them around her finger, avoiding his eyes. She debated about telling him of her trip to Belle Riviere to offer her help, then decided against it. He would only think her foolish. Glancing up, she was dismayed to find that Chase was staring at her so intently she could see herself in his eyes.

"Go on."

"I . . ." she moistened her lips ". . . started to think that the Archangel of Mercy had to be someone who had access to the same information that we heard that night in the parlor." She looked away and wondered if he knew what the very nearness of him did to her pulse rate. "From the beginning, I had my suspicions about the identity of the mysterious benefactor. But the night Jasper Willis mentioned the Hampstead House, my suspicions were confirmed."

Chase frowned. "I see. You were beginning to put things together."

She nodded. "One man was there both times. The same man was in a position to overhear everything said. And that same man had the means to foil the foreclosure plans."

Chase expelled his breath in an angry hiss. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before an intelligent, curious woman like you would fit together the pieces of the puzzle."

She smiled at his compliment, then, glancing at his face darkened in anger, her smile faded. She swallowed. This was where it was going to become difficult. She had to persuade Chase to help her with her scheme. "From the beginning, I’ve wanted to do my part to help those unfortunate families that are being forced out of their homes." She touched a hand to his arm. "Oh, Chase, I think what the Archangel has done is so good, so noble."

His voice was deep, intense. "Don’t make it bigger than it really is. Don’t get swept away by the drama. It’s just that in these turbulent times, it’s sometimes necessary to—circumvent the law."

Her eyes flashed fire. "You can’t help belittling it, can you?" She removed her hand as if the touch of him offended her. "I don’t care what you say, Chase. I want to be a part of this beautiful scheme."

"You? How?"

"The women in my house are in a position to hear many things. And they talk openly. If I can’t offer money, I can at least offer important information."

He stood so quickly he startled her. With legs apart, hands on his hips, he stared down at her. His tone was hard. "God damn it, Annalisa, this isn’t a Sunday-school picnic. What’s happening here in New Orleans is dangerous. It’s the beginning of a revolt against a corrupt government. Before it’s over, men could be killed. There’s no place in it for a woman."

Stung by his words, she stood to face him. "I don’t need your approval, Chase Masters. I was simply asking you to be an intermediary between myself and the Archangel. But if you don’t want to help, I can find someone else."

As she flounced away he caught her arm. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She glanced over her shoulder with a look of fury. "I was hoping I could trust you to go to him with the news of Durier’s Park."

"Him?" There was a long pause before he asked, "Who are we talking about?"

She felt the warmth of his breath as it touched her cheek. Dismissing the little shiver that raced along her spine, she answered, "Nate Blackwell. I thought I’d made that clear."

Catching her by the shoulders, he turned her to face him. His eyes narrowed. "Nate? What does he have to do with this?"

As patiently as if she were lecturing a child, she said, "I thought I’d explained all this. I’ve figured out that Nate Blackwell is the mysterious benefactor. He was in the hallway outside the parlor on the night Edmond Lafourcade announced the sale of the Robichaud plantation. And again, on the night Jasper Willis talked of the imminent sale of the Hampstead House, Nate was there, just outside the parlor."

"And that proves that he’s the Archangel of Mercy?"

"Of course. I should think that much is obvious. He has the means, he has the motive, and a finer gentleman in all of New Orleans can’t be found." Seeing a tiny frown line between Chase’s eyes, she quickly went on. "I can’t go to him with this information, because he hasn’t chosen to confide in me yet. But I know he’s the one who is helping these unfortunate people. So I thought I could ask you to tell him what you’ve learned about Durier’s Park, without mentioning my name. That way, he won’t have any idea that I know about him."

Chase was staring at her as if she were mad. Now, throwing back his head, he began roaring with laughter.

Stung, Annalisa yanked herself from his grip and took a step backward. "I should have known you’d find this whole thing amusing. You never take anything seriously. Except your stupid cards."

Chase swallowed down the laughter that still bubbled in his throat. Catching a strand of her hair, he watched as it sifted through his fingers. Staring down into her eyes, he said, "Now let me get this straight. You want me to go to Nate Blackwell and tell him about the imminent sale of Durier’s Park. But you don’t want me to tell him where I got my information?"

She nodded, wondering at his sudden change of attitude. She’d expected this part of the discussion to make him furious.

"That’s right." She paused, then decided to push a little harder. "In fact, I was hoping that we could arrange some sort of signal between us to meet here whenever I hear something I think he should know. That way, I can help him without his knowledge. And you and I will be the only ones who know where the information is coming from."

Chase nodded at the simplicity of her plan. "Just you and I. No one else will be involved. And you won’t take any foolish chances?"

She caught her breath. "You mean you’ll help?"

He stared down at her flushed, happy face and found himself laughing. She wouldn’t actually be involved. She would just be a conduit for information. And he would see to it that she didn’t get hurt in any way. As long as there were only the two of them involved, he didn’t see the harm. "Why not? Maybe it’s the only chance I’ll ever have to do something—noble."

"Oh, Chase." She threw her arms around his neck. "You won’t be sorry."

He didn’t say a word. He was too busy absorbing the wonderful scent of her, the feel of her soft body against his.