Книга - The Marriage Agreement

The Marriage Agreement
Carolyn Davidson


SCAMS AND SCALAWAGSwere all in a day's work for undercover government agent Gage Morgan. Songbird Lily Devereaux was not. No soiled dove, she was a lady in need of protection. But once vows were spoken, would he ever be able to let her go, as their marriage bargain allowed…and her troubled heart might demand?SONGS AND SECRETSwere Lily's shield against the world. A desperate act had brought her to dire straits aboard a Mississippi riverboat. Now singing for her supper was the least of her problems, for gambler Gage Morgan tempted her with an unusual way out. But could she wed him and bed him without the promise of love?









“I didn’t mean to frighten you,”


Gage said, reaching to grip her arms lest she fall into the water. “I just watched you here, with the breeze blowing your dress against your body, your hair tangled and curling over your shoulders, and I had to touch you.”

“Touch me?” She felt dazed from the desire blazing from the eyes of the man who held her.

“Only a bit,” he said softly, persuasively. “Like this.” His head bent and he kissed her, a sweet, seeking union of lips that made her breath catch in her throat. His hands held her, and she leaned forward until she was supported by the firm strength of the man.

“You draw me like a magnet, Lily.” He lifted his head and she felt the heat of his gaze, felt the beating of her heart in her throat and knew the wonder of being a woman….




Acclaim for Carolyn Davidson’s recent titles


Texas Gold

“Davidson delivers a story fraught with sexual tension.”

—Romantic Times

Tempting a Texan

“A pleasant bubble-bath read with Carolyn Davidson’s usual fine writing to recommend.”

—Romantic Times

A Marriage by Chance

“This deftly written novel about loss and recovery is a skillful handling of the traditional Western, with the added elements of family conflict and a moving love story.”

—Romantic Times

The Tender Stranger

“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges, portraying the extraordinary possibilities that exist within ordinary marital love.”

—Publishers Weekly




The Marriage Agreement

Carolyn Davidson







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The Marriage Agreement represented the end of a journey for me. I finally wrote the story of Yvonne Devereaux, the third of the Devereaux siblings.

She was what my editor and I called A Fallen Woman and, as such, one of those ladies who used to be kept in the closet. I loved Yvonne, found her to be honest, forthright and, above all, loyal to her family.

So what if she made some mistakes in her life? Don’t we all! So this book is dedicated to Lily, to all the Lilys who are a part of our families and who deserve all the love and respect we have to offer. I loved the Devereaux clan, and I hate to leave them, but they’ve all managed to find their way in this world and in the world of my imagination, so I have no choice.

To Mr. Ed, my own hero, and manager of all my affairs (yes, even that one) I offer my love and devotion for all time.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue




Prologue


Mississippi River

North of Memphis

Spring, 1878

T he messenger stood in the shadows beneath the overhang. The deck was deserted, except for the silent man who watched and waited; but waiting and watching was what he did best. It was his job. And he was very good at it.

The tall man who strolled casually toward him did not change direction, yet the messenger sensed he’d been spotted. And that was all right. It was because of Gage Morgan that he’d come to this place. So he watched as Morgan leaned with languid ease against the rail of the steamboat, looking across the muddy waters of the Mississippi toward the faint lights of a house.

Lifting a slim cigar from his jacket pocket, Morgan held it to his mouth and, with a soft scratching sound, set fire to the match he carried. He puffed once on the cigar and the smoke dissipated as it blended with the darkness, leaving only the red glow to remain.

“What news do you have?” His words were soft, barely carrying to where the messenger waited. Morgan stood as if mesmerized by the water flowing past the ship, as though deep in thought.

“I heard from Washington today. Everything is being put in place. They’re leaving it up to you to set the stage, but they want you to know that a lawman in Sand Creek is aware of the situation.”

“What would they like me to do about a cover?” His laugh was low, as if his thoughts amused him. “Forget I asked,” he said.

“You can go in as a married man who’s sent his wife off to keep her safe.”

“That won’t do it,” Morgan argued mildly. “Aren’t there any agents available?”

“You don’t want much, do you? A woman like that is hard to come by.”

“Not if the price is right,” Morgan returned mildly.

“Maybe you’d better find one yourself,” the messenger suggested, then with barely a whisper, he slipped through the shadows and made his way from his hiding place, leaving Gage Morgan to consider the situation.

What he needed was going to be well nigh impossible to come up with, but he was willing to give it a shot. The cigar flared again briefly and then was extinguished by the water below as it was cast into the muddy depths.




Chapter One


T hree aces, fanning before him as he edged the cards apart, was a good beginning, Gage Morgan decided. The chance of the dealer delivering the fourth was slim indeed, but even three of them were worth more than the fifty cents he tossed in the pot to up the ante. This just might be another lucky night. He leaned back in his chair, eyed the pile of coins in the middle of the table and waited.

A haze of smoke hung low over the men who were contributing to his wallet, and Gage wished idly for a wandering breeze to ease the burning of his eyes. Whiskey, cigars and wild women accompanied the dealing of cards, it seemed, no matter where men assembled as poker was played. Tonight promised to be no different than last night or the endless string of midnights he’d spent at just such a table.

He touched his squat glass of whiskey, running his index finger around the rim as he waited for decisions to be made. The five men who circled the table were old hands at this—their faces like stone walls, without a glimmer of emotion visible. And his was the same, he thought idly, should an observer take note. He prided himself on a stoic expression, knew the value of denying himself a gleam of triumph or a frown of consternation.

“More whiskey, mister?” The woman who stood at his elbow looked at his half-empty glass, and her hand brushed his shoulder, catching his attention. He shook his head, an abrupt movement that discouraged her attentiveness to his glass. She moved on to the man directly across the table and Morgan’s gaze rested on the red gown she wore.

It clung in all the right places, and the figure beneath the shimmering satin was lush, her hips a bit too slender, perhaps, but the fullness of her bosom was enough to draw every eye in the place. His were no exception.

