A Whisper Of Destiny Read online

  A Whisper

  Of Destiny

  By Monica Barrie

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and events are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places or incidents are coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  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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  For information about The Author and a listing of Monica Barrie’s novels, click here

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  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © by Monica Barrie.

  In memory of,

  Joel Siegel

  1943 – 2007

  A wonderful and caring man, an outstanding

  film critic, and all around good friend!

  CHAPTER 1

  The burning disk of the setting sun dropped behind the tree-lined horizon, sending golden lances of light to sparkle from the peaks of the small swells in the confluence of the Cooper River and Charleston Harbor. Heat lightning flashed in the distance, a counterpoint to the heavy stillness. Deepening violet tones of the oncoming night crept into the brilliant blue sky above New Windsor, home of James Cornwall, owner of one of the largest shipping fleets in the Carolinas.

  Kira Cornwall sat at the dressing table in a guest room of her uncle’s house, watching the reflection of the sun’s last glow blend with her own in the mirror. Her suite had an entrance alcove, a main bedroom and a small dressing room/necessary room. It had been refurnished in the spring for the summer heat. White curtains graced the windows; a four-poster bed stood in the center of the room to catch as much of the cross breezes as possible. A chair and small table sat under one window—for writing or taking one’s meals in the room. The summer carpet, a straw weave, covered about two-thirds of the floor; the room itself was pleasant on the surface, as was New Windsor. Absently, Kira placed the brooch she planned to wear near the middle of her bodice, between her breasts. The coolness of the gold on her fingers soothed her.

  The gala this evening would announce the engagement of her cousin Benjamin to Francine Rouger of New Orleans. Maybe now, Kira thought hopefully, she would no longer have to stave off Benjamin’s unwanted advances. She knew she should be happy for her cousin, but it was nearly impossible to feel sympathy or love, under the circumstances. Ever since she had refused his offer of marriage last year, Kira had known nothing but sarcasm and insolence from him.

  Kira had thought the idea of marriage to her cousin preposterous, but it was true that she had thought the same of the proposals of her other suitors. At twenty, Kira was almost past the acceptable age for marriage. What she could not quite understand was why it seemed to bother others more than herself.

  Kira stared into the falling darkness, her thoughts turning inward. Love? She had never really thought about it. Was that so odd? So many of her friends seemed to think of nothing else.

  There were so many kinds of love. Kira knew she loved her father and knew she must have loved her mother, too, although Laura Cornwall had died when Kira was but a year old. Kira’s mother was but a gentle memory traced in the paintings at home. Of course, she loved Ruth, the young slave who had served as Kira’s personal maid and companion since they were children. And Haven, her home… All these she loved; but the question still lingered in her mind. Why had she never experienced the strong passion that so many of her friends had known? Am I cold, unfeeling?

  Kira remembered the dashing sea captain who had visited Haven when she was fifteen: Captain Zachery. She would blush whenever the man entered the room. Was that love? When her father discovered her infatuation with the captain, he had become cross with her. “One of James’ pirates,” he’d called the man. Her father forbade her to see him, and shortly afterward, Captain Zachery left to go to her uncle’s home.

  Kira’s thoughts of love evoked another unpleasant memory and she turned her eyes from the sky and looked around the room. It was of the night Uncle James, his breath reeking of whiskey, had come into this very bedchamber. Kira woke as he sank down on the edge of the bed and began to stroke her bare arm, whispering, “My lovely girl, my lovely girl,” over and over in a heavily slurred voice. When he started to pull the cover down, Kira had called out to Ruth in a fear-strangled voice and Uncle James had stumbled from the room. They never spoke of the incident, and Kira wondered if Uncle James even remembered it. She shrugged off the shivers running through her with the memory of that night. Yes, even if she was unsure of what love really was, she was very sure she didn’t love Uncle James.

  Kira’s eyes swept the room; they fell on her emptied traveling case, and she thought of yesterday afternoon when Aunt Emily had come in while she was freshening up after the dusty ride from Haven.

  “Well, Kira,” Aunt Emily had remarked, as Kira splashed the cool water from the basin onto her hot, flushed cheeks. “I wonder if we’ll ever get to see your wedding.”

  She’d held back her pang of annoyance. She felt sorry for this plain, fragile woman. People claimed that James Cornwall had married her only for her father’s money. Kira did not doubt the truth of it, for she had never seen a tender moment pass between them.

  Aunt Emily lived for Benjamin, her only child. Knowing this, Benjamin took full advantage, although his mother seemed not to notice. Emily lavished attention on him and gave him everything he wanted. And he wanted Kira. At her refusal to his proposal, her aunt became distraught and appealed to Kira on Benjamin’s behalf. It had been difficult for Kira to say no to the woman who had been the closest thing to a mother she’d ever known. But Kira’s mind had been made up, and Aunt Emily left Haven in tears. For months afterward, whenever Kira saw her aunt, she would only get the barest of nods and an occasional tight-lipped “hello.” Aunt Emily had begun to warm to Kira again only seven months ago, after Francine Rouger had entered Benjamin’s life and heart.

