Destiny's Daughter

By Ruth Ryan Langan

A Ruth Ryan Langan Historical Romance Classic.

Annalisa Montgomery leaves her convent for a visit to the stranger who is her mother. Aboard the paddlewheeler the sheltered young woman meets Chase Masters, a handsome, worldly gambler who leaves an indelible impression on her.

Annalisa's mother dies suddenly, leaving her daughter a shocking legacy - a luxurious house of pleasure in steamy New Orleans. This, in turn, sweeps the convent-bred beauty into a maze of corruption and intrigue. It is the charming Chase who seems always to come to Annalisa's rescue. But Chase harbors secrets of his own. Secrets that lead them into a web of horrors that can offer no happy ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Ryan Langan
• Release date: Jun 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452431864

Ruth Ryan Langan

New York Times best-selling author Ruth Ryan Langan, who also writes under the pseudonym R. C. Ryan, is the author of over 100 novels, both contemporary romantic-suspense and historical adventure. Quite an accomplishment for this mother of five who, after her youngest child started school, gave herself the gift of an hour a day to follow her dream to become a published author.Ruth has given dozens of radio, television and print interviews across the country and Canada, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and COSMOPOLITAN. Ruth has also been interviewed on CNN NEWS, as well as GOOD MORNING AMERICA.

Book preview

Destiny’s Daughter

by

Ruth Ryan Langan

Smashwords Edition

Electronic Edition Copyright 2012 Ruth Ryan Langan

Originally published in paperback, 1987.

www.RyanLangan.com

* * * * *

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Titles

by Ruth Ryan Langan

Historical Romance Classics

Now Available as EBooks:

Heart’s Delight

Paradise Falls

Ashes of Dreams

Duchess of Fifth Avenue

Captive of Desire

Passage West

Nevada Nights

September’s Dream

The Heart’s Secrets

Destiny’s Daughter

Texas Heart

Texas Hero

Mistress of the Seas

Deception

Christmas Miracle

Angel

Exciting Highlander Series

Now Available as EBooks:

Highland Barbarian

Highland Heather

Highland Heart

The Highlander

Highland Heaven

* * * * *

Visit Ruth’s website for more information at

www.RyanLangan.com

* * * * *

To my mother, Beatrice Ryan, who accompanied me to New Orleans for my research.

And to Elly and Bruce, who joined us and made it an adventure.

And, of course, to Tom. Always to Tom with love.

* * * * *

Author’s Note

It is still possible to visit restored mansions in the South and glimpse a way of life that has gone forever. The city of New Orleans and the Louisiana bayous fueled my imagination. But when I prowled the French Quarter, and delved into the archives at Tulane University, my characters took on a life of their own.

I love the sheltered girl who blossomed into a woman, and the riverboat gambler with the outrageous sense of humor, just as I love the women who surround them, who aren't afraid to be both tough and tender, and the men who color their lives. I hope you learn to love them as well.

Prologue

Natchez, Mississippi 1861

Sister Mary Aquinas, mother superior of the Convent of the Holy Trinity, glanced up from her paperwork at the shrill sounds piercing the silence.

Sister Marie Therese. What is that commotion?

The young nun paused in the doorway, her breath coming in short gasps from the exertion of running along the darkened passageway. Her black veil, so recently earned, fell crookedly about her shoulders.

I think you’d better come, Reverend Mother.

Wearily the older nun pushed away from her desk and followed the younger sister’s lead. The scene that greeted them left the mother superior staring in stunned silence.

Inside the gates of the convent stood a towering black-skinned woman dressed in an elegant red gown. A matching bonnet with a feather plume dipped low over one dark eyebrow.

That sight alone would have been enough to raise questions. Since the beginning of the war between the states, most of the wealthy plantation owners showed signs of straining budgets. The slaves, now struggling for survival in a floundering economy, appeared the shabbiest. The elegance of this woman’s clothes was a shocking contrast to the area’s poverty.

Tall and handsome, the woman showed no emotion as several black-robed sisters strove to quiet the screams of a little child huddled at her feet.

Sister Mary Aquinas found her gaze riveted on the child. Writhing and twisting like some wild creature, she clutched at the skirt of the black woman, tearfully imploring her not to leave. Two of the sisters knelt on either side of her, prying her little fingers loose. The child’s wailing increased.