Allowing his dark gaze to slide upward to her face, he found a wary expression in the eyes that returned his scrutiny. Her mouth was unpainted, a rarity in a riverboat saloon such as this, but her cheeks wore a dusting of some rosy hue. Dark hair hung in a mass of ringlets across her shoulders, halfway to her waist, drawn back from high cheekbones and held in place by silver combs that were incongruous in this place. Real silver, he’d warrant, not cheap imitations that could be purchased for a few cents.

The lady must have an admirer, he decided, some generous man who was willing to pay her price. A three-dollar gold piece would no doubt buy her attentions for a night, perhaps two if she was low on her luck. He felt a twitch in his lower parts, where months of celibacy had obviously rendered him vulnerable to such a female as this one.

Hell, why not? She was obviously available and he was possessed of more money these days than he needed. Lady Luck had been good to him. At least when it came to playing poker. He felt stymied. His other endeavors were not paying forth any recent dividends, and that would not endear him to the men he worked for.

He shot another look at the red dress, then glanced down at the cards he held, and considered his options. “How many, Morgan?” The dealer held the rest of the deck in his hand, and Gage placed two cards on the table, nudging them toward the man who waited. With a snap of the cardboard, he was dealt two and he touched them with his fingertips, bringing them to rest before him.

The men on either side of him examined their hands in a negligent manner and Gage slid his own newcomers into his hand. The first was a trey and he glanced at it for a moment before he fanned the hand to expose the second. The ace of hearts sent a message of success to his mind, and he paused for only a moment before he tapped the five cards into a neat pile and held them in his palm.

“I’ll raise,” said the fourth player, pushing a three-dollar gold piece toward the pot.

Gage selected a matching coin from those in front of him and met the raise, then hesitated for just a moment. With an idle gesture, he added another glittering coin. Around the table the players watched, their eyes hooded, smoke rising to drift above their heads as they contemplated his move.

“I’m out,” said one, tossing his hand facedown before him.

“Too rich for me,” said another, pushing back from the table to stalk toward the bar. The third man shot Gage a measuring look and shook his head.

“It’s all yours, far as I’m concerned.”

With a casual sweep of his palm, Gage gathered the pot into a stack before him. A sound from across the table brought his head up quickly, and he rose from his chair. The soft cry of pain he’d heard was repeated as the woman in red struggled with one of the men so recently relieved of his money. Pale beneath the smudge of rouge she wore, her wrist held captive by a disappointed card player, she bit at her lower lip, her eyes darting from one to another of the men, as though she sought rescue.

“Come on, Lily.” The man whose big hand encircled her arm seemed intent on hauling her off as if she were the spoils of battle, and Gage knew a moment of profound disgust. That the card player was taking out his losses on the woman seemed to be a likely scenario. He paused in the act of claiming his winnings to speak a quiet protest. Watching a woman being treated as an object of scorn was beyond the pale, and he refused to look the other way in the interest of peace.

“I don’t think the lady is interested, fella.” His gaze never faltering from the two involved in a silent struggle, Gage filled a leather pouch with the money on the table, stuffed it abruptly in his pocket and pushed his chair away.

“Lily?” Gage spoke the name aloud, and dark eyes turned on him with a silent plea in their depths. “Are you interested in spending time with the gentleman?” Gage asked, allowing an edge of steel to touch the words. He’d never been one to seek out trouble, but when it came calling he didn’t doubt his ability to handle any situation that might arise.

The dark curls moved, catching the lamplight overhead as the woman shook her head, a definite denial of her interest in the man who held her in his grasp. It was all Gage needed to see, that one movement that signaled for his help.

He moved quickly, his long legs reaching her in three strides, and the hand he placed on her captor’s shoulder dug deeply into muscles that felt the pain of long fingers and abundant strength. Anger etched the face of the man whose attentions were unwanted, and his mouth spewed forth an insult Gage could not abide.

“You can have her,” the disgruntled man said, thrusting Lily’s wrist from his grasping fingers. “She’s nuthin’ but a whore, anyway. Not worth arguin’ over.”

The woman stepped back, her eyes fearful, and Gage took less than five seconds to deliver a pair of punches that sent the two-hundred-pound man to the floor. In the short silence that followed, two husky employees appeared, and the thoroughly incapacitated suitor was lifted and removed from sight. Around Gage the hum of voices rose again and he shot a look of inquiry at Lily.

She attempted a smile, but the quivering of her lips denied even that small expression of humor. “Thanks,” she whispered. “I wasn’t sure how to handle that.”

“You’re new in here,” Gage said. “When did you come on board?”

Lily moistened her lips, an unconscious gesture Gage decided, since she didn’t seem to be interested in attracting him. In fact, he’d be willing to warrant she wasn’t interested in drawing any more attention to herself than necessary.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I’m new. Mr. Scott hired me this afternoon when y’all docked at Saint Louis.”

Gage took her elbow and steered her toward an open doorway, beyond which the Mississippi River lay, its current carrying the boat southward at a leisurely pace. She allowed his guiding hand, offering no protest as they stepped out on deck and moved to the rail. Slender fingers gripped the gleaming wood, and she bent her head, as if the weight of it were too heavy for her fragile neck to support.

“Are you feeling ill?” he asked. “Do you need to sit down?” And then he eased his arm around her waist as he heard footsteps behind them.

“Lily?” It was the voice of Ham Scott, the owner of the boat, a man Gage knew to be fair but possessed of a short temper when it came to disturbances in his establishment. “What’s the problem? I thought you understood what was required of you when you came on board.”

She shuddered, lifting her head with a jerk at the man’s accusing words. Gage tightened his hold for a moment on her slender waist, then released her as he turned to face Ham. “I’d already asked the lady for her company, Scott. There was a slight misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“I don’t like brawling in my place, Morgan.” His eyes glittered in the moonlight as he allowed his gaze to touch Lily and then focus once more on the man he challenged. “Lily knew she’d be expected to be nice to the gentlemen on board when I hired her on.”

