Destiny's Daughter (4 page)

He tugged on her curl, forcing her head up. Her gaze met his, and the fire turned to ice.

"I’ve told you who I am."

His gaze centered on her mouth. Her lower lip trembled slightly, and he felt a rush of desire that left him shaken. "You’re no nun. At least not like any I’ve ever known. And you’re no innocent schoolgirl. I realized that when I saw you work last night."

Puzzled, she arched an eyebrow. "I don’t know what you mean."

"Don’t you? You recognized the code. You returned my wink. I don’t know how you dreamed it up so quickly, but that was a neat piece of work. You created the perfect diversion."

Code? Wink? She heard those words, then immediately dismissed them. The only thing that stayed in her mind was last night’s incident. How could he dare to mention last night? He was referring to her humiliation in the salon. Heat stained her cheeks. Her eyebrows knit into a frown. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

He studied the incriminating blush that colored her throat, and crept slowly over her face.

"Oh, I think you do, Annalisa. What’s more, I’d like to make you a proposition."

As she tried to pull away, he caught her shoulder, holding her still. At his touch her heart slammed against her ribs. She felt as if her breath had been squeezed from her lungs. It almost hurt to breathe. And yet. And yet she wished he would keep on holding her, just to see if the effect would stay the same.

"What do you think about carpetbaggers, Annalisa?"

She pushed against his chest. He tightened his grip on her shoulders. "I’m sure the good sisters have taught you current history. You must know all about the intruders here in your homeland."

In the convent, Annalisa had been sheltered from the cruelties of the war that ravaged the countryside. Although she had been well taught, the reality of it hadn’t touched her.

"I resent them. Everyone does."

"That’s right," he hissed against her temple.

She felt the warmth of his breath feather her hair, and fought down the little splinters of fire and ice that raced through her veins.

"They’ve swarmed over this land like a band of locusts, grabbing up farms and plantations, stripping the South of everything of value."

"I don’t see what that has to do with me."

"I’m going to be involved in a game tonight in the salon. One of the men is a thieving carpetbagger, who has stolen, lied, and cheated his way to the top. Some of the money in his pocket is mine. And I want it back."

Annalisa heard the thread of steel in his tone. She found herself thinking that she would never wish to have that anger directed toward her. Chase Masters was not a man to cross.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I may need your help to win my money back."

Instinctively she covered her ears. "I don’t want to hear this. I don’t understand why you’re telling me."

His grip on her shoulders tightened. "Listen to me, Annalisa."

She stared at his offending hand, still clutching her shoulder. "First take your hands off me."

The command in her voice surprised him. His mustache twitched. A hint of a smile curled his lips. So he had been right. There was fire simmering just below the surface of this prim and proper little actress. Almost casually he dropped his hands to his sides.

With one hand she flicked her hair from her shoulder, then lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance. Without the warmth of his touch, she felt her strength, her determination return.

"Are you ready to listen?"

She nodded, boldly studying his face as he spoke. It was a handsome face, she realized. Almost too handsome. Her reaction to the nearness of him frightened her.

"Last night, my luck was going very badly. When you acknowledged my wink, I knew you would find some way to create a diversion."

"But I . . ."

He touched a finger to her lips to silence her. At once he felt a surge of desire as his finger brushed the velvet softness of her mouth. Swearing softly, he dropped his hand.

"That trick with the tablecloth was a stroke of genius. In those brief moments I was able to change cards, and change my luck."

"You cheated!" She was scandalized. The man was a villain.

"I simply—changed my luck," he said calmly. "Now. What I want is for you to arrange to be in the salon again tonight. If my luck is holding, I won’t need your help. But if I should wink, it will mean I need you to come up with another diversion."

"You want me to help you cheat?"

He flashed her his most charming smile. "I simply want you to help me change my luck."

"That’s disgusting." She whirled away and put some distance between them. Turning, she hissed, "I was raised to be a proper lady, Mr. Masters. I am insulted that you would even ask me to consider such a proposal. Please don’t speak to me again."

Chase leaned a hip against the rail and watched as she flounced away, her head held high, her feet tapping an angry rhythm. She would have made a fine Confederate soldier, he thought. Or a good candidate for mother superior.

Maybe he had miscalculated, he mused. Maybe she was what she claimed to be. His smile grew. And then again, maybe she was just a clever actress.

In the dim light of the cabin, Annalisa lay on her bunk. The gentle lapping of the water lulled her, then caused her to stir. Eyelashes fluttered, then opened. Sitting up, she hurried across the room and threw open the small window. The setting sun was an orange globe on the horizon. Ribbons of firelight danced on the waves, trailing the wake of the boat.

