The Marriage Agreement

“Where did you live?” he asked in that same, soothing tone.

She roused from her reverie and drew one foot from his hands. “Far away from reality, I fear. Someplace I can never go again.”

“Reality?” He lifted her foot again and held it with a firm grip. “Hold still, Lily,” he said. “Just take it easy for a few more minutes. You’ll be wishing you had when you put those shoes back on.”

“Probably.” It wasn’t worth fussing over, not when his hands were so warm and firm against the bones and muscles they tended.

“We’re going to get you a new pair when we dock next,” he said. And as if that were the final word on the matter, he changed the subject.

“Had you planned on going all the way down the river?” he asked, his words an idle query, as if it were of little account in the general scheme of things.

She held her breath and thought with frantic haste. If she told him she’d planned on leaving the boat once it neared the homestead in Louisiana, he might protest, might even tell Ham that his employee was planning to run off. On the other hand, she’d never had an easy time telling falsehoods. Her mama had always said she couldn’t lie worth a tinker’s damn, whatever that meant.

“Well, I suspect you’re not going to tell me your plans, are you, Lily?” His hand slid up from her ankle to curl around the back of her calf.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please, Morgan.”

“Are you going to stay on the boat to the end of the ride?” he asked again, his fingers gentle as they kneaded the firm flesh beneath the stockings she wore.

“No.”

“Where will you go?”

His fingers worked unceasingly at her muscles, but they’d moved back to her foot, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t know for certain,” she said after a moment.

“Home?”

“I want to, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

“Not if your folks are worried about you, Lily. It’s never too late to go home when the people you love are there.”

She laughed softly. “Listen to the man. When was the last time you saw your family? What about the people you love, Morgan?”

“I don’t have anyone to go home to,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“A loner?”

“No, I’ve had to live in close quarters with other men sometimes. But not lately.”

“Not with a woman?” The darkness made her bold, and she waited in silence for his answer. If she’d expected some revelation of the man’s past, she was in for a disappointment, for he simply lowered her feet to the mattress and rose from the bed.

“I’ll come back and rap on the door ten minutes before you go on stage again,” he said, and now his voice was cool, remote, as if he’d withdrawn from her. His footsteps were quiet as he crossed the few feet of floor to the door, and then he was gone.

Lily looked at the circle of light, beyond which the stars glittered in a dark sky. He was different, nothing like the men she’d known before now. Perhaps somewhat like her brother Roan, she thought, that strong, silent man who had gone to fight on the other side during the great conflict. He’d worn a blue uniform, and almost broke his mother’s heart in the process.

Her eyes closed as she considered the place where she’d been born and raised, and the words, “River Bend,” vibrated in her mind. Pictures of the big, white plantation house, the fields filled with those who worked them, and the horses her father took such pride in raising, blended into a kaleidoscope of color behind her closed eyelids.

Lily sang four songs, with barely a pause between them, before she left the stage. Ham met her in the wings and his brow furrowed as he scanned her dress. “I didn’t think they’d take to you in that outfit,” he said gruffly. “I’ll have to admit Morgan was right. The dress fits the music all right.”

“Thank you,” Lily said. She looked down at the simple lines of the gown, and brushed the skirt, relishing the fine fabric. “It’s the nicest thing I’ve worn in quite some time,” she told Ham.

“Morgan told me he bought another one, too. Said it’s cream-colored with lace and a wide ruffle across the shoulders. Shows a little more skin.”

Lily nodded. “I haven’t tried it on yet. But it’s the same size. It ought to fit.”

Ham’s grin was knowing, and his head tilted to one side as he met her gaze, and then surveyed her with eyes that seemed to note every square inch of her body. “I suspect Morgan’s pretty familiar with your—”

“That’s enough.” The words were low, spoken in a graveled tone that brought Ham up short. Morgan was cutting the man no slack, Lily decided, and for that she could only be thankful.

“You want something to drink?” he asked Lily. “You’ll be on stage again in ten minutes, won’t you?”

She nodded and followed him down into the saloon, then sat at a table near the wall as he walked to the bar. The glass he offered her was cool, the taste that of lemon, with but a tinge of something stronger.