Gage smiled. “She’s being nice to me, and I can guarantee she won’t be wearing bruises, come morning.”

Ham hesitated and then nodded shortly. “We’ll let it go for now, but she’s got work to do for the next hour or so. I can’t afford to let my girls run off before midnight. Especially since she turned down a customer already. There’s too many men in there wanting drinks served to their tables during the stage show. Lily has to do her job.”

Gage nodded. “All right, I understand that.” He looked at Lily, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’ll just sit and watch, if you don’t mind, though. I’d like her in one piece when her work’s over for the night.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Ham said. And then he shot Lily a measuring look. “Are you sure you’ve worked a riverboat saloon before?”

She nodded. “I mostly sang, though.”

Ham lifted an eyebrow as he considered that statement. “I’ll listen to you tomorrow—see how you sound. My singers don’t serve drinks, Lily. That might suit you better.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” she said quietly. Her back was straight, her shoulders square as she walked back into the noisy, smoke-laden saloon, and Ham Scott chuckled beneath his breath.

“Gage Morgan to the rescue,” he murmured. “That white hat looks good on you, Morgan. Problem now is you’re stuck with paying for a woman for the night. Lily’s been getting the eye from half a dozen fellas in there. She’ll bring a pretty price.”

“I’m not averse to paying for what I get,” Gage said softly. He pushed away from the rail and slid a hand into his trouser pocket. “Now, I think I need to keep an eye on my investment.” He drew a five-dollar gold piece from his pocket and flipped it in the air. “This should cover Lily’s company till morning, I’d think.”

And then he halted in his tracks, watching as Ham snatched the coin from midair and pocketed it. “Tell her you’ve already paid in full for whatever strikes your fancy,” he said. “From what she told me, she’s been around for a while. You oughta get your money’s worth.” He grinned. “Her name’s Devereaux. Lily Devereaux. These French women are supposed to be good at what they do.”

Gage knew a moment of disgust at the words, but a bland expression covered his thoughts as he strode in Lily’s wake. A table at the rear, farthest from the low stage, was empty and he settled there, aware that he was the focus of more than one man’s attention. Lily stood at the bar, waiting for a nod from customers who needed a refill, and her eyes drifted across the crowd until they met his.

He lifted his index finger and nodded at her, then watched as she made her way through the tables to where he waited. “What can I get you?” she asked, standing across the width of the table. Her voice was husky, as if she held back tears, and Gage felt a moment of pity, laced with an awakening in his nether parts.

“Just a whiskey, Lily. I’ll wait here till you finish working, and then we’ll go to my stateroom.”

She hesitated only a few seconds, and then nodded, turning away. Gage watched as she walked across the floor, noticed the eyes of those who followed her progress and felt a surge of possessiveness that gave him pause. He’d managed to stick himself with a woman’s company for the night—not that it would be any great sacrifice to spend a few hours with Lily. He was allowed to be jealous of her time over the next hour or so. He’d already paid the price.



Her feet hurt, her face ached from forcing a smile into place and keeping it there, and for Lily Devereaux, it seemed that she’d reached the end of her rope. If not for the man called Morgan, she’d even now be fighting off the filthy hands of the man who’d been intent on dragging her from the saloon earlier. And no doubt Mr. Scott would have allowed it, rather than cause a disturbance.

It seemed that Morgan had no such qualms in that direction. His two-fisted attack had delivered her from the disgruntled loser at the poker game, and placed her smack-dab in his debt. It seemed she was about to discover just how far she was willing to go in order to survive.

There was little doubt in her mind that the man called Morgan would expect full payment for the rescue he’d pulled off. The memory of his scent clung in her mind, that faint odor of smoke that was a part of this room, the masculine smell of some sort of shaving soap, and the aroma of a male creature bent on seeking out a woman. She had no doubt that she would receive his full attention once her work in the saloon came to an end, when the last drink had been served and the last table wiped with a dingy cloth.

Even now his gaze followed her and she knew the heat of masculine appraisal bent on her form. The dress was snug, her shoes too small. Apparently the last woman to work this room hadn’t had much of a bosom. Lily’s own abundant curves were well-nigh overflowing her low neckline, and she concentrated on ignoring the men whose eyes were drawn to a figure her mama had described as ample.

Men like their wives to be modest and their charms to be viewed only by their husbands. A man only marries a woman he respects. Mama’s words that rang in her head had proved to be true in the end. The past two years spent on her own had provided Lily with enough shame to last her a lifetime. The Union soldier who’d bargained with her, torch held in his hand, the flame reflected in his eyes as he offered her the choice that was really no choice at all, had kept his word—to a point.

She shook her head, as if that small movement would dismiss the past from her mind. “Take those men in the corner their drinks,” the barkeep said from behind her. She turned to the glossy walnut bar, where rows of bottles caught the light from kerosene lanterns hanging from the ceiling. “Two bits each, Lily.” Handing her the rough wooden tray, he nodded to where three men huddled around a small table.

Making her way through the tables, ignoring the grasping hands that reached to touch her dress, she focused instead on the man who had effected a rescue and was even now watching her from the table in the rear. Smoke-gray eyes seemed darker in the gloom of the saloon, lights dimming as the lead singer stepped forth from the wings to take her place on center stage.

The men’s raucous voices stilled, and all eyes were upon May Kettering, the tall, blond beauty whose voice rivaled that of an opera singer Lily had heard in New York City. The woman was statuesque, voluptuous, and knew the power she wielded over her audience. Following her into the spotlight would be like wandering into an arena after the lions had devoured the Christians, Lily decided. Definitely an anticlimax, no matter how well she could carry a tune.

She listened from the side of the saloon as May sang, knew that the men listening had no idea of the meaning of the words that soared from the woman’s throat. And yet, there was something about the music that spoke to the soul, and even those who had never seen or heard of an opera were touched by the magnificence of the music.