  “You’re so high spirited!” Aunt Emily had chided Kira yesterday while Ruth unpacked her things. “Really too much for our local men. I told your father years ago that you’d need taming. But Jonathan wouldn’t listen. ‘Let her have her head. Her spirit’s her beauty,’ he said to me.”

  “Maybe he’s right,” continued Aunt Emily with a sigh. “But it does seem that no one’s good enough for our dear, beautiful Kira.”

  Kira shook her head to clear the memories, her eyes flickered to the mirror. She pushed back a lock of russet red hair that fell, untamed, across her forehead. Maybe it’s true. Maybe no one is good enough!

  Strangely, she felt like a little girl again, frightened and lonely, as she held the now-forgotten brooch in the palm of her tightly closed hand. Kira wished her father were here to comfort her, but she had grown accustomed to the emergencies that called him to his offices these days. For some reason, these emergencies seemed to grow in number over the past year, and although she understood it, she still resented having to make the trip from Haven, alone, to attend the engagement party and to stay in this house where she’d never been happy. But it was her father’s wish.

  The rising volume of voices intruded on her thoughts, and she finally left the room, wandering down the staircase through the salon and out onto the piazza, which overlooked the formal garden of her uncle’s house. Ebony-skinned slaves in black and red moved quietly among the guests, offering food and drink from heavily laden trays. It was time to make her entrance. As s
he raised her hand to tuck in a stray curl, she realized she was still holding the brooch.

  She sensed someone staring at her and turned. Kira’s deep, sea-green eyes locked with the sapphire-blues of the man standing across the piazza. A strange rush of warmth streaked through her. A soft pink flush spread across the tops of her breasts, and rose above the pale blue silk bodice of her floor-length gown. She was grateful that the twilight hid her reaction to his eyes and allowed her to observe him without embarrassment.

  She had seen him upon her arrival yesterday. With that first brief glance, she was struck by the fact that she had never seen such a handsome man. He now stood but a few feet from her and showed no sign of moving as she studied him: his strong jaw and fully proportioned lips showed the barest hint of gleaming white teeth; his aquiline nose and the burnished tan of his skin intensified the blue of his eyes beneath full arching brows. His hair, dark as night, was woven with streaks of silver. Premature streaks, she decided, judging him to be in his early thirties. Although he wore an air of maturity. He stood taller than most, and Kira could only imagine the hard, muscled body hidden by his black and white linen finery. A dress sword at his side bespoke a military background.

  Throughout her inspection, his eyes never left her face. Now, he turned to the servant who had come up next to him and said something in a low tone. The servant bowed, left, and the man began to move toward Kira. He walked gracefully, his steps in perfect rhythm with his smoothly moving body.

  Kira sighed involuntarily as he came closer, her stomach churned slightly. Her breathing was tight, and she felt as if her corset had been pulled too tight.

  “I think the time has come for us to meet, Mistress Cornwall.” His vice was rich, the tone deep. “I am Sean Rouger.”

  Bowing slightly to accept her hand as he spoke, he raised it to his lips, in the European way, yet holding it a moment or two longer than good manners required. He smiled and, with an unexpected soft sigh, gently released her hand.

  “You are Mistress Rouger’s brother?” she asked, glad to find her voice had not failed…yet.

  “Cousin.”

  “Cousin? Well then, we have something in common, I am also—”

  “What you are,” he interrupted, “is most beautiful woman in the Carolinas.”

  He continued to stare into her eyes, recalling the previous day, when he’d seen her alight from her carriage. The sight had almost robbed him of his breath. The sun sent flaming highlights dancing from her red hair that fell in soft, shimmering waves to frame an almost perfect face. Her beauty was heightened by a small imperfection, a tiny scar shaped like a crescent moon, which stood out against the flawless skin of her right temple. But even this imperfection served only to draw attention to her green, almond-shaped eyes—eyes that echoed the unknown depths of the oceans, as well as the unknown depths of the woman—eyes that rested above fine, high cheekbones. Her lips were like a great artist’s representation of Venus; the upper lip a small, double-peaked bow resting on the smooth, straight line of her soft lower lip. She seemed petite, but was of medium height and slender but womanly in body. The pale yellow weave of her traveling dress covered her full, thrusting breasts and tucked in sharply to a narrow waist before flaring over her hips and legs, whose lines were lost in the fullness of her petticoats.

  Sean had stood transfixed by her beauty as she descended from the carriage. The family and servants had flocked to greet her, whisking her away toward the main house. But as she walked, she had turned back briefly, and her calm eyes met his. In that moment, Sean had known the true depth of his desire for her.

  “This is no compliment,” he added in a low voice. “It is merely the truth, and I have never believed in holding back the truth.”

  Kira’s flush spread to her cheeks. The servant returned with two glasses, which required Sean’s attention and allowed her another long breath. He lifted the glasses from the tray and handed one to her.

  “I took the liberty of ordering wine,” Sean said, his smile softening the confidence of his words.

  “You presume much,” bantered Kira as she fought to regain her composure.