When her skirt was pried free, the black woman strode regally toward the mother superior. Dark, piercing eyes fixed the nun with an almost hypnotic stare. Her voice was a rich, honeyed contralto. The child’s name is Annalisa Montgomery. She is eight years old. Her widowed mother bids you raise her like a lady. Keep a tally of her expenses. They will be paid once a year.

As the nun was about to protest, the black woman handed her a heavy sack. Gold coins spilled out, bouncing and rolling on the cobblestones, sounding oddly hollow in the stillness of the afternoon.

The mother superior’s gaze was fixed on the gold. Dear God, she muttered, swallowing convulsively. It is enough to feed our hungry for a year. She glanced up. I can’t possibly accept all this.

It is yours. There will be more. The black woman turned and, without a glance at the hysterical child, walked through the gates and settled herself into an elegant carriage. With her gaze carefully averted, she spoke to the driver. Then, for one long moment, she turned to stare at the child. Dark eyes glistened. She blinked away the mist. With a clatter of horses’ hooves, she was whisked from sight.

As the heavy gates swung shut, one of the sisters holding the child let out a cry and snatched her hand away. Sister Mary Aquinas watched in horror as the child sank her teeth into the hand of the second nun, then flung herself against the gates with such force she was knocked backward to the ground.

When one of the sisters rushed forward to help the child, she was horrified to hear a stream of swear words in perfect French, followed by an outburst of language never before uttered within these hallowed walls.

Mon dieu, Reverend Mother. Did you hear what this child said?

The others clapped their hands over their mouths in shocked silence. One of the older sisters fell to her knees to pray for forgiveness for even having heard such words.

Walking closer, Sister Mary Aquinas stared down at the crumpled form of the little girl. The once beautiful lace dress was now torn and stained from her struggles. A mane of dark gypsy hair fell nearly to the child’s ankles. It had apparently never been cut. Or properly combed and brushed from the looks of it. The child’s skin was tanned and ruddy, as if she had been allowed to romp in the sun without benefit of proper cover. The amber eyes staring out of that tear-streaked face were wide with fear. Beneath a fringe of dark lashes, they darted from one robed figure to the other, then back to the one who was apparently in charge. In the gleaming sunlight they glinted like a cat’s.

Annalisa.

The child’s head lifted; the chin jutted defiantly.

Est-ce que vous parlez francais?

Though the child’s expression reflected fear, her voice was strong. Oui.

The nun lifted an eyebrow. Habla espanol?

Si.

Can you speak English as well? the mother superior asked tentatively.

Yes. The girl’s response was spontaneous, without any seeming effort.

Reverend Mother hid her surprise. This little girl was multilingual, and obviously very bright.

Sister Marie Therese. The superior’s voice rang with authority.

The young nun inched forward timidly.

Take the child inside and clean her up. Her mother wishes her to be educated. I will make her your special charge.

The newly professed sister blinked. What if she bites me, Reverend Mother?

Bite her back, one of the novices intoned.

The older nun turned toward the cluster of young students and fixed the speaker with a withering look, then cast a speculative glance at the fiery creature who had been deposited at their gates. She turned away with a rustle of stiff skirts, the money sack held firmly in her hands. With patience and compassion, we will teach this child the Lord’s way.

Yes, Reverend Mother. The inexperienced nun tried to keep her gaze lowered as she had been trained. Reverend Mother?

The mother superior turned impatiently. Yes?

Anxious eyes looked up, then away. But what if she bites me?

Casting a warning glance at the cluster of grinning novices, Reverend Mother said, I’m certain God will give you the necessary strength to deal with it. Swallowing down the smile that threatened, Sister Mary Aquinas swept away, leaving the others to stare at the bewildered, defiant little creature backed against the cold grillwork of the securely locked gate.

As she made her way along the dark corridor, Reverend Mother’s ears were assaulted by a string of oaths. Dear God, she thought, crossing herself. The child is able to swear in three different languages. And probably several Creole dialects as well.

Kneeling before the altar, she bowed her head. I trust, Lord, that You always give us the necessary grace to do Your holy work in order to ascend to our eternal reward in Heaven.

Her prayers were interrupted by a piercing scream followed by more swearing. The air rang with curses and guttural moans.

Sister Mary Aquinas lifted her head and fixed her stare on the Cross. And I know that Your poor have great need of this money. Her voice wavered. But this time, Lord, You’ve given us a mountain.