A burst of applause greeted May’s final note, and she nodded at the piano player, a man whose talents were far beyond what one usually found in a place such as this. A saloon was still a saloon, no matter where it was, and although a riverboat might boast a decent piano player, this one was beyond decent. May paused, then lifted her head as the music began, and her voice lifted in song, this time in English, the words of love and sorrow and an aching heart.

For a moment, silence greeted her final notes and then, as she swept from the stage in a swirl of skirts, the men exploded with applause and whistles. “Can you sing like that?” Ham stood beside her, had managed to approach without gaining her notice, and Lily glanced at him with a quick shake of her head.

“Not even a little bit,” she admitted. “My voice is pleasant, and I sing ballads mostly, but I’ll look like a schoolgirl next to May.”

“Not in that dress you won’t,” Ham retorted, eyeing her with a grin. “Honey, you don’t look like any girl I ever met in school.”

She felt a blush rise to cover her cheeks, and glanced to where Morgan sat, watching from narrowed eyes. “How long before I can leave?” she asked.

“Another half hour or so,” Ham told her. “I’ll let you go early tonight, since Morgan paid in advance.”

She inhaled sharply. “What do you mean? Who did he pay?”

“Me, sweetheart. And for what he handed over for your time, you’d do well to keep the man happy for the whole night.”

She met Ham’s gaze. “And if I don’t measure up? What then?”

“Then you don’t get to sing for me tomorrow, and I’ll have to put out the word that your services are available after the saloon closes at night.”

“That’s blackmail,” Lily said quietly. “I didn’t hire on as a whore, Mr. Scott.”

“And who are you going to complain to, Miss Devereaux?” he retorted quickly. “I own this boat, and what I say goes. We won’t be docking anywhere for another couple of days. I’d say it would behoove you to measure up to Mr. Morgan’s expectations.”

Lily stalked toward the bar, blindly making her way on feet that protested, fearful of tripping and falling over the multitude of men who managed to block her way with outthrust hands and vile suggestions. Tears threatened to fall as she reached the relative safety of the walnut bar, and she leaned against it, barely able to conceal the trembling of her hands as the bartender, a man named John, pushed a loaded tray in her direction.

“That table by the door, Lily,” he said quietly. “Are you all right, honey?” he asked, not releasing his hold on the heavy tray as she would have lifted it.

“No, but I doubt it’s going to get any better,” she said harshly.

“Uh-oh,” the barkeep said softly. “Here comes trouble.”

“I’ll give you a hand with that, Lily.” Gage Morgan stood behind her, and the barkeep met the man’s gaze with a look of query.

“Lily don’t need any trouble, Mr. Morgan,” John said quietly.

“I’m not going to give her any,” Morgan returned. “Just thought I’d lend a hand.”

His warmth behind her was a revelation, Lily decided. Though they stood inches apart, the heat from his big body touched her from nape to knees, and she resisted the urge to lean against him for just a moment. Wouldn’t that bring every eye in the place in her direction?

Morgan’s hands were strong, his fingers long and he lifted the tray without a trace of effort, then nodded at Lily to lead the way to their destination. The men whose drinks he carried watched in bafflement as the duo neared their table, and then Lily smiled and sorted out each drink with its intended owner.

“That’s two bits each,” she said pleasantly, and smiled nicely as the men responded quickly, placing their cash on the tray, three of them adding a bit extra for her. Morgan stepped aside and nodded at her, ushering her back to the bar with a small ceremony that was the center of attention in the smoky room.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he placed the empty tray on the bar. She transferred the cash to John’s hand and tucked the extra coins into her bodice. A choked sound from Morgan brought her eyes in his direction and as she watched, his gaze fastened there. Not only was the dress too small, but the neckline was lower than anything she’d ever worn, and her breasts were in dire straits, almost overflowing the red fabric. She tugged at the ruched edging that rimmed the sweetheart neckline, to no avail, for it was already stretched almost beyond bearing.

Morgan cleared his throat and faced the bar. “Give me a shot of whiskey, straight up,” he told John, his voice strained.

John grinned. “Quite a woman, ain’t she?” he asked, pushing the glass across the bar and into Morgan’s grip.

“More than most,” Morgan said bluntly. “And certainly more than these clowns deserve to have delivering their drinks.”

“I think I mis-spoke myself,” John said quietly. “She’s a lady, Morgan. I recognized that right off, first time she opened her mouth this afternoon.”

Morgan lifted his shot glass and drank deeply, downing the whiskey as if it were bad-tasting medicine and he was in dire need of a cure. And then he glanced again at Lily and his gaze touched her face and hair, his eyes a darker gray than she’d first thought. He pushed the glass back toward the bartender and shook his head as John would have refilled it from a bottle behind the bar.

Lily listened to the two men, her eyes traveling from one to the other as they discussed her attributes and decreed her a step above the position she held here. It was almost too much for her patience to bear, she decided, that these two should speak of her as if she could not hear their opinions, and certainly should not be concerned with them.

“I’m not a lady, Mr. Morgan,” she said finally. “No lady ever dressed like this or served drinks in a saloon.”

“Ah,” he said softly, touching his brow with his index finger, as if he saluted her. “But I suspect that at one time you were a most respectable woman, Lily. And I think that you still carry yourself as a lady, no matter what you’re wearing or what your job is.”

“I’m not very good at some things,” she said boldly. “You may be sorry you paid Ham Scott for my time.” She felt, as she spoke, the warm flush of crimson that touched her cheeks and proclaimed her embarrassment.

Morgan smiled, a slow, gradually widening movement of lips and teeth that made his eyes narrow and gleam in the light of the kerosene lanterns overhead. “I doubt I’ll be disappointed in you, Miss Lily,” he murmured, and she felt the heat of his gaze touch her breasts once more, as if he could make out the outline of the coins she’d stored there during the evening.

Another table of men beckoned her and she left Morgan where he stood, aware that he turned his back to the bar and leaned his elbows on it as he watched her cross the floor. For some reason, the men she passed by kept their hands to themselves and she heard soft murmurs from behind her as she passed by.