  His eyes sparkled warmly. “Your mother was Irish?” he asked, admiring the mane of red hair that framed her ivory face and enhanced the prominence of her cheekbones and eyes.

  “Again you presume.” She took a sip from her glass and averted her eyes.

  “My mother was half Irish also, as you may have guessed,” said Sean.

  “And your father? He was French?” asked Kira. Sean hesitated for the first time before answering and, for a moment, his voice sounded different, somewhat hesitant.

  “No. My mother’s husband…my stepfather. I took his name. Kira,” he said, his tone turning serious, “shall we walk in the garden before all the light is gone?” The suggestion took Kira by surprise. She nodded her reply, wondering what could be so impelling about a stroll.

  Sean took her wineglass and placed it with his on a nearby sideboard. Returning to her, Sean offered his arm, and Kira placed her hand lightly upon it as he led her down the stairs to the lush green of her uncle’s garden.

  A cool breeze swept around them, carrying the fragrances of buds opening to the night. They walked slowly, feeling their closeness, silently greeting the people they passed, until they reached the double row of camellia bushes at the end of the garden. Sean turned to face her, and she could almost feel his breath on her cheek when he spoke.

  “A night this lovely should only be shared with a woman of your beauty,” he said, looking deeply into Kira’s eyes. He took her right hand and placed it between both of his. She didn’t move away, but stood before him, losing herself in his gaze.

  “May I put that on for you?” he asked, indicating the brooch she still held in her free hand. She opened her hand for him to take the brooch. He lifted the material of the bodice gently but boldly as he fastened the cameo to the silk. When he finally released it, he watched as it pulled the silken bodice inward, following the valley created by her full breasts.

  “Kira,” he said in a low husky voice, as he took one of her hands in his. “There are many things I should be saying to you now, but I can think of nothing but your face and your beauty. When I first saw you yesterday, I felt a desire I have never known. The moment you stepped from the carriage I knew I wanted you.” Sean Rouger’s eyes burned into her.

  His words numbed her. Never had a man spoken to her so. He had only touched her hand, and yet her entire body was on fire; her visceral response to him troubled her deeply. At the secret place in her that had begun awakening the moment she saw him, she was losing control.

  “Sir!” she snapped. “You have overstepped the bounds of good manners!” She turned her back on him, overwhelmed by her own confusion. Suddenly, she felt the heat from his lips on the soft skin of her neck.

  “Good manners be damned! They have no place in the heart!”

  Kira pulled away from him and his lips. He grasped her arm, turned her toward him and, as she spun, the fingertips of his free hand brushed lightly across the skin of her right breast. Kira stiffened and pulled away. Sean smiled lightly and dropped the offending hand.

  “Forgive me, but you bring out much in me,” he said softly.

  “Too much!” she said, knowing she must get away before anything else happened. She pulled her arm free and walked briskly toward the house. She held herself stiff, hiding her nervousness while trying to stem the flow of the heat that continued to spread wildly throughout her.

  She glanced at New Windsor’s main house. Hoping the darkness would hide her distress, she hurried past the other guests who were moving slowly indoors.

  She heard Sean’s quick footsteps close behind her and, lifting her dress and petticoats, she sped up the steps to the piazza. She was breathing heavily as she gripped the smooth railing with both trembling hands. Then, composing herself, she moved forward.

  CHAPTER 2

  The raven-haired woman went to the door and cauti
ously opened it. Listening intently, she put her head out. She saw no one and stepped over the threshold, a gold necklace in her hand.

  She heard the murmur of voices from the guests in the ballroom as she walked down the hallway, keeping alert for any sound behind her. Two black and red liveried slaves passed, but she, of course, did not acknowledge them. At the fourth doorway she stopped and rapped the dark oak twice. After a few seconds, and with another furtive glance about her, she pushed the handle and watched the inward swing of the door. She breathed in, in relief, as her eyes surveyed the empty room.

  She passed the large, canopied bed in the middle of the room. Her stomach roiled when she remembered last night. She thrust all thoughts of Benjamin’s crude lovemaking from her mind and went to the long, hand hewn dresser and placed her necklace on it; then her hands went to the pile of papers stacked neatly in one corner.

  She had seen them last night when he was leafing through them and had realized then that she must find a way to read them. Today had given her a chance. The man could not leave his guests. This party was in his honor…and hers.

  The first papers were worthless: ship manifests and destination points. Below them, she found what she’d feared most. The neatly written, highly incriminating letter was just what she was looking for. The man had begun to brag.

  She folded the letter small enough to fit inside the bodice of her dress. She picked it up and then froze as she heard the door opening behind her. Quickly, her hands trembling with tension, she slipped the letter back into the pile and grabbed her necklace. She lifted it to her neck, just as she heard his surprised voice.

  “Francine?” She turned to him, a smile on her lips, fear rising bitterly in her throat.

  “Oh, Benjamin, I didn’t mean to bother you, but that ninny of a girl couldn’t do my necklace. I thought I would find you here,” she said, purposely keeping her voice low and throaty. He looked at her doubtfully before he smiled and walked to her. He took the heavy necklace from her and when she turned around, raised it to her neck.