“I don’t drink,” she said, after the first swallow.

“There’s not much in it,” he said. “Just enough to relax you a little. Ham had you pretty strung out back there.”

“He’s not happy with your interest in me,” she told him, sipping again from the glass.

“That’s too damn bad.” Morgan sat beside her, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair. It was an unmistakable signal, one she knew to be deliberate, and the men who watched with furtive glances recognized it as such. “Don’t look so worried,” he murmured, lifting her glass and handing it to her again. “Drink a bit more. Your throat will feel better with a little gin to relax it.”

And as she stepped onto the stage just minutes later, she recognized the wisdom of his words. The music surrounded her, the piano player watching her, his smile approving as she sang the first notes. She was silent between songs, unwilling to speak to those watching her. May had an inexhaustible supply of stories she told the men between her numbers, and her quick wit, along with the quality of her music, had made her a favorite of the customers.

Yet when Lily sang tonight, she’d seen a softening of the men’s faces as they watched her, noted their attention drawn to her by the time she’d completed the first few bars of the opening song. Perhaps it was the dress, she thought, its lines subdued and ladylike. Or maybe the music. Perhaps May had been right. Simplicity seemed to work.

Three complete shows made up the evening’s entertainment, with a trio of dancing girls bringing the men to their feet. The girls were snatched up as they left the stage, and with much laughing and suggestive jokes filling the air, the scantily dressed women had their hands full fending off their admirers.

A table at the back held five or six poker players, men who rode the river in hopes of making their fortune with a deck of cards. But Morgan, true to his word, did not join them tonight. In fact, he barely took his gaze from Lily, and when she finally received a nod of dismissal from Ham, Morgan followed her from the saloon and out onto the deck.

“Ready for bed?” he asked, sliding his arm around her waist and drawing her close.

She felt her throat thicken, and the words would not pass her lips. Nodding, a small single movement of her head, she looked up at him and drew away.

“Don’t, Lily,” he said, tightening his grasp. “If Ham is watching, we want him to think you’re earning your money, don’t we?”

“I don’t care what Ham thinks,” she said, the words fierce, as if she dared the other man to challenge her.

“I do.” Morgan steered her toward his cabin, and she waited while he opened the door. As if it were a replay of the previous night, she stood aside while he lit the lamp, and he closed the curtain they’d left open earlier. He watched her closely, then opened the door, hesitating on the threshold.

“Go to bed, Lily. I’ll be back shortly.”

She awoke with his arm around her, his body beneath the sheet behind her, and her mind searched for a memory, but there was none to be had. Her gown was tucked neatly around her, just as she’d arranged it when she’d crawled between the sheets, and his fingers were circumspectly splayed at her waist. Though why that should be considered safe territory she did not know—only that a few inches up or down would have made a difference. The thought of that wide palm touching her breasts or belly made her shiver.

“Awake?” he asked, his early-morning voice sounding rusty in her ear.

“Yes.”

“Ready to get up?”

Lily nodded and then fortified her silent reply. “Yes.”

“You don’t want to snuggle a little?” She thought he sounded amused.

“No.”

“All right.” He rolled out of the bed and rose in a smooth easy movement, leaving her to clutch the sheet as she turned her head to watch him. “Unless you want to be mightily embarrassed, you’d better look at the wall, Lily,” he told her bluntly.

She turned away, her quick glance making her aware of his masculine form. She’d seen men in various stages of undress during her growing-up years. Her brothers weren’t known for being especially modest, but never had she been in such close proximity to a fully aroused male. Unless she counted the colonel who’d used and abused her with such uncaring deeds.

The cabin door closed and Lily released the breath she’d held.

The woman was getting to him, filling his thoughts. She’d drawn him from the first, and he was wary of her appeal, that womanly aura that lured him. Perhaps even at the risk of losing focus on the job at hand.

There was no doubt that Lily Devereaux was unique, a puzzle he yearned to unravel. She was both worldly-wise and innocent, and how that could be only added to the conundrum. Somewhere, she’d gotten on the wrong track and been hurt. She was wary, and with good reason, Morgan thought wryly. He’d made no bones about how he felt, yet he was behaving in a manner most unlike him, allowing her to call the shots in the tug-of-war they’d put into motion.