“Morgan…handy with a gun,” one man whispered.

“Wouldn’t take kindly…” another said, then spoke in an undertone as she moved past his table.

It seemed that Gage Morgan’s interest in her was bearing fruit tonight, and she could not help but be relieved by the changed attitude of those who ordered drinks during the next half hour. When Ham Scott stepped up to the bar and nodded at her, she lifted her eyebrow in question.

“I reckon you’ve done your share for the night,” Ham said easily and then glanced at Morgan. “She’s got work to do tomorrow,” he said lightly. “Including singin’ for me in the morning.”

“I’ll see to it she gets a good night’s sleep,” Morgan said, moving to take Lily’s elbow in his grasp. “Come on, Lily,” he murmured in an undertone, leading her to where an open doorway beckoned.

She stepped before him as they skirted tables, and then beside him as they paused to look out on the river. “I don’t know where your room is,” she said. “And I’ll need to go to my bunk first to get my things.”

“What things?” Gage asked, his hand tightening as if he were unwilling to allow her out of his sight.

“My nightgown, for one,” she said, and was silenced by his low chuckle.

“You won’t need it, Lily.”

“I need my hairbrush and face cream,” she told him, breathless as she considered his words. “I can’t go to bed without washing my face.”

“All right,” he said, allowing her this small victory that wasn’t really any triumph at all, she decided. Only a stop-gap until she should face him in his stateroom and be required to deliver whatever he deemed to be his due.

“How much did you pay for me?” she asked as she turned away from the saloon, leaving behind the music of the piano and the catcalls that followed their exit.

“Does it matter?” He slid his hand down and held her fingers in his palm.

She shrugged. “I suppose not. I probably won’t come up to what you expect anyway. I’m not really in the business, Mr. Morgan.”

“I already figured that out, Miss Devereaux.” He squeezed her fingers a bit and she knew a moment of relief, whether from his reply or the touch of his hand holding hers securely in its depth.

“How did you know my name?” she asked.

“Ham told me.”

“When?” She halted outside a door and inserted a small key in the lock.

“After you went back inside, earlier.” He waited there as she stepped into the room and gathered her things in the darkness, the space she shared with two other women so small she had memorized the location of each item she owned. All of them fit on the narrow bunk she was to have slept in tonight, and for a moment she rued the circumstances that had so changed her destination for the next few hours.

“All right,” she said, emerging into the moonlight. “I think I have everything I need.”

Morgan looked down at the armful she clutched to her breasts. His smile was gentle, as if he teased her. “Brought the nightgown anyway, I see.”

She nodded, unable to speak aloud, so rapid was the beating of her heart as she faced the thought of earning her keep in a way she’d thought behind her forever. The face of the Yankee colonel appeared before her again, and over-lapped that of Gage Morgan, just for a moment. She blinked, and he was gone, but his memory was like a burning ember in her mind.

“I don’t know what made you think I was going to marry you, Yvonne,” he’d said with a laugh of derision. “I thought you were smarter than that. A man marries a woman of his own class, not a Southern belle who can’t even speak proper English.”

Forever she would rue the moment she’d crushed his skull with a poker from the fireplace. The memory was alive in her dreams nightly, and now she was paying the price for the rage that had beset her two years ago in New York City.

She closed her eyes, and felt Morgan’s hand touch her cheek. “Are you all right?” he asked, his gaze shuttered. And then he smiled, a mere movement of his lips. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Lily. I understand the bit about the nightgown.”

She opened her eyes and focused on the man’s face. No longer did he bear any resemblance to the Yankee. Even his speech was softer, bearing a trace of the South in its whispered vowels. “It’s all right,” she said, forcing her lips to curve in a smile. “I brought a dressing gown to wear in the morning when I travel back to my room.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed on her and she caught a glimpse of some dark emotion in his gaze. “I may have a hard time letting you go, come morning,” he warned quietly. “In fact, I may just keep you for myself while I’m traveling south.”

“Can you afford me?” she asked, turning as he guided her toward a narrow stairway leading to the upper deck. They climbed the stairs and she heard him murmur a soft phrase that evaded her.

Halting her at the top of the flight of stairs, he drew her close and bent his head to touch his lips to her forehead. “I can afford you,” he said quietly, and she sensed an assurance in his voice that brought her once more to a state of near panic.

“Will Ham—”

Morgan stilled her by a simple act. Bending his head a bit farther, he touched his mouth to hers and held her immobile, one large hand cradling her head, the other firm against her back. She felt the heat of him, the hard, damp kiss of a man who would not be denied, and though she trembled in his embrace, she knew a moment of anticipation so great it threatened to overwhelm her.




Chapter Two


L ily stepped into the stateroom and paused, the lack of lighting in the small area halting her progress. Behind her, Morgan closed the door and she caught her breath, aware of his body brushing against her back, his hand touching her shoulder as he guided her forward into the darkness.

“I can’t see,” she whispered. “Are you going to light a lamp?”

He stepped to one side, and she heard the rasping sound of a match and then blinked as it flared and lit the space between them. His face was all harsh planes and angles, his eyes dark, and she trembled as he bent to apply the flickering flame to the lamp on a shelf by the door.

“All right?” he asked, turning again to face her. The light was too bright, she thought as she looked around her. The stateroom was starkly simple; nothing in the small room seemed welcoming. A wide bunk against the wall was flanked by a chair, where an open valise lay. Beside it was a table, upon which a pitcher and bowl were placed, along with a neatly folded towel and the utensils necessary for shaving. In mere seconds she’d surveyed her surroundings, and then glanced up at him, aware that she hadn’t answered his soft question.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said quietly, even as her heart thumped unmercifully in her breast, and her fingers clung damply to the articles of clothing and grooming she held.

“I’ll take those,” he offered, holding out his hand, and she stared dumbly at his open palm, then shook her head.

