Destiny's Daughter

by Ruth Ryan Langan

The words she’d been about to hurl died on her lips. Her lashes swept up. Her eyes widened.

  "Chase ..."

  "Shh." He touched a finger to her lips, and she felt a flash as blinding as lightning.

  They were both painfully aware of what was unfinished between them. That scene in this very room had ended far differently than they had planned. So much had happened in the short time since then. But neither of them had been able to forget the desire, the overwhelming passion that had blazed between them.

  "Why do we always fight?" She felt the timbre of his voice deep inside her as he pressed his lips to a tangle of hair at her temple.

  "Because we’re so wrong for each other."

  His lips stilled. Pushing her a little away, he studied her so closely she felt as if he could see clear to her soul. "Are we?"

  Pain as sharp as a razor sliced her heart. It was time for them to face the facts, before this went any further. Running her tongue over her lips, she said softly, "You know we are, Chase. We’re as different as two people can be. Look at you. While your country is torn apart by corrupt politicians and men who have no room in their hearts for anything except hatred and bitterness, you can’t even think of anything more serious than a game of poker. While people are suffering and starving, you waste your precious money on trinkets."

  She saw his eyes narrow slightly. He said nothing in his own defense, and she realized that, though her words were harsh, they were accurate. Except for the little muscle that worked in his jaw, he showed no further anger.

  "They say opposites attract."

  She swallowed. "I can’t deny there’s an attraction. But we’d be wise to take great care to see that we never let it go beyond this."

  His smile was beginning to return. His lips quirked at her serious tone. "Why? What harm can there be in a little kiss?"

  "Sister Marie Therese said ..."

  His lips covered hers so quickly the rest of her words were swallowed up by his mouth. A shower of stars exploded in her brain. Her hands pushed fiercely against his shoulders, then stilled.

  Gradually she became aware of the strong hands at her back, so strong they could break her. Yet they held her as gently as if she were made of eggshell. He smelled of horses and leather, and faintly of tobacco and Hattie Lee’s homemade bayberry soap. The collar of his shirt was stiff and scratchy, and she longed to press her lips to the hair-roughened chest beneath. Now where did that thought come from? Never before in her life had she thought about pressing her lips to a man’s chest. Or any other part of his anatomy. His lips were warm and firm, and as they moved and nibbled and suckled at her mouth, her thoughts scattered. She could think of nothing but the fire that seemed to grow deep inside her and spread until her whole being was aflame.

  Chase had known it would be like this. From the first moment he allowed himself to touch her, desire consumed him. Holding her, kissing her, and not being able to have her completely was sheer torment. But the thought of not touching her was worse. Every waking minute, he thought of her. And while he slept, thoughts of her flitted through his mind, teasing, taunting, robbing him of precious sleep.

  Beneath the soft fabric of her dress, her breasts were flattened against his chest. Her thighs were pressed to his. Her hands no longer fought to push him away, but were instead twined around his neck. She was so small, so delicate, that if he chose, he could take her here, in a shaft of sunlight, on the floor of her office, and she would be unable to resist. A fresh wave of desire washed over him as he moaned and took the kiss deeper. His hands grasped her hips and pulled her firmly against him. Then he slid his hands along her sides until they encountered the soft swell of her breasts. There his thumbs teased her already hardening nipples.

  He heard her little gasp of breath and knew that it wouldn’t be enough to take her. He wanted it all. He needed her to want him as well, as desperately as he wanted her. And he would have it. He would. Because no matter how much she protested their differences, there was no denying the heat that simmered between them. It was only a matter of time before it leaped into a flame that would devour them.

  Lifting his head, he stared down into eyes the color of molten gold.

  "I’ll be gone only a day or two. Three at the most." He brushed a strand of hair from her eye, then bent and brushed his lips over hers. "And then we’ll have to settle our—unfinished business."

  Chapter Twenty-three

  "Damn fools in Washington. Now they want to send a committee to look into corruption in New Orleans."