Spending two nights with a woman and never touching her was new to him. Women were among his favorite things in the world. And he’d treated them as such. Things. With that thought, he walked to the side of the boat and leaned against the sturdy railing. All except for one notable example, and his lips curved as he recalled the one woman he might have loved.

She’d been unavailable to him, and sometimes he thought she feared him. Or maybe she’d been unknowingly attracted to that part of him that he held inviolate. That deep, dark measure of his inner being that he revealed to no one. He knew his own strength, had learned to conceal his feelings beneath a facade of cool, unswerving devotion to duty.

And then he walked away from the one woman who might have pierced that armor he wore. Until he’d seen Lily Devereaux two nights ago, he’d thought himself immune to feminine charms. He’d been able to admire the women he met, had on occasion accepted their advances and even the favors they offered. But they’d meant nothing to him, had not stirred his emotions.

Lily was different. Not what he’d expected when first he’d seen her. Certainly not what he’d planned to find when he took her to his cabin. But, maybe, after all, exactly what he needed right now. Depending on how desperate she was.

“You’re up early.” Ham stood beside him and Morgan silently cursed his careless behavior.

“Never let a man creep up on you,” his superior officers had said, drumming the advice into him during his training. And had it not been for thoughts of Lily, he’d have heard Ham’s approach. Now he turned to him in a casual manner.

“I wondered if we were stopping today.”

“Tomorrow. We’ll be in Memphis in the morning.”

“I thought I’d look around a while,” Morgan said. “Maybe take Lily shopping.”

“Not tomorrow. May’s got plans to sing a couple of duets with Lily. They’re gonna practice in the morning.”

Morgan swallowed the words that threatened to spill from his lips. Lily was paid little enough for the work she did. Her time in the mornings should be her own. Better instincts kept him silent though. Until he considered his options, and looked at Lily with his job in mind, he needed to play his hand with care.

Once he left the riverboat, Lily would be on her own again, with no one to protect her, should he leave her behind. It would be in her best interests if Ham found her to be indispensable. Or at least a real asset to him.

He shrugged, looking back out on the river. “No matter. I can find what I want for her without her along.”

“You’re kinda stuck on the girl, Morgan,” Ham said quietly. “You don’t generally pay much mind to the women. At least you haven’t the other times you’ve traveled on my boat.”

Morgan’s jaw tensed as he considered the man’s observation. “She’s worth spending time with,” he said finally, unable to admit, even to himself, what was so dratted appealing about the woman.

“Well, she’s pretty enough, with those big, dark eyes and that mop of curls,” Ham said with a grin. “And the men can’t take their eyes off her figure. She’s made a hit.”

“Well, if she doesn’t get some shoes that fit, she’ll be singing from a chair,” Morgan said sharply.

Ham shrugged idly. “If she can’t wear what I provide she’ll have to buy her own.” He lit a cigar and squinted through the smoke. “Unless you’re planning on going out to get them for her.” He grinned as he considered the lit end of his cigar. “Got it bad, don’t you, Morgan?”

He swaggered a bit as he strolled away, and Gage held his tongue. The only way he’d be buying shoes for the girl was if he could take her with him. He’d see to it that her practicing with May took place early on in the day tomorrow, before breakfast if necessary. One way or another, he’d find her a pair of shoes that fit.

“I’ve never sung before breakfast in my life,” May said gruffly, slanting a glance at the man who watched her walk up onto the stage.

“I’m making it worth your while,” Morgan said.

May grinned widely. “Any woman would warble her heart out for the promise of a shopping spree.”

“Uh-uh,” Morgan admonished her. “One dress is all I promised you. Just one, May.”

“When you’re as hard up for money as I am, one dress sounds like a winner,” she said smugly.

His brows raised, signifying his doubt, and May laughed aloud. “I can tell you’re not a true believer, Morgan.”

“I’ll never believe you’re down to your last nickel,” he said. “You’ll always hold some in reserve, kinda like the rainy-day theory.”