“No, just tell me where I can change,” she told him, and realized as she spoke those words that there was not even the benefit of a screen for her privacy.

Morgan smiled, his gleaming eyes sweeping her length. “Right here will do,” he said, lifting one hand to touch the bodice of her dress. His fingers were long, elegant and tanned, and she was reminded of their dexterity as they’d handled the cards earlier. Now she knew a moment of panic as they lingered just above the line of cleavage where her breasts strained the fabric of the red gown…then brushed against her skin, as if he must test the texture.

His murmur was soft, inviting. “Would you like me to give you a hand?”

“No.” She shook her head in an abrupt movement, stepping back, her flesh tingling where his fingertips had rested. “I’ll do it,” she added hastily, aware that a five-dollar gold piece was a high price to pay for an evening with a woman whose value was yet to be determined.

“All right.” Agreeably, he turned and propped a shoulder against the door jamb, his gaze focused on her in a lazy manner. His eyes seemed darker, she thought, glistening in the lamp’s glow, and with indolent ease they passed over her, lingering on the curve of her breasts, and then settling on the line of her hips. Heat rose to color her cheeks, and its warmth radiated from her skin.

“Lily?” Her name had never sounded so soft, had never whispered against her ears with such a seductive murmur as he repeated his offer. “Shall I help you?” His lids barely masked the glitter of passion as he watched her, and she thought for a moment that he surely possessed some eerie power, perhaps the ability to see beneath her clothing. Her breasts were taut and tingling, her legs trembled, and she prayed silently for the strength to perform this denial of all she’d been raised to believe in.

With a sound of dismay, uttered in a barely audible whisper, she turned from him, reaching behind her back. The task of undoing the fastenings that held her dress together was hampered by the trembling of her fingers. He touched her shoulder gently, halting her efforts.

“Begin with your hair, Lily,” he said softly. “Let it loose. Please.”

“My hair?” Obediently, she lifted her hands to touch the dark curls, her fingers curving to pull the silver combs from place. The heavy fall of waves caressed her shoulders and she turned back to face him. His eyes narrowed, as if drawn to the unruly tresses and he gently grasped a curl, allowing it to wrap the length of his index finger. His gaze settled there for a long moment, as though the texture and weight of that lone bit of waving hair held some sort of appeal.

Gray eyes silvered as his hand abandoned that single curl and instead rose to fit his palm to the curve of her neck. Long fingers moved upward, tunneling through her hair, and the heat of his hand was like a branding iron on her scalp. Without warning, his head lowered and his mouth touched hers, opening to suckle the plump line of her lower lip. A warning growl made her aware of danger just as his other arm circled her waist and snagged her against his length.

The kiss took on a more seductive angle, his head tilting as he sought to invade the soft tissues behind her lips. A harsh sound in his throat gave her warning that Gage Morgan was not to be denied, and she shrank from him and the force of his desire.

Tears spilled from her eyes to flow unchecked down her cheeks, and he hesitated. Lips that had demanded her submission softened, opening a bit, damp and warm against her mouth. “I won’t hurt you, Lily,” he murmured. His touch on her nape became a caress, yet she trembled in his embrace, her breath a soft gasp.

Her scent rose to tempt him, an aroma of flowers blended with that of woman, and he inhaled it, recognizing the moment as one that would dictate the whole of their relationship. She was warm against him, yet she shivered, and he became aware that his attraction to her was not mutual. The woman he held in his arms was compliant to his touch, but her murmured cry denied the passion he’d hoped to arouse within her body.

“Well, hell.” Morgan uttered the curse even as he heard her almost silent sob, knew a moment’s remorse as she cringed from his touch, and then opened his eyes to see twin trails of dampness on her cheeks. A frown marred his brow as he took her measure.

“Lily…” He hesitated, and then shook his head. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed not enough of an apology he decided as he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “I really planned to be a gentleman. I’m not generally so heavy-handed when I spend time with a woman.” It had been too damn long, he thought. Too many months without a woman’s touch.

His palm spread wide across her back, and his fingers caressed her through the satin dress she wore. Bending to her again, his mouth touched her forehead, then brushed a path to her cheek. “Can I start over?” he asked. And then, without waiting for her answer, he turned her within his embrace and worked slowly at the fastenings of her dress.

“How did you get into this thing?” he mused, his fingers clumsy at the task.

“One of the girls helped,” she said, and shivered anew as his hands found bare skin just below her waistline. “Please, can you blow out the lamp?”

His words held a tinge of amusement. “Has no one ever told you that some things are better accomplished in the light?” Turning her to face him, he smiled and looked down to where her hands gripped the red satin over the contours of her breasts. “Am I not going to be allowed to look?”

Lily bit her lip, tasting the blood, aware that he was more patient than she had a right to expect. “I told you I’m not very good at this,” she whispered. “I’m not worth five dollars, I fear.”

His head tilted to one side and his smile vanished, as though he saw something within her that held him immobile, his eyes darkening. His words were dry and a bit cynical, but spoken carefully. “How many men have bought your favors, Lily? A hundred? Fifty, maybe?” He paused and she swallowed, the lump in her throat almost smothering the laugh that denied his suggestion.

“Am I the first?” he asked, the words so quiet she strained to hear them.

“No.” And he wasn’t, not if she were to be honest. The Yankee colonel had paid the price for her compliance five years ago, and made a whore of her in the process. When he took her from her home.

“But you haven’t done this often, have you?” he persisted, his hands holding her firmly in his grasp.

She shook her head. “No.” Then she tilted her head back to offer him a look of resolve. “But I expect it’s something I’ll learn, Mr. Morgan.”

He sighed and shook his head, a strangely sad emotion washing over him. Her scent rose again to tempt him, that of a woman whose skin was clean, almost a rarity in her profession. He denied the stirring in his groin, turning his back on the thought of taking this female to his bed, and shook his head.

“But not tonight, Lily,” he said. “I won’t take a woman who weeps at my touch.”

“If Ham Scott finds out—” She broke off and her teeth touched the spot where blood had begun to dry.

