"To the men who hold power, the ordinary people don’t exist." Chase stopped in front of a powerfully built man with graying hair and scraggly chin whiskers. He was holding a crystal tumbler brimming with whiskey. His left arm was around Delia’s waist, his muscular build making Delia look even more like a child.
"I’d like you to meet Emile Soulet," Chase said.
The man downed his drink in one swallow, handed the empty tumbler to a maid, then pressed his lips to Annalisa’s outstretched hand.
"Miss Montgomery. I hope you will prove to be as—practical a woman as your mother."
She nearly reeled from the stench of whiskey on his breath. Forcing a smile, she said, "I hope so too, Mr. Soulet. I don’t believe I know what you do."
"Emile is the chief inspector on the wharf," Chase put in smoothly. "Without his approval, nothing enters or leaves the port of New Orleans."
The big man seemed to puff his chest even further. Beside him, Delia smiled sweetly and clung to his brawny arm.
"Madame Sara was always very respectful of my authority," he said with importance.
And wise enough to know that in order to import her cigars, whiskey, works of art, and bolts of fabric, she needed the approval of this man, Annalisa realized. Unable to bear the assault of his breath any longer, Annalisa flipped open her fan and began fanning the air furiously, as she continued to smile at him. "I would be a fool not to follow my mother’s example, would I not?" She batted her eyelashes the way Gabrielle had taught her and realized that Chase was watching her closely. Instantly she dropped her fan to her side, feeling rather silly.
She was relieved when Soulet went in search of another drink. The man who stepped forward seeking an introduction was as different from the wharf inspector as day is from night.
"Annalisa, may I present Nate Blackwell."
"Mr. Blackwell."
Her hand was caught in a firm grip. His lips brushed softly over the back of her fingers. The blue eyes that looked down into hers were friendly, despite the dark smudges that marked either illness or lack of sleep.
"Do you live in town, Mr. Blackwell?"
"I have a place some miles from here."
His deep voice was cultured. Annalisa felt instinctively that this was a man of breeding.
"What do you do, Mr. Blackwell?"
"I’m afraid the sorry state of my land takes up all my time. I’ve managed to put in a few crops this season, and I hope for more by this time next year."
"Ah. A farmer. Do you have much land?"
Beside her, Chase gave a low rumble of laughter. "Nate is the grandson of one of the largest landowners in the region. His plantation stretches for miles."
"I’m impressed," she murmured, looking at him with interest.
"Don’t be. Most of my buildings were burned, my livestock stolen or slaughtered. The tools needed for planting and repairing were looted. The rebuilding process is proving to be a long one. I wonder if anyone gave a thought to the toll that would be exacted in our war?" His tone was bleak for a moment, then he brightened. "Enough talk of war. Welcome to New Orleans, Miss Montgomery. It’s gratifying to know that this house will continue to offer a civilized haven."
When a maid approached, he accepted a glass of sherry and lifted it in a salute. "To you, Miss Montgomery. And to civility."
With a graceful flourish, he turned away and was swallowed up in the crowd.
Annalisa turned to Chase. "Such a fine man. Yet I sense a weariness about him."
"The war haunts us all."
Annalisa shot him a sideways glance. Could anything possibly haunt this lighthearted rogue?
Leading her smoothly through the crush of people, Chase continued the introductions, until Annalisa’s head was swimming with names and titles. There was the governor, a smooth, oily little man who stared at her bosom until she flicked her fan, narrowly missing his nose. Beside him, his aide, Charles Montagnet, moved forward stiffly and accepted the introduction in silence. He was tall, with slightly stooped shoulders and dark brooding eyes. His gaze slowly skimmed Annalisa, beginning with her hair, and lingering over her body, then returning to settle on her mouth. Annalisa felt as if he had physically touched her. The thought left her shaken. There was a hardness, a cruelty in his eyes that instantly repelled her.
"Monsieur Montagnet," she said, feeling a trembling revulsion as he brushed his lips over her outstretched hand.