“Where’s your woman?” May asked, darting a look toward the doorway. “We have a piano player and half a duet here. All we need is the star of the show.”

Charlie’s fingers chorded softly, and a ring of smoke rose over his head as he played. He’d offered no protest at Morgan’s request to play at such an ungodly hour and watched the same doorway that held May’s attention.

The woman who appeared there had the benefit of sunlight behind her, the red streaks of dawn having given way to early-morning gold. Her dress formed a lissome silhouette around her as she hesitated, as if gauging her welcome. “Am I late?” she asked, shooting a shuttered glance at Morgan.

He made a pretense of looking at his pocket watch and shook his head. “Right on time, actually, honey,” he murmured, favoring her with a slow smile.

She walked toward the stage and looked up at May. “I appreciate you getting up so early for this. Morgan said we’d be going shopping after breakfast.”

“Sure are,” May told her. “You and I are gonna get all decked out with new outfits, sweetie.” She looked down at Lily’s feet. “And new shoes, too.”

Charlie’s fingers ended their wandering and he nodded at May. “Let’s get goin’,” he told her. “Breakfast is waiting.”

The shops were filled with gowns and all the underpinnings that went with them. The shoemaker found just the right shoes to match Lily’s dress. With a brusque nod, Morgan announced his approval and followed the women from the cobbler’s shop, boxes in hand.

“Do you think we’ve pushed him far enough?” May asked in an undertone, bending to speak in Lily’s ear.

“I heard that,” Morgan told her dryly. “If we don’t get back to the boat right soon, neither one of you will have a job, and I’ll have lost all my belongings. I don’t think Ham will wait much longer for us.”

The thought of escaping the steamboat was like a beacon before her, but Lily could not imagine Morgan’s anger should she run from him. He’d be obliged to chase her down. And find her he would, of that there was no doubt. He’d paid for her time, and like it or not, she was committed to fulfilling her part of the bargain. With a sigh, she took his right arm, even as May clung to his left elbow, heading back to the dock.

Ham stood at the top of the gangplank, grinning through the smoke of his cigar as they approached. “Well, well. Don’t you look like a fancy man, with one lady on each arm, Morgan. Thought maybe the three of you had decided to head for the hills.”

“You knew better,” Morgan said, leading the women aboard with care, one at a time, lest they lose their footing on the sloping boards. He handed each her parcels. “Here you go, ladies.” With a tip of his hat, he watched them head for their cabins and turned back to Ham.

“You ready to leave?”

Ham nodded. “Just waiting for you and your lady friends to show up.” He leaned an elbow on the ship’s railing. “You win much at the poker tables on this trip downriver, Morgan?”

Morgan shrugged. “No more than usual. Why?”

“Just wondered if you’re makin’ a living at it. Playing poker is a pretty chancy way to earn your way in life, as far as I can see.”

“I make enough to get along,” Morgan told him, his voice soft but containing a thread of steel that forbade any further discussion.

Ham shot him a speculative look. “I’ve heard that you’re working for someone else.”

“And where did you hear that?” His senses alert, Morgan slid one hand into his pocket and tilted his hat a bit with the other. “You been checking up on me, Ham?”

A quick shake of his head denoted Ham’s denial of such a thing. “Just something that’s been whispered about over the past day or so. Thought you might like to hear the rumor.”

“Well, you can squelch it right now,” Morgan told him as he strolled away. “I work on my own. I don’t answer to anyone but Gage Morgan.”

And wasn’t that the biggest lie he’d ever told with a straight face.

Chapter Four

T he lines were being readied to cast off from the dock as Morgan neared the front of the boat and he gripped the rail tightly, his mind already on the coming evening. A vision of dark curls and even darker eyes swam in his mind and he shook it off. His eyelids flickered, his gaze narrowed, and there before him hung a drawing of the very woman he’d so determinedly cast from his thoughts.

The post was tall, its surface bearing several printed notices, one of them for a stage show in town, another for a man wanted for bank robbery. The third bore a very well-done likeness of Lily Devereaux, and above it were emblazoned the words: Wanted for Attempted Murder and Robbery.