“He won’t,” Morgan said, his finger nudging her lip. “Don’t do that, Lily. You’ve already made it bleed.” He looked closer and his eyes darkened. “Or did I do that to you?”

And if he had, would it matter? she wondered silently. But her head moved, offering a denial of his concern.

His hands were warm, resting on her back, and his words offered a reprieve. “I’ll turn my back and you can get into your nightgown,” he told her. And true to his word, he turned in a half circle and faced the door.

With swift movements, Lily allowed the satin dress to slide to the floor, then snatched at her nightgown and pulled it over her head. Beneath the dress, she wore sleek satin drawers that matched the dress and in a moment they were folded and placed on the bed.

“Now what, Morgan?” she asked. “I have six bits if you want part of your money back. In fact I have a dollar in my bag, back in my room.”

“Turn around and look at me,” he said roughly. “And don’t mention money again.” He looked down at her hand where she held the tips she’d received in the saloon, taken now from the bodice of the dress. “Do you think I’d take it from you?” he asked, his jaw taut.

She shook her head. “I suppose not. But then, I don’t really know you, do I?”

“Not as well as you will by morning,” he said, and buffered the words with a grin. “I’ve never bought a woman’s favors before, Lily. I think I’m grateful to you for not allowing me to spoil my record.”

“Then what do you expect for your five dollars?”

“I think I want to know who Lily Devereaux is,” he answered. “Where she comes from—and maybe even more, where she’s going.”

Lily dropped her gaze and laughed, a mirthless sound. “Lily Devereaux only exists on this boat,” she said. “She’s a brand-new person, Morgan.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” His words were soft, as if he realized she would respond to his coaxing quicker than to a harsh demand.

Lily wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, and then dropped them quickly as Morgan’s eyes took note of the curves of her breasts as they were supported by her forearms. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, warming as a flush of embarrassment rose to tinge her face with color.

“For five dollars, I should be able to look, Lily,” he told her patiently. “I’ve already promised not to take more from you than you’ll give me freely.”

“If I told you—” She broke off abruptly and turned her head aside.

“Told me what?” he asked.

A desperate longing to gain some small bit of respect from the man drove her to offer a small bit of knowledge into his hands. “I’m not what you think I am, not a woman who works on her back for a living.”

“I already figured that out,” Morgan said. And with those words spoken, an inkling of a bold move, a rash decision, filled his mind. “I don’t know what you are, Lily, but I’d lay odds that you don’t belong on a riverboat, serving trash like the man who touched you earlier.” He motioned toward the bunk. “Go on. Crawl between the sheets.” He walked behind her, watching as she bent to pull back the top sheet and then retrieved the pillows. Her glance at him merited a small smile.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay right here for now.”

Her curves were nicely traced by the taut lines of her nightgown as she leaned forward on one knee, drawing his gaze. Morgan caught his breath, almost ruing his vow.

Turning to face him, she settled on the edge of the mattress and he nodded, the demand implicit. Her feet slid beneath the top sheet and she drew it up to her waist, and then eased her way to the pillows. Morgan stepped closer and lowered himself to sit beside her.

“Now, unless you want me to change my mind, lady, I want you to tell me about Lily Devereaux.” He waited, his gaze unmoving as he met her dark eyes. She swallowed, a visible movement of throat and lower jaw, and then lifted her hands in a helpless gesture.

“I don’t know what you’d like to know, Morgan. I’m from the South….” She hesitated and he smiled, a lazy arrangement of lips that expressed amusement.

“I figured that out right off, honey,” he told her. “Now tell me something I didn’t know. Like who’s out there looking for you.”

She paled beneath his gaze and he felt a sense of triumph. He was, it seemed, on target with his suspicions. The lady was on the run. “Lily?” As she hesitated, his hands smoothed the sheet and toyed with the hemmed edge.

“No one’s looking for me,” she told him harshly. “I went north after the war was over and worked for a while. And then I found I wasn’t suited for the cold weather and decided to head back toward home.”

“And where is that?” he asked idly, noting her subtle movement as she edged away from him. One hand shot out and grasped her wrist, holding her firmly, but with a gentle strength.

“South of here,” she quibbled. “I’m not saying more than that, Morgan.”

“How did you get north?” he asked. “Must have been a long walk, honey.”

“I rode on a horse, then in a buggy. Finally on a train.” Her jaw set grimly as if she had been pushed far enough for one night, and Morgan relented.

“One more question,” he said. “But I want the truth, Lily. Were you with a man?”

She hesitated, and that small pause told him what he wanted to know. And then her chin lifted and a spark of defiance lit her eyes. “And if I was?” she asked.

Morgan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just wanted to know if you’d be honest with me.” But it did matter, he thought. More than he’d realized it would. Lily Devereaux had secrets, but his curiosity was aroused—beyond the point of wanting to peer into her past, to the brink of an uneasy desire to discover her hidden reasons. Surely, the woman had known the risks she took by working on the riverboat. Something, or someone, had driven her to this desperate situation.

It was a puzzle. And Gage Morgan was a man who thrived on solving just such a conundrum. With a sigh he motioned to her to move to the back of the bunk. She did, watching him with eyes that shone with a trace of moisture.

“I’m only going to sleep beside you,” he told her. And then he shed his boots and shirt and lay down beside her, atop the sheet. It was to his credit that he waited until she slid into slumber before he gathered her in his arms and held her close.



Lily awoke with a start, aware of a weight across her waist, and the warm, solid bulk of a man beside her. She held her breath, frantic as she sidled from beneath the heavy arm that held her prisoner.

It tightened its grip and the man who owned it murmured her name. “Lily. Just lie still. You’re all right.”

Morgan. She breathed his name aloud then and felt disappointment creep into her heart. “You promised—”

“I promised not to hurt you, Lily,” his sleep-roughened voice said, reminding her of his words. “Are you wearing any bruises?” The arm holding her shifted, and she felt his fingertips trailing warmth across her skin as they traveled to her hand and then warmed her through the fine cotton of her gown, moving up toward her shoulder.