  Annalisa moved among the clusters of men, hearing snatches of their conversation. For one brief moment her heart soared. Would there be some relief from the armed, hooded terrorists and those who would steal another’s land?

  "No war general in the White House can tell us how to run our city." Edmond Lafourcade’s thin mustache twitched as he voiced his displeasure at President Grant’s latest grumblings about civil disobedience in the South.

  "Don’t worry about old Unconditional Surrender Grant," Charles Montagnet said with importance. "We have enough of our own men in Congress now to override anything that old fool tries to foist on us."

  Annalisa smiled and waved her fan, while inside she seethed. How could anyone in Washington know what was going on in New Orleans, when the only ones around to represent the people were selfish tyrants like Montagnet and Lafourcade? Her glance slid to the settee where Nate and old Judge Coulter were discussing the state of the South’s economy. Washington needed to hear from such men. They wouldn’t mince words. They wouldn’t bother to praise and flatter. They would plead for the thousands of simple people whose lands were being bartered as if they were of no more importance than a horse or a wagon.

  As she continued mingling, the chief of police motioned to her. "Good evening, Miss Montgomery." He gave her an approving look. "I believe that’s a new gown, isn’t it?"

  She blushed. Hattie Lee had insisted on using the new shipment of China silks as soon as they arrived. This one, in a brilliant dragon red, was fashioned with a deep ruffle that hugged her shoulders, then molded her breasts before falling in graceful shirred folds to the floor. The bright red fan had been fashioned of dyed ostrich feathers in a handle of brilliant red-and-black enameled design.

  Everyone in town knew that her shipments were being held on the docks, where they were either sold to the highest bidder or left to rot in the blazing sun. Yet there was not a man in this room who wouldn’t notice that her gown was the latest European fashion. She and the others in this house were playing a dangerous game, defying men who obviously had the power to destroy them.

  "Hattie Lee happened upon a bolt of unused fabric in an upstairs closet." She felt her cheeks redden. Hadn’t her mother told her she wasn’t very good at telling lies?

  "How fortunate." Boulanger smiled the way she imagined a cat would smile at a mouse. "And that gown of Francine’s." He turned and studied the woman whose gown of emerald silk was clearly visible across the room. "Is that not new also?"

  Annalisa lifted her fan and kept her silence. Boulanger was no fool. He had to know that her supplies were getting through. And though it would be impossible for the entire navy to patrol all the backwaters and bayous in Louisiana, he could make it more difficult for Chase’s men to make their deliveries. She wondered if Boulanger could be trusted to keep his suspicions to himself. Or had Chase already bought his loyalty? Or worse, had someone on the other side paid him to spy?

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, "Things have been quiet these last nights." When she arched an eyebrow in surprise, he added, "Chase asked me to keep an eye on your place while he was gone."

  She breathed a quick sigh of relief.

  "But I don’t think he expected to be away so long."

  Nor had she. Five days. Five long days. And still he hadn’t returned. Most of the time she felt a simmering anger at his careless disregard of her feelings. After all, he had said only a day or two. But sometimes, in the small hours of the night, she
awoke with the chill feeling that something terrible had happened to him.

  There were so many things that could go wrong when a man traveled as frequently as Chase did. The riverboat could have sunk. Of course, she would have heard of such a disaster, she consoled herself. He could have been struck by a carriage in the street. He could have been shot by an angry card player. He could have met a beautiful woman . . .

  At that point her fear turned to anger. He was a thoughtless, carefree gambler, who would never settle down long enough to care about anyone except himself. The only thing that mattered to Chase Masters was his own selfish pleasure.

  Brooding, she walked over to where Nate Blackwell now sat alone. The elderly judge who had been his companion was engaged in quiet conversation with Gabrielle on the far side of the room. Nate could always be counted on to lift her spirits with his flattery.

  "Annalisa." He was on his feet instantly, brushing his lips over her outstretched hand.

  This was what she needed, she told herself, holding the fan to her face in a flirtatious pose. Here was a man who appreciated her. "You’ve been here so often lately, Nate, you’ve become like one of us. Thelma has already memorized how you like your coffee, and your two favorite desserts."