Why did she have the vague feeling that she had seen him before? Surely she would remember such a man. And yet, as she walked away beside Chase Masters, she continued to feel a tingling along the back of her neck. The man truly frightened her.
She stood beside Chase, receiving the introductions for over two hours. Hattie Lee saw that the maids continued circulating, offering refreshment and cigars. When a maid approached them, Chase accepted a tumbler of whiskey and noticed that Annalisa refused a tulip glass of champagne.
"Would you prefer whiskey?" he asked, reaching for a cigar.
"I’ve never tasted it," she said softly. Unaware of the look of disbelief on his face, she reached a taper to a candle and held the light toward his cigar. Among her many lessons in the past week had been the art of lighting a man’s cigar, as well as learning the names of the many fine liquors.
"I think you’ll enjoy this, Mr. Masters. We serve only the best cigars."
He stiffened for a moment, as if about to say something. Then, thinking better about it, he leaned toward her. As he took several drags on the cigar, he continued staring at her. In the candle glow, her cheeks were flushed, her skin flawless. Little corkscrew tendrils of hair kissed her forehead and throat, and he had an unreasonable desire to reach out and touch them. Instead he curled his fingers around the cigar and blew out a stream of smoke.
She extinguished the taper and dropped it on a maid’s tray. Glancing up, she found him staring at her with an intense look.
"What’s wrong?"
"Nothing." He took a long drink of whiskey, enjoying the way it burned his throat and sent warmth snaking along his insides.
"The finest whiskey, too," she said with pride. "I’m told our clientele will accept nothing less than the best."
She saw the smile return to his eyes and had the strangest feeling that he was laughing at her.
"Have I said something funny?"
"Forgive me, Miss Montgomery. It’s just that I . . ."
"Here you are," Hattie Lee said, pushing through the crowd. Stopping beside Chase, she lowered her voice. "It’s all checked and accounted for. You and Annalisa can settle up in her office."
"Settle up?"
"I’d prefer we talk somewhere more private," Chase said, abruptly taking her arm and nudging her through the crush of people.
"My office is . . ."
"I know where your office is," he said through his smile as he continued leading her across the room.
Once in the hallway she stopped and yanked her arm from his grasp. "Just what is this all about?"
"I said we’ll speak in private." He caught her arm and began dragging her along the hallway toward the back of the house.
Annalisa dug in her heels. "Mr. Masters ..."
"The name is Chase. And we’ll talk in here." Opening the door to her office, he shoved her inside, then pulled the door closed and turned the lock.
Annalisa had no idea what Chase Masters was up to, but she was determined to keep the upper hand. Seeing the way he leaned against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, she stiffened her spine and walked to her desk. Taking a seat, she indicated a pair of chairs drawn up on either side of her desk. "Would you care to be seated?"
"Thank you." Chase sat down, crossing his long legs at the ankle in a careless, relaxed pose.
Annalisa was reminded of a picture she had seen of an East Indian snake charmer. Chase was like the cobra—lulled for the moment, but deadly all the same. There was nothing relaxed or careless about Chase Masters.
"Now." She picked up a pen and ne
rvously tapped it against her fingers. "Just what was it that Hattie Lee counted, and what are we supposed to be settling up?"
He wondered if this businesslike pose was just another act. Who the hell was she? Madame in this house of pleasure? Actress? Educated business woman? Innocent? He dismissed the latter. No one in this house could be innocent.
"A shipment," Chase said, watching her eyes.
"A shipment? Of what?"
Reaching into his breast pocket, he unfolded a paper. Reading from it, he said, "Coffee from Brazil—fifty pounds. Perfume from France—ten bottles." He leaned menacingly over the desk. "I hope it’s as good as that fragrance you’re wearing. Makes me weak."
She shot him an icy stare, but before she could reply, he added, "And cigars from Havana—two cases." With a twinkle in his eye, he added, "Nothing but the best for your—clientele."
She felt the blush coloring her cheeks. Reaching out a hand, she said, "May I see the bill of lading please?"