Chapter One

Natchez, Mississippi 1870

Sister Marie Therese directed the crewman to set the trunk down beside the bunk and thanked him when he straightened from his task. His arms were heavily muscled, slick with sweat. His torn shirt stretched tautly across the broad expanse of his back. She saw his glance rake her young charge, who stood, seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, in the middle of the cabin. Seeing the nun’s withering look, he averted his gaze and strode away.

Annalisa.

Amber eyes widened as the young woman looked up. Yes, Sister?

The boat departs shortly. There is yet time to change your mind. A proper young lady should not be made to face such a painful task alone, Sister Marie Therese thought with a frown.

I have to go, Sister. The soft, husky voice was like a whisper on the breeze. This is not something I can tell my mother in a letter.

But are you certain you wish to make this trip alone? I could still arrange to accompany you. Even though Sister Mary Aquinas is indisposed, I’m sure I could be spared. That way, if your mother should protest your decision to enter the convent, you will have someone to plead your case.

My mother won’t protest, Sister. In the nine years I’ve been at the Convent of the Holy Trinity, I’ve never once seen her. If it weren’t for the money she sends, I wouldn’t even believe she exists. I feel certain she will have no interest in how I choose to spend the rest of my life.

The nun nodded her understanding. She had never forgotten the spectacular arrival of the child she had come to love, or the unceremonious way in which she had been left with strangers.

Sister Marie Therese studied the lush dark hair, pulled and twisted into a perfect knot. How they had despaired of ever taming that mane, which seemed all tangles and curls, just as they had feared they might never teach the undisciplined child who fought them every step of the way.

Sister Marie Therese had delighted in the fact that she had been a brilliant child. When she arrived at the convent, Annalisa could already read. The sisters were amazed, and often shocked, at the range of her worldly vocabulary. She was a wizard at figures and had managed to memorize the multiplication tables years earlier than her classmates.

She had a wicked sense of humor and had often gone to great lengths to play a trick when the drab winter rains kept them all confined to their rooms. Sister Marie Therese often thought that Annalisa’s ribald humor masked a deep pain. Every Sunday she had watched the child dress carefully in her black uniform with starched white collar and cuffs and march into the parlor with the other girls, where they would dutifully sit awaiting their families. While the others held joyful reunions and walked outside in the formal gardens for private, loving visits, or left in carriages for an afternoon at home on magnificent plantations, Annalisa counted the tiles on the floor and memorized the Latin words inscribed on the scrolled wall hangings. In the nine years she had been in the convent school, she had never had a single visitor.

Over the years, the sisters had managed to soften some of the rough edges. The wild little waif had grown into a rare beauty. Her figure was slender, yet provocatively feminine. Her rough speech had been smoothed to a pleasing drawl. The hair, though still often a tangle of unmanageable curls, was an unusual mingling of colors, from rich, dark sable to fiery auburn. She was an altogether unusual young woman, compelling to look at, delightful to be with. Beneath the prim gown and carefully combed hair, beneath the strange topaz eyes and lowered lashes, Sister Marie Therese suspected there still lurked the shadow of the primitive creature they had first encountered. But recently Annalisa had announced her intention of becoming a nun. It was the duty of Mother Superior to enlist more women into God’s holy army. If this young woman could sublimate her worldly instincts, and Sister Marie Therese had private doubts of that, she had the makings of a fine soldier. But maybe, just maybe, the nun pleaded in a silent prayer, the girl’s mother could be persuaded to keep her in New Orleans. Though Annalisa’s intentions were noble, Sister Marie Therese thought the headstrong girl much more suited to the world outside the convent walls.

Will you walk with me to the rail?

The younger woman nodded and held the door. The slight breeze was a welcome relief after the stifling heat of the cabin.

At the rail, the nun turned and looked down into the face of the young woman, resisting an impulse to hug her. Years of training had taught her to display no open sign of affection.

Remember to lock your cabin door, Sister Marie Therese said softly. And you would be wise to carry a parasol. I understand the sun off the water is quite harsh.

The girl swallowed her smile. Yes, Sister.

She glanced at the high coloring, rare in young ladies of breeding. You should be in New Orleans by Saturday. Give your mother a chance to show you her world before you make your decision. I will expect a letter within the month, notifying us of the date of your return, if it is what you still wish.

Annalisa nodded.

Take care, Annalisa. May God hold you in His hands.

The girl smiled at the familiar convent blessing. And you. Thank you, Sister.