Above the murky waters of the Mississippi, the sky darkened. The wind off the water was cool, breathing life into the humid cabin. The ship’s horn blasted a warning to oncoming boats. An answering signal sounded on the evening mist.

Once again, Annalisa had overslept the dinner hour. What was happening to her? She hadn’t slept in the middle of the day like this in years. It must be the fresh air and sunshine. Or perhaps this new sense of freedom, that permitted her to walk the decks, to explore, to prowl until she dropped from exhaustion. Whatever the reason, she thought as she removed a clean gown from her trunk, she felt more rested and refreshed than she could ever remember. And more alive.

The light of the cabin reflected off a small vial in the corner of the trunk. Annalisa picked up the graduation gift Yvette had given her. French perfume. Lifting the stopper, she inhaled the delicate floral scent. It was deliciously sensuous, reminding her of something from her almost-forgotten childhood. Touching the stopper to her throat and between her breasts as Yvette had taught her, she felt the fragrance envelop her. For long moments, she breathed deeply, feeling beautiful and just a little bit wicked.

She deliberately selected a cool, ice blue gown from the meager assortment the convent had provided. Buttoned primly to her throat, the long tapered sleeves had a dusting of lace at each wrist. With quick, practiced twists, she pulled her hair into a proper knot. As an afterthought, she added a bonnet and shawl.

There, Chase Masters, she thought, studying her reflection in the mirror. You’re going to see a lady. A very proper lady. That should convince you that I am not about to help you in your devilish scheme to cheat at cards.

A part of her hoped she could avoid seeing Chase tonight. He made her feel uncomfortable. He made her feel awkward and silly. He made her think and feel things proper young ladies should never indulge. But as she walked past the opened rosewood doors and entered the elegant salon, Annalisa found herself studying the faces, searching for that one person who could make her palms sweat and her blood pound. Would she have the same reaction if she saw him again?

She was shown to a corner table, where gaslights hissed, casting a soft glow. She ordered quickly, then allowed her gaze to trail the partially filled room.

She spotted him at a table with five other men. At the table alongside theirs, another, more intense poker game was in progress. Above the two tables, a pall of smoke drifted lazily. Waiters hovered, pouring drinks, brushing away stray ashes from the careless smokers.

The atmosphere in the room seemed tense, expectant. An occasional grunt or oath from one of the players as the hands were shown was the only outward sign of intense concentration.

Annalisa noted that the pile of chips in front of Chase wasn’t nearly as large as some of the others at the table. She felt a little tremor of satisfaction. It served him right. Cheaters didn’t deserve to win.

A waiter appeared at her table with an opened bottle and a long-stemmed glass.

"I didn’t order that," she said softly.

"It is compliments of a gentleman," he replied, pouring. "Our very best French champagne."

He stepped back and waited expectantly. Annalisa glanced up, unsure what to do.

"But I don’t want this."

The waiter blinked. "You would prefer something else? Wine perhaps?"

"No. That is, I don’t think so. I intended to have tea."

"Perhaps if you would try a taste." The waiter indicated the glass.

She sighed in exasperation, wishing he would just go away. Picking up the glass, she sipped, feeling the cool amber liquid slide down her throat. Yvette had once tried to describe the taste of champagne to Annalisa after one of her summers in Europe. She had declared that there was nothing quite like the taste. And the bubbles, she added, tickled her nose.

Annalisa’s eyes widened. It was tart, with a slightly fruity taste that was very pleasing. And the bubbles didn’t exactly tickle; they . . . fizzed.

Surprised, she smiled her approval. As the waiter walked away, she caught a glimpse of Chase across the room. With a slight nod of his head, he acknowledged her acceptance of his gift. Instantly irritated, she looked away, avoiding those dark, knowing eyes.

She should have sent that waiter away with a brusque refusal. Chase was laughing at her, she thought with annoyance. There seemed always to be a hint of a smile lurking behind those dark eyes.

A waiter bore the first course of her dinner, giving Annalisa an opportunity to turn her attention to something other than Chase Masters.

At a rumble of laughter, Annalisa glanced toward the poker table. The man beside Chase caught at a pile of chips, greedily raking them toward him. Chase showed absolutely no emotion as he viewed the scene. Biting an end from a cigar, he leaned toward a waiter who held a match to the tip. Through a haze of smoke, his eyes narrowed. Seeing Annalisa’s gaze fixed on him, he watched the stream of smoke drift upward. She felt dark eyes pin her with a deadly stare. Her pulse lurched when he gave her a knowing wink.