  "I had forgotten what it was like to be pampered by beautiful women," he said, falling into step beside her.

  A maid appeared instantly at their side with a decanter of sherry and two stemmed glasses.

  "You see," Annalisa said with a smile. "Even the maids have begun anticipating your needs."

  While he poured their drinks, she saw Francine glance their way with a look of concern. Absently Annalisa wondered if the tall young woman had just heard something important. When she had the chance, Annalisa promised herself, she would work her way to Francine’s side and ask her. Just then Lafourcade and Montagnet waded through the crowd and began to engage the blonde woman in conversation. With a swish of her green silk skirts, she turned away. Annalisa returned her attention to Nate.

  He noticed the faint smudges beneath her eyes. "It’s difficult to sleep with one ear always listening for the sound of horses’ hooves in the night, is it not?"

  Annalisa nodded. "No matter how exhausted, we all seem to be sleeping lightly these nights. At the least little sound, we reach for our rifles."

  He turned her palm up and held it. "These hands weren’t made to hold a rifle."

  Again Annalisa wondered at her lack of response to Nate’s touch. If this were Chase ... "I’ve found that I can do anything I set my mind to. Even shoot a gun without squeezing my eyes shut," she added with a smile.

  "I wish I had your courage."

  Annalisa gave Nate a thorough, appraising look. "That’s enough of such talk. I’ve learned that courage wears many faces." Tell me, she pleaded silently. Tell me how you go about anonymously giving help to those who need it. Take me into your confidence, so I can share this wonderful part of your life with you.

  "I’ve discovered that fact as well." He gave her a warm smile as she paused in the doorway. "I’ve begun to think that the women in this house may be the bravest people I’ve ever known." His glance drifted across the room to Francine, who was laughing at something Lafourcade had just said. "I was astounded to hear that such a beautiful woman as she had suffered at the hands of roving bands of low life." Following the direction of his gaze, Annalisa heard the edge of anger in his tone. "No one, it seems, was exempt from suffering."

  "Francine and the others have taught me much about courage," Annalisa said solemnly. "I’ll never again see only the face a person presents to the world. Take Montagnet," she said, her voice lowering. Nate glanced at the tall man beside Francine. "The world sees a handsome, educated man who has the power to lead his country to greatness." Nate turned to study her as she said softly, "I see a snake who uses his power for his own selfish gains." Glancing at Gabrielle, who waved her fan and flirted openly with the elderly judge, she said, "When they look at her, others see a beautiful woman who loves her work. I see a woman who has taught me about survival. When I came here, I saw only women who were engaged in a profession I scorned. Now I have discovered courageous women who are my friends, my sisters."

  Shaking his head, Nate said, "You continue to amaze me, Annalisa."

  He refilled her glass, and she drank deeply, feeling the warmth of the wine mingle with the heated feelings stirring within her. She handed the empty glass to a maid.

  "You have, I think, too much passion. Whether it is for politics and intrigue, or for the people you care about." Nate’s glance once again stole across the groups of men and women and came to rest on Francine’s regal figure.

  Stepping through the doorway, Annalisa entered the dim, cool hallway leading to her office. Nate closed the door behind them, effectively shutting out the sounds of tinkling crystal, the murmur of voices, the occasional bursts of laughter.

  "Better to feel too intensely than to feel nothing at all."

  He gave her a look that was both gentle and knowing. Catching up her hand, he said, "Be careful, little one. Once you begin to feel deeply, you open yourself up to unbelievable pain."

  Annalisa glanced at their joined hands. "Is that what you’ve been doing, Nate? Holding yourself aloof to keep from being hurt again?"

  She saw the look that came and went in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then clamped it shut again. At last, swallowing, he said softly, "In the last few days, I’ve begun to feel like a man snatched from the arms of death. I’m not yet capable of feeling. But it is enough to know that I’m alive again. And for that," he said, bending toward her, "I owe you a debt of gratitude."