The City of Memphis was a three-decker packet heading south from Natchez to New Orleans. Considered an elegant, genteel mode of travel, the steamboat’s decks were crowded with wealthy passengers.

Annalisa stood by the rail and watched as Sister Marie Therese made her way to the pier. Amid the bustling crewmen and the crowd assembling at the rail, she was jostled and shoved as she tried to keep the robed figure in her sight. A horn sounded, then three shrill whistles. The riverboat moved slowly from the dock. Annalisa lifted her hand in a salute as her familiar world seemed to break away. Happy couples began drifting back to their cabins, or to the salon, where ladies sipped lemonade and the gentlemen gathered in clusters to talk about the state of the battered and bowed Confederacy, and the emergence of carpetbaggers and interlopers who despoiled the land.

Feeling alone and strangely exhilarated, Annalisa continued to stand at the rail watching the shore gradually dissolve into a blur of pale watercolors. Along the banks that disappeared slowly from view, willows grew right to the water’s edge, dipping their lacy branches in gently lapping waves. Cyprus festooned with Spanish moss cast dappled shadows along the sunlit shore.

Annalisa walked the length of the deck, then turned and retraced her steps. The breeze pried strands of dark hair loose, to drift lazily about her cheeks. The sun warmed her skin. Leaning her arms on the rail, she lifted her face to the sunlight and smiled. For the first time that she could ever remember, she was completely on her own.

Framed in the doorway of a cabin, a tall, slightly hunched figure watched the young woman through narrowed eyes. His clothes were obviously European, perfectly tailored. Checking the time on a gold watch, he placed it in the pocket of his waistcoat, then continued to study her. Unlike the women who paraded the decks wearing the latest bonnets and gowns, hoping to be observed by any interested gentlemen aboard, this one was prim and buttoned clear to her throat. He’d caught a glimpse of her face as she’d bid good-bye to the nun. Exquisite. Perfection. And whispering of innocence. That was the only kind of girl that interested him. Fresh-faced, innocent ones.

As she turned, he drew back into the shadows. For now, he would watch and wait. And bide his time.

Everywhere Annalisa looked, people were smiling, carrying on animated conversations. They stared directly into each other’s eyes, not down at their feet as she had been trained to do. Hearing a burst of raucous laughter, she turned to see several men and women seated in a cluster. From her vantage point at the rail she studied the ladies’ fashions. Their necklines were shockingly low, revealing a long column of throat and a daring display of rounded flesh. All carried parasols, and most wore hats with plumes that dipped flirtatiously over one eye. Their skirts fell to the tips of their shoes, barely skimming the rough wooden deck. Even from this distance, the scent of their French perfume was evident.

No one whispered, she realized. Their voices were loud, distinct, and a few of them coarse.

As this group of friends walked away, a new cluster of people drifted closer. No one seemed to take any notice of the prim young woman at the rail, who was free to watch in fascination as the couples walked the deck.

As the riverboat passed a smaller vessel, a horn sounded, shattering the peaceful hum of voices. Annalisa lifted her head to watch the plume of smoke. For the last nine years she had been governed by bells. Early mass, vespers, meals, study, prayer, bedtime. All had been announced by the ringing of bells. For the next few days, she was rid of them. Free. A small smile curled her lips with the secret knowledge. There was no one to tell her when she had to get up, or go to bed. If she wanted, she could walk the deck, drinking in all these strange new sights and sounds, without ever having to go to her cabin. The smile grew. Suddenly she wanted to run, to laugh, to clap her hands and shout. Wonderful freedom. Complete freedom. She was free to do anything she wanted.

She turned away, not wanting anyone to see the laughter that danced in her eyes. A breeze caught little strands of her hair, lifting them, flaying them against her cheek. She didn’t worry. There was no one here to remind her that ladies always bound their hair or covered it with a hat. It felt good to have the breeze touch it. Tossing her head in defiance, several pins dropped, freeing even more hair. She did not want a parasol, she realized. Right now she wanted to feel the sun kiss her skin and the breeze take her hair. Mesmerized by the churning foam far below her, and the scenes along the shore, ever new, yet ever familiar, she stayed at the rail until the sun had completed its arc to the western sky.

* * * * *

A uniformed porter showed Annalisa to the dining room in the grand salon. Through intricately carved rosewood doors, she entered a world of unexpected elegance. Gas lights hissed softly. Couples spoke in hushed whispers.