He handed it to her and watched while she looked it over. When she looked up, he was still boldly studying her.
"You must have enjoyed hearing me boast, knowing you were the one who supplied the fine things I was taking credit for. Did I amuse you?"
"You continually amuse me, Miss Montgomery."
"Why were these things delivered tonight?"
"Because I knew Soulet would be here instead of at the docks. It seemed a good joke to bring in a shipment under his very nose without his knowledge."
"Is Mr. Soulet a problem?"
Chase watched a cloud of smoke curl over his head before answering. "Soulet is a minor irritation."
"How do I keep him from causing trouble?"
"You could outsmart him. He’s not the brightest man I’ve ever met."
"And if I don’t manage that?"
"Money," Chase said quickly. "In this town, everyone demands money for their favors."
"And if I pay him what he demands, he allows my goods to come into port?"
Chase nodded. "But in order to save a little money, we simply bring some things in behind his back. There’s no way he can keep track of everything that comes through the harbor."
"And if you get caught?"
"I’ll handle Soulet."
Annalisa gripped the pen so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Seeing it, Chase leaned closer and took the pen from her hand. "I don’t have a shipment of pens for another week."
Despite her revulsion at the man under discussion, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "What do I owe you for tonight’s shipment?" she asked.
"It’s on the second page."
Glancing at the paper, Annalisa looked up. "That doesn’t seem like enough to cover coffee, perfume, and cigars."
"I got them for a very reasonable price," he said quickly.
Annalisa studied him. "Am I buying stolen merchandise, Mr. Masters?"
He stubbed the cigar out in an ash tray on her desk and sat back in his chair, all the while watching her. "I’m a businessman, Miss Montgomery. I buy commodities and I deliver commodities. I don’t ask for a pedigree. I suggest you do the same."
For long moments she studied the firm set of his jaw. Then, taking out a heavy locked box, she counted out the bills and handed them to him.
"It isn’t wise to keep much money in here, Miss Montgomery. There are a great many desperate men in this city who would not be above robbing women." Folding the money, he patted his pocket, then said, "Now I’d like to enjoy a glass of that fine whiskey I delivered on my last trip."
Walking to a sideboard, she lifted a decanter and poured a generous amount of fine whiskey into a tumbler and handed it to him.
"I don’t like to drink alone."
"I’m not . . ." She paused, considered, then gave him a level look. "I’ll drink with you, if you’ll answer a couple of questions."
"Depends."
"Did you know my mother?"
"Sara?" He nodded. "I did."
Annalisa poured a small amount of whiskey into a second glass and turned toward him. "Tell me about her."
At his look, she added, "I never knew my mother. And she died just as I arrived home. In her will I was left this—business."
A smile touched his lips. Lifting his glass, he said, "Here’s to the new mistress of Hannah Elliott’s House of Pleasure."
They touched glasses. Chase took a long drink, then watched as Annalisa took a sip of the whiskey. She fought to keep her composure as tears momentarily blurred her vision. She opened her mouth to suck in a lungful of air, then lifted her chin in that haughty way he’d come to know so well. Tilting her head, she drank again, draining her glass. He noticed her hand shake slightly as she set the tumbler down on the sideboard. Walking back to her desk, she sat down and faced him.
Well, I’ll be damned, he thought. She hadn’t been lying earlier. It was obvious she’d never had a taste of whiskey before in her life. But she’d downed her drink like a sailor. He studied her with growing admiration.
"What was my mother like?"
Chase sat down across from her. "She was a respected business woman. Sharp with figures. She went over every bill twice. If she ever got cheated by a merchant, she never got burned a second time. She was fair. She made it her business to know the market value of everything she bought and—the goods she sold."
Annalisa waited while he took another drink. She couldn’t imagine anyone liking whiskey, but she’d rather die than admit it to Chase Masters.
"What was she like personally?"
"Sara was a lady. She earned everyone’s respect. I never knew her to break her word. It was well known that she would never violate a confidence. She knew most everyone’s business around these parts. What she knew she kept to herself."