She tossed her head then stared out the window, seeing nothing. Her cheeks were burning, her breathing as erratic as her heartbeat. How dare he flash that arranged signal.

Hadn’t she made it plain that she wanted no part of his dirty little scheme? She wouldn’t look at him again. She wanted it clearly understood. She was not going to help him cheat at cards.

She heard the low rumble of voices as the cards were being dealt. The whisper of cards being picked up signaled the start of another hand. Still she refused to look over. Keeping her head averted, she stared determinedly at the trail of silver moonlight on the darkened river.

Let Chase Masters lose. She hoped he lost a fortune. It served him right. How could he ask a lady, a stranger he had just met, to be a partner in his crime?

Someone bet. A second voice raised. She felt a tiny prickle along her skin as she recognized Chase’s deep voice calling for a card. With fierce determination she kept her gaze averted and stared at the clouds scudding across the moon. From clear across the room she could hear the tense silence as the hands were being declared. There was a collective sigh, then a burst of good-natured swearing as the winning hand was displayed. Annalisa chanced a furtive glance at the dark head bent over the cards as a stranger across the table raked in the chips. In that brief instant, Chase looked up. With the barest hint of a smile, he winked. Her heart stopped. She felt the heat stain her cheeks. Narrowing her eyes, she shot him a hateful look. His mustache twitched. Beneath it his smile widened.

Her eyes blazed. This dreadful man was mocking her. Without even taking time to think through what she was doing, she pushed back her chair and stood. Lifting her skirts, she strode toward the maitre d’. As she flounced past, Chase studied her straight back, her chin jutted in defiance. Then, with a smile of confidence, his gaze returned to the cards in his hand.

Annalisa’s honeyed voice was laced with outrage. "I wish to report a cheat at the poker table."

The maitre d’ looked properly horrified. Several heads swiveled at her aggrieved tone.

"My dear young lady. We run an honest game on the City of Memphis. A member of the crew, chosen by the captain himself, oversees the entire operation."

"This man is very clever. But I can assure you, he is cheating.

The man bowed slightly at her fury. "Very well. If you will point him out."

"That one," she said, darting a quick glance at the table. "The man in the black jacket, with the gold chain across his vest."

The maitre d’ spoke to two towering waiters, who immediately advanced toward the poker tables. With her hands on her hips, Annalisa tossed her head and waited, determined to see justice done, no matter who was hurt. Sister Marie Therese would be proud of the way she handled this matter.

In fascinated horror, Annalisa watched as the two waiters stopped at the wrong table and positioned themselves at either side of a white-haired man in a black jacket. Realizing their error, Annalisa turned to explain to the maitre d’. Just then a string of oaths caused everyone to turn in the direction of the poker table. The accused reacted with the fury of a wounded bear.

One of the waiters was sent sprawling across the room. Two more rushed to take his place, struggling to subdue the now frenzied gambler.

Several men at his table, who had lost heavily, pushed back their chairs and jumped into the fray, eager for revenge.

Annalisa clutched the maitre d’s sleeve, trying to make him understand his error.

"This is not the man I meant."

"Please, miss. Not now. This matter will be taken to the captain himself to be settled. We will need your statement later."

"But you don’t understand. That man isn’t the man who is cheating."

"You mean there are others?"

"Yes. No." Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. Wiping furiously, she hissed, "I don’t even know that gentleman."

The maitre d’ was clearly agitated. While several crew members and two of the men from the poker table dragged the accused away, he surveyed the damage to the elegant salon, the overturned chairs, spilled drinks, chips littering the floor, then focused his icy attention on the young woman beside him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"You mean to say you accused a man you don’t even know?"

"You aren’t listening to me," she wailed. "I wasn’t accusing him. You approached the wrong man."

By this time the headwaiter’s patience snapped. "And shall we keep hauling the players away until there are none left? Young woman, you have made some serious accusations. You will be contacted later by a member of the crew. I’m sure the captain will wish to interview you further."

As she stood there, feeling crushed and humiliated, he turned on his heel and stormed away to report to the captain.

Annalisa glanced at the poker tables. The oval table was nearly deserted. Only one man, a member of the crew, still lingered, overseeing the distribution of chips.

At the other table, the poker game continued. As Annalisa watched, Chase calmly dropped his cards, face up, to the muttered oaths of the others. With a flourish he scooped the chips into a pile beside his elbow. Glancing in her direction, he inclined his head slightly. There was no mistaking the gleam in his eye.

With a look of pure hatred, she whirled and fled to her cabin.