Annalisa fretted that dinner was no longer being served. After spending so much time in the fresh air, she had fallen asleep in her cabin, lulled by the gentle rocking of the boat. Barely taking time to wash and dress, she had tried unsuccessfully to tame her hair. The breeze off the river, and the humidity, conspired to make it even more unruly than usual. Finally she had simply pulled a brush through the tangles and held it away from her face with two combs. It fell into a riot of dark curls that spilled down her back nearly to her waist.

Her gown, which had seemed so lovely at the convent, now paled beside the elegant attire of those around her. Made of ivory lawn, it had a high collar and a parade of mother-of-pearl buttons that ran from neck to waist. The long sleeves were full from shoulder to elbow, then tapered to the wrist, with a dozen buttons at each cuff.

Annalisa had no idea that her skin was flushed and rosy from the sun. Or that her eyes danced with undisguised curiosity. The cascade of lush curls was the perfect contrast to the pale gown.

Because the hour was late, most of the tables were vacant. A waiter showed her to a table near the window, where she could watch the setting sun trail ribbons of fire along the waves. Though it was past the dinner hour, a meal of cold meat and cheese was available, along with delicate pastries.

At a table nearby, half a dozen men were engaged in a game of poker. The rich, deep rumble of their voices was pleasing to a woman who had grown up hearing only the sound of carefully modulated women’s voices. Each time one of the men laughed, Annalisa found herself responding with a smile. The sharp bite of tobacco stung the night air as they enjoyed cigars. Annalisa inhaled the scent, finding it oddly intoxicating.

* * * * *

Chase Masters held a match to his cigar and watched the curl of smoke rise above the table. He was losing, and he hated to lose. Colonel McNaught, a former Confederate officer, seated to his left, had won every hand for the past half hour. The man wasn’t cheating. Chase was a master at the art of cards, and he prided himself on knowing when a man was cheating and when he was just plain lucky. The colonel wasn’t even a good card player. In his case, it was dumb luck. Sometimes the cards just fell right and Chase knew that when that happened, the momentum would keep building, unless something—or someone—managed to stop it. Chase knew what he had to do. When the time was right, he would find a way to change the colonel’s luck.

While the men studied their cards, his gaze swept the room and settled on the girl. He had seen her enter. It was rare for a young woman to travel alone, unless she was a woman of tarnished reputation. Everything about this woman spoke of breeding and education. She had the manner and bearing of a queen sitting there alone near the rail. The sun setting behind her bathed her in an amber glow, touching her hair with fire. Though she was now the only woman left in the salon, she did nothing to attract the men’s attention. She was no flirt. She seemed composed, content to simply watch and listen.

The men discarded, then began asking for cards. The girl’s head turned to the sound of their voices. Her eyes locked on Chase’s for a moment. He winked, and was surprised when she winked back. Maybe his first impressions of her were wrong. With a sly smile he picked up his hand and gave his attention back to the game.

* * * * *

Annalisa felt herself blushing clear down to her toes. It had been a reflex thing. Yvette had taught her to wink. Yvette was the orphaned daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Natchez. Every summer, when the other girls went home, Annalisa stayed on with the sisters, with only Yvette for company. Every June Yvette spent a month in Europe with her grandparents, then spent the rest of the summer regaling Annalisa with stories of her month of complete freedom. It was from Yvette that Annalisa learned what men and women did when they mated, because after her trip of two summers ago, Yvette had described it graphically. Annalisa sighed. She would be better off in a convent, away from such things. Although Yvette had boasted that it was a feeling like no other, her descriptions had left Annalisa more confused than ever. To Annalisa it sounded wonderful yet terrible. How could such a thing be possible? She glanced at the table of men and felt herself flush. The man who had winked at her was now, thankfully, engrossed in the game.

She studied his dark hair, gleaming blue-black in the lamplight. That wink had been a private signal between Yvette and Annalisa. One time Yvette had told Annalisa a racy story that made them both blush and roar with laughter. Whenever Sister Clarisse rambles until you think you’ll die from boredom, just look at me and wink, and we’ll both think of this story and share a private laugh, Yvette had said. And it worked. Now, just thinking of Yvette and the naughty story, Annalisa found herself smiling and feeling less alone.

Yvette was already on her way to Europe, where she would live with her grandparents and probably marry a count. At least that’s what she had hinted to Annalisa on their last day together. The friends had tearfully parted, knowing they would probably never see each other again. The girls she had known in her childhood would scatter across the South to rejoin families. Yvette would marry her count. And Annalisa would meet her mother to tell her of her plans to become a nun.