  Annalisa stood perfectly still. She dropped her fan, allowing it to dangle from a cord on her wrist. She knew instinctively that he intended to brush her cheek with his lips, as he had done in the past. It was a gesture they were both comfortable with. But the sherry and her confusion over her feelings for Chase made her bold. She knew how Chase could make her feel. He needed only to touch her and she was aflame. But Nate’s touch always seemed to leave her cold. She needed to experiment. She was determined to see if she could bring herself to experience the same feelings with Nate that she did with Chase.

  When he bent closer and lowered his face to hers, she turned, meeting his lips with hers. He seemed surprised. She felt him stiffen slightly. Then his lips covered hers.

  She wanted the fire, the flash, the burning, searing desire. He was, after all, her soulmate. Nate Blackwell was everything she’d ever admired in a person. Noble, decent, honorable, long-suffering. It would be so right, so perfect, to feel the same intense feeling she always felt with Chase. She lingered over the kiss, willing it to happen.

  It didn’t. It was not meant to be. Kissing Nate was like kissing old Sister Placidia’s withered parchment cheek. Nate’s lips were gentle, soft, warm. The hands at her back were firm without exerting too much pressure. He smelled of soap and pomade. His breath was sweet with the taste of sherry. But she felt nothing. Nothing.

  He dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back. Suddenly embarrassed, Annalisa flicked open her fan and lifted it to cover the flush that stole along her throat and touched her cheeks.

  His voice was low, troubled. "Forgive me, Annalisa. That was bold of me. And ungentlemanly."

  "I . . ." She glanced at the floor, ashamed of the way she had tricked him. "... have some business to attend to in my office. Please don’t avoid me because of this, Nate. We can still be friends."

  He clasped her hand for a moment, then nodded and turned away. As soon as the door closed behind him, a black-garbed figure seemed to leap at her from the shadows.

  * * *

  Chase was bone weary. The journey to New York and Washington had kept him away too long. And all the time he’d been gone, he’d been plagued with worries about Annalisa’s safety.

  At least he had managed to exact a promise in Washington that something would be done about the land grabbing. Chase had called in every debt
owed him, exerting every ounce of political and personal pressure. The governor of Louisiana had given his personal guarantee that Montagnet’s excessive powers would be curbed. And Chase had scoured the archives for every document revealing Montagnet’s past. But no one seemed to know how to stop the hooded night riders who terrorized the freed slaves. Hattie Lee, Eulalie, Luther, and all who chose to stand with them were in grave peril.

  As he had so often, Chase had bypassed the public scrutiny of a riverboat by traveling the murky bayous in a flat-bottomed boat. It was safer this way, and infinitely more private. And there was much about Chase’s life that had to remain private.

  As the still night air closed around him, he removed his jacket and hat, and ran a hand through his hair plastered damply to his forehead. From the banks of the Mississippi he made his way unerringly in the darkness. Passing the willow, he found himself thinking about the complex young woman who had been a constant distraction on this journey. In his mind he could still see her in the water, glistening in the sunlight like some ethereal creature.

  In the distance he heard the sound of laughter, and saw the blaze of lights that signaled another busy evening at Hannah Elliott’s House of Pleasure. His footsteps quickened. Crossing the back porch, he entered the dim hallway, intent on going directly to Annalisa’s office and the bed awaiting him.

  Muted voices caught his attention. Pausing, he found himself smiling when he recognized Annalisa’s low, husky laughter. And then he was swept by a wave of fury as he heard the second voice and made out the two figures; Nate’s holding her hand, bending toward her; Annalisa’s leaning into him, lifting her face for his kiss.

  * * *

  He leaped from the shadows quivering with repressed rage.

  "Oh! Chase, it’s you." Annalisa gave a nervous laugh and touched a hand to her breast. "I thought for a moment it was one of those hooded killers."

  "So you couldn’t even wait five days. Was that too much to ask?" He took a menacing step closer. "Why, Annalisa? With Nate Blackwell?" His face was so black with anger, his voice so wracked with pain, she found she couldn’t speak.