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
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
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