Having been deep in thought, Annalisa looked up to see the man staring at her again. Heat stained her cheeks. Could he tell by looking at her that she had been thinking about men and women, and the things Yvette had told her? She lifted an embroidered handkerchief to her mouth to hide her discomfort. Tucking it into her waistband, she failed to notice that a corner of the linen tablecloth was trapped at her waist along with it.

She glanced toward the open doors of the salon. She was too warm. She needed fresh air. It wasn’t, she told herself firmly, that she wanted to get away from the dark, unsettling gaze of the stranger. Standing abruptly, she began to walk. At her first steps the tablecloth came with her, knocking china, crystal, silver to the floor with a terrible crash.

When the sounds of shattering glass were finally stilled, the entire room was cast into an eerie, expectant hush.

Horrified, Annalisa stood frozen to the spot. All she could do was stare in awestruck silence at the destruction she had caused.

After long, chilling moments, pandemonium erupted. Several of the men at the poker table jumped to their feet at the commotion. Everyone’s head swiveled to watch as waiters hurried forward to assist. It was a scene of total chaos. In those split seconds of confusion, Chase Masters calmly exchanged a card in his hand for another in the deck.

Oh, I’m so sorry. Please excuse me. Annalisa backed away from the waiters as they knelt to retrieve the shards of crystal and china.

No one acknowledged her. They were all bent on the task of cleaning up the mess she had created.

She stared around at the taut faces of these strangers, sensing their shock, their scorn. Lifting her skirts, she whirled and fled the sting of their looks.

As the young woman glided stiffly past the poker table, Chase studied her. Who would have dreamed such a regal beauty could create such havoc? He managed to control the rumble of laughter that threatened. The young woman, he noted, averted her gaze and hurried away.

Annalisa continued on until she reached the comfort of her own cabin. Inside she nearly wept in frustration at her clumsiness. With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned her dress and tossed it aside. She couldn’t even find the energy to remove her chemise and pull on a night dress. How humiliating. What would Sister Marie Therese say if she had witnessed that awful scene? She would say what she always said; that there was something, some devil perhaps, lurking inside Annalisa that made these things happen to her. No amount of nagging, or teaching, or praying would change that fact. Annalisa would never be the lady the sisters wanted her to be. Her mother would be so disappointed in her.

Fighting tears of anger and frustration, Annalisa flopped on her stomach on the bunk and buried her face in the pillow.

* * * * *

I believe that’s the game, gentlemen. Chase wrapped his hands around the pile of chips, sliding them forward, adding to the already overflowing heap at his elbow. Tomorrow night?

Several of the men nodded, then bid him good night.

Cashing in, Chase folded a wad of money and jammed it deep into his pocket. He could kiss that girl for the perfect distraction that afforded him the chance to turn that dismal game around. Lady Luck was a fickle old dame. Sometimes she just needed a nudge. Chase hummed a little tune and made his way along the darkened deck.

A man fumbling with a cabin door looked up as Chase approached. Startled, the man bolted toward the stairs leading to the upper deck. For long minutes Chase stared after him, his gaze scanning the silent darkness. Had he only imagined it, or had the man been attempting to force his way into that cabin?

Stopping to light a cigar, Chase put the man out of his mind and thought of the girl and smiled. What a natural she was. All sweet and innocent and managing to be impossibly clumsy at the same time. She was almost too good to be true. He paused, holding the match aloft. His eyes narrowed. Could it have been an act? He’d met a lot of cons in his day. She didn’t look like any he’d ever seen. Still ... He drew on his cigar and blew out a stream of smoke. She did return his wink.

He would never be able to forget that strange, husky voice of hers as she’d murmured her apology to the crew. That sultry tone had whispered over his senses.

The voice suited her. So did the wild mane of hair. The body beneath that prim gown had been slender, with a waist so narrow his hands ached to span it. She was round in all the right places, with breasts that seemed to strain against the tightly buttoned confines of that prudishly high neckline.

The match burned his fingers. Swearing, he dropped it over the rail. Chase’s teeth gleamed white in the darkness as he grinned. The lady and the gambler. God, what a team they could make.