Before she could ask another question, Chase interrupted. "Now it’s my turn. What the hell were you doing on that riverboat passing yourself off as a little saint?"
Annalisa gave him a frigid look. "We’re not here to discuss my life."
"I was fair with you," Chase said in that low, dangerous voice she recognized. "Answer me."
"I—never pretended to be a saint." Evasively, she added, "I just didn’t like you, Mr. Masters. And even though I’m prepared to do business with you, I still don’t have to like you." She stood. "Thank you for your candor. By the way, what did you, personally, think of my mother?"
"I liked her." Chase drained the glass and set it on the edge of her desk. Standing, he took a step closer and reached out a hand to brush a wisp of hair from her cheek. The touch sent a rush of heat along her spine. "But I wasn’t nearly as intrigued by her as I am by her daughter, who passed herself off as a nun."
A wave of fury rushed over her, making the words clipped and angry. "I never ..."
At a knock on the door they both looked up. "Annalisa."
It was Hattie Lee’s urgent voice.
Crossing the room, Annalisa unlocked the door. "What is it?"
"Time for you to get back to your guests." Glancing past her to Chase, the black woman added, "Thank you. It’s beautiful." Touching a finger to the cameo brooch at her throat, she explained to Annalisa, "I happened to mention to Chase that my mother once had an ivory cameo brooch. And tonight he surprised me with this in a little velvet pouch. I found it when I unloaded the shipment."
"How thoughtful of him," Annalisa said in a strangled voice, "but how can you be sure he didn’t snatch it from a dead body?" Lifting her skirts, Annalisa stiffened her back and strode away.
Behind her, Hattie Lee and Chase watched until she was swallowed up in the crowd of men. Turning, the black woman saw the little frown line between his eyes, and the muscle that worked in the side of his jaw.
"Careful, Chase. She’s hardly more than a kitten."
Chase crossed the room and surprised himself by pouring another drink, something he rarely did. Draining it quickly, he turned and met the older woman’s dark, knowing eyes. "That’s no kitten, Hattie Lee. That one ther
e’s a little wildcat. And she has claws. Sharp claws."
Chapter Nine
Annalisa sat at the desk, her head bent over the ledgers, trying to decipher her mother’s complicated code. Her mother’s figures were neat, precise. Each delivery was recorded with date and time. Each payment carefully noted. But why had Sara circled numbers beside the names of certain men? And why had she underlined some of the names?
The air, heavy with the fragrance of roses, drifted through the open window. Because of the early hour, the breeze was fresh and cool. Upstairs, the women of the house were still sleeping soundly. During dinner, the maids would change their bed linens and freshen their rooms in preparation for another night. The maids charged with the task of cleaning the public rooms on the lower floor went about their business quietly. Occasionally Annalisa heard the swish of a starched apron, the click of a door latch. The kitchen staff was just beginning to stir. The tantalizing odor of freshly ground coffee made her realize how hungry she was. Out of habit, she had risen at dawn, even though she hadn’t gone to bed until well past midnight. She would have to learn to nap in the afternoons until her internal clock adjusted to this new nighttime regimen.
At a knock on the door, she looked up. Hattie Lee entered, frowning.
"Emile Soulet is here."
"Soulet? What does he want?"
"He wants to see you." After a pause, she added, "He often came to see your mama."
"Do you know why?"
The black woman shook her head. "Mrs. Sara took care of money business."
Annalisa pushed her ledgers aside and picked up a pen. "Show Mr. Soulet in, Hattie Lee."
A moment later the heavyset man entered. Seeing her sharp glance in the direction of his head he reached a beefy hand to his hat. When Annalisa indicated a chair, he pulled it close to her desk and sat. The odor of stale whiskey and cigars clung to him. Obviously he didn’t bother with amenities like bathing or changing clothes.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Soulet?"
"You got that wrong. It’s what I can do for you, Miss Montgomery."
"And just what is it you can do for me?"
His gaze swept the room, then focused on the polished wooden box on her desk. "Mind if I smoke?"
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