Morgan blinked, sure that for that fraction of a moment his eyes were playing tricks on him. And then dead certain that they were not as he focused again on the poster. Someone who thought Lily’s name was Yvonne Devereaux had offered a five-thousand-dollar reward for her capture.

With one swift movement Morgan was atop the railing, and from there leaped to stand on the dock. He looked up at the poster and snatched it from the nails holding it in place. With a glance toward the gangplank, where Ham was no longer in sight, he folded the paper in quarters and stuck it in his pocket. Then, in a casual manner, he sauntered to where the lines were being cast ashore.

“Hold on a second there,” he called in a jovial tone. And as the accommodating deckhand watched, Morgan crossed the narrow stretch of water to stand on the deck. Offering the obliging fellow a small salute with his index finger, he strolled away, toward his cabin.

The woman is a fraud. All the way around. She’s lied to me.

His fist raised to pound on the door of his cabin, and then as it would have met the wood, he dropped it to his side. “It’s my damn cabin,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have to knock on my own door.”

The handle turned readily and he stood on the threshold. Before him Lily watched, wide-eyed, her hands holding up the shoes he’d bought with his hard-earned money. Probably gloating over making a fool of him.

He crossed the threshold and closed the door, leaning against it as he lifted one hand to remove his hat. The shoes were lowered, a pair held by either hand until they dangled at her sides, and Lily’s eyes closed tightly, then reopened, their surface glossy.

“Going to try tears on me?” Morgan asked softly. “It won’t work, Lily.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her words so quiet they might have been whispered.

He lifted a brow and tossed his hat toward the bed. She jumped as it sailed past her to land on the mattress, and he noted the visible shiver that traveled her length.

“Don’t you?” He reached in his pocket for the folded poster and held it toward her. “Don’t lie to me, Lily. Are you sure you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

She shook her head, and the shoes dropped to the floor. The sound was sharp in the silence, and she looked down to where they lay, then bent to retrieve them.

“Leave them,” Morgan said sharply, and watched as she obeyed, straightening again to stand quietly as he approached. His hand was steady as he lifted it to brush her cheek, and he smiled as she flinched from his touch.

“Are you afraid of me now?” he asked. The poster drew her eyes like a magnet and her mouth trembled as she spoke.

“What is it? What have you done?”

“What have I done?” he asked. “I think the question might be what have you done?”

Her chin lifted and two tears left shiny streaks down the length of her cheeks. “All right, what have I done?” she asked.

“Lied to me,” he said, almost tonelessly. “You lied to me, Lily.”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.”

“Everything? All you told me was a pack of lies, Miss Devereaux. Apparently beginning with your name—” he made a show of opening the poster and reading it aloud “—Yvonne Devereaux, it says here.” His eyes lifted to meet her gaze. “And ending with your attempted murder of someone in New York.”

“It wasn’t an attempted murder,” she whispered. “I killed him.”

He looked back at the poster. “Not according to this. You robbed him and tried real hard to put him six feet under, but the man is alive, lady. And he’s after your hide.”

“He’s dead,” she wailed, and then covered her mouth with one hand as if she could somehow stifle the words that resounded between them.

Morgan snatched at her hand, his fingers gripping her wrist as he drew her up to her tiptoes and pulled her against himself. “Shut up. Just shut the hell up, and for once in your life, tell the truth.”

Her knees sagged and he circled her with his other arm, the poster falling to the floor at his side. “Talk to me, Lily, or Yvonne, or whatever the hell your name is. Who did you think you’d killed?”

“Stanley Weston,” she gasped. “The Yankee colonel who took me with him when he left our plantation.”

“When he left your plantation.” Morgan repeated her words aloud, then watched her skin turn pale, as her eyes closed and her head rolled back. “Damn you, don’t you dare faint now.” He shook her once, a violent movement that snapped her eyes open. They were black, so dark he could not see the division between the pupil and the color surrounding it. “Do you hear me?” he whispered.

She nodded. “I hear you.” She stiffened in his grasp and with a tremendous effort, her legs held her upright and she caught her breath. “I hear you,” she repeated.