* * * * *

In her cabin, Annalisa awoke. She thought she’d heard someone twist the latch on her cabin door. She’d smelled the sweet fragrance of spice and something faintly medicinal. Like the spirits old Sister Honore used to take on cold nights. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she heard hurried footsteps that grew faint, followed by a slow, easy footfall that came nearer, then stopped.

A whiff of cigar smoke wafted through the vents in her door and her thoughts flew to the man in the salon. Even hidden by the cover of darkness, she felt the sting of humiliation. How clumsy she had looked. How childish. If he thought of her at all, he must be still laughing at her display of bad manners.

Slipping beneath the cool sheets, she lay awake, thinking of his dark hair that gleamed in the lamplight, of his smile, that was both charming and dangerous. The neatly trimmed mustache only added to his dark good looks. And then she thought of his eyes. Hooded, mysterious, they had captured her with that wicked, conspiratorial wink. There was something about that man. Though he dressed like a gentleman, she sensed that he was a rogue, who wouldn’t take life too seriously.

She thought of the elegant women aboard this boat. A man like that could have his pick of beautiful women. He winked at me. Her heart did something strange, something she couldn’t fathom. It felt as if it had tumbled in her chest. What was happening to her? He was a man of the world. And she was going home to announce her intention of entering the convent. How could she possibly be feeling such things at a time like this?

She rolled over and balled her hands into fists. The man in the salon wasn’t even a nice man. He had been gambling and drinking whiskey and smoking a cigar. Tobacco smelled good, she thought suddenly, and once again there was the faintest whiff of it on the night air. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried to blot his image from her mind. It was impossible. All she could see was that rogue smile of his, enhanced by the twitch of his mustache. And his dark eyes. And that wicked wink. That wicked, heart-stopping wink.

Chapter Two

Born of years of habit, Annalisa awoke at dawn. For long moments she lay without moving, as thoughts of the previous night’s humiliating scene flashed through her mind. She groaned. I won’t leave my cabin, she thought, pulling the sheet over her head. I’ll stay here for the rest of the trip, where no one can see me and be reminded of my clumsy accident.

Fool, she berated herself out loud. By now, everyone on board would have heard of the awkward goose who had dumped an entire table and its contents on the deck of the salon. She could still hear the terrible sound of breaking glass, and the strained silence from the men at the poker table. And she had witnessed the smirks from the crew who had rushed to clean up her mess.

There was nothing to do but hide in her cabin until she reached New Orleans.

Slipping out of the bunk, she was a little surprised to discover that she had slept the night in her chemise. The sisters would have been appalled. She stretched, loving the unusual freedom of naked limbs. If she were alone she would remove even this last restraining piece of fabric and dive into the cool waters of the Mississippi. Throughout those long confining years at the convent, it had been one of her special fantasies. In her daydreams, she was always alone by the banks of a river, shedding her clothes and frolicking in the water like a pup.

After washing, Annalisa studied her face in the mirror. The sun had darkened her skin and put a bloom on her cheeks. She studied her pale arms. It would be pleasant to bare herself to the sun, to lie hidden from public view and feel the sunshine heat her body. Were those wicked thoughts? she wondered. No, there couldn’t be anything wrong with wanting to feel the warmth of the sun on one’s skin. Lying back on her bunk, she stared at the ceiling of the cabin and recalled yesterday’s wonderful sense of freedom. It wasn’t fair to be imprisoned once more in this small cell. It was as bad as being back at the convent, with the hard metal bed, the single chest, and a basin of cold water.

That’s what lies in store for me for the rest of my life. The thought brought Annalisa bolt upright in the bunk. Sometimes, in the midnight silence, when all were asleep, she fretted about her future in the convent. It would stretch out as interminably as her past. There would be mass, meals, prayers, sleep. For as long as she lived. A tiny thread of fear wrapped around her heart. Would it be enough? Could that kind of life ever be enough? She shook her head and bounded from the bed. She mustn’t think about it. She must never dwell on it. She had already made her decision. She would meet this stranger who was her mother, and she would tell her what she planned to do with her life.

Was she doing this because she was hoping her mother would ask her to reconsider? Annalisa’s hands stilled as she was about to brush her hair. Was that why she had decided to go home and confront her mother? Was she really hoping that there was some small spark of feeling in her mother’s heart for her?

Angrily she pulled the brush through the tangles until tears stung her eyes. She wasn’t crying over her mother. It was

Reviews for Destiny's Daughter

[crystalkate · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Nice escaping