The fact that a thin layer of fabric hid her from his gaze seemed immaterial, she decided. Morgan knew his way around a woman’s body, knew the effect his touch was having on her flesh. She’d known the feel of a man’s hands, but that memory was far removed from the reality of Gage Morgan’s whispering caress.

“It’s morning,” she whispered.

“So it is.” He yawned, and she turned her head to watch as his mouth released the sigh. His gaze cut to meet hers and a crimson streak edged his cheekbones. Beneath the languid glance he offered, she sensed the taut control he held over his body. “I told you I was going to sleep in the same bed, Lily,” he reminded her. “In case Ham Scott asks me, I can tell him truthfully that I held you in my arms all night long.” His grin was quick. “After you went to sleep,” he added slyly.

“Please let me up,” she said, aware that she was at his mercy. And then he cupped her chin and turned her head fully toward him.

“You’ll spend your nights here, Lily. Until we get to the Gulf, you’ll be in my bed.”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “Why? Why on earth would you want me in your stateroom, Morgan? I doubt I’ll be any good to you.”

His shrug was diffident, and she felt the movement of his shoulder beside her. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe I don’t want anyone else to have you. Sort of a dog in the manger thing, I suspect.” Yet, it seemed there was more to it than that, and the fine hair on the back of her neck lifted as a chill passed over her.

And then he laughed softly. “Although I’m not sure that old saw applies in this case. Maybe I’m just not willing to share, even if you’re not ready to give me what I’ve paid for.”

She flexed her hands into fists and clenched her jaw. “I pay my debts, Morgan. If you want—”

He rose over her, shifting so quickly she was taken by surprise. His arms pinned her to the mattress, his big body poised above her threateningly, and she felt like a hunter’s prey as she looked into his face. His mouth was twisted, his eyes harsh with a look she could not define.

“You don’t owe me a debt,” he said, grinding out the words quietly. “I told you I wouldn’t ask for anything from you, and that still goes.” His mouth softened as he scanned her features, and she thought for a moment he might have set aside his anger, if indeed that was the emotion that had gripped him.

Then, against her body, she felt the unmistakable ridge of his desire and she shrank from it, wishing with all her heart she had not prodded him into challenging her.

“This is all I’ll ask of you,” he said, bending to her, touching her lips with his, brushing across the width of her mouth, gently taking that which she could not deny him. “Just a kiss,” he murmured. “Probably the most expensive kiss I’ve ever enjoyed.”

“And tonight?” she asked, fearful of his answer. If he tired of her reluctance and turned her loose, freed her from his protection, she was fearful of what the night hours might hold. On the other hand, if he paid again for her time, if he expected her to sleep in his bed, she might find herself exposed to an even greater danger.

Morgan was a man she could imagine as a lover. She who had vowed never again to allow a man’s hands on her body, felt a softening toward the male creature who loomed over her.

“I already made it clear, I thought. You’ll sleep here tonight,” he said, lifting his weight from her, then bending his head to steal another kiss, one she gave with but a moment’s hesitation. And then she rolled from the bunk, snatching at her dressing gown quickly, pulling it on and tying it firmly at her waist.

Her hands busied themselves with her brush, taming the dark hair that formed a riot of untamed curls around her face, spilling over her shoulders. He watched, sprawled in the bunk, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, his gaze unswerving. And then as she gathered her things together, he rose, taking the red satin dress from her hands and folding it.

“I’ll just keep this for now,” he said. “I think we’ll ask Ham to find you something else to wear today.”

“I’ll be in trouble if I show up without that dress,” Lily warned him. “I need it to wear when I sing for him this morning.”

Morgan shook his head. “No, you don’t. Wear whatever you had on yesterday, before he stuck you into this thing.”

She shot him a glance of disbelief. “I thought you liked it on me.”

“I do. But I don’t think I like every other man on board looking at you wearing it.”

“You can’t call the shots with him,” she said. “He’s not a soft touch.”

“Let me worry about that. You just get yourself in my room tonight when you’ve finished the last show.”

Her chin lifted defiantly. “I don’t know that you can afford to buy me, Morgan. I’m not even sure you’ll want to after a couple of days. I’m afraid you won’t be getting the best part of this bargain.”

His teeth were white and even when he smiled, his eyes holding a determination she would not dispute. “I’ll get what I want,” he said. “I always do.”

The door opened with a creak and she slipped through the opening into the narrow passageway, to where the cabin she shared held a modicum of safety. Inside, the two occupants slept, her own bunk untouched. In a matter of minutes she’d donned her clothing and slipped into her shoes. The women slept undisturbed, and she left as quietly as she’d come.



“Lily?” Ham Scott stood before her, his eyes registering his displeasure with her appearance as she left the area where breakfast was being served. “You lose your red dress during the night?” he asked.

“Mr. Morgan wouldn’t let me take it with me this morning,” she told him.

Ham waved a hand, dismissing her words. “You’ll have to retrieve it before you go to work tonight.” He turned aside and issued a command she’d expected. “Come on inside. I want you to sing for me.”

May Kettering stood on the stage, dressed in a simple cotton frock, and her gaze moved over Lily in a lazy survey as she sang the final bars of a song. “Thanks,” she murmured to the piano player. “You’ve got it down pat, Charlie.” And then she lifted her hand and beckoned to Lily. “Come on up here, honey.”

Ham stood aside as Lily climbed the three steps to the stage and approached the woman. “I enjoyed your singing last evening,” she said quietly. “I fear I don’t have much talent compared to your ability.”

May lifted an eyebrow. “We all have talent of one sort or another, Lily. I’d like to hear what you’ve got to offer.” Her nod at the piano player was barely perceptible, then she looked back at Lily and made a suggestion.

“Do you know ‘I Dream of Jeannie’?” she asked. She hummed a few notes, and then sang a line of lyrics. “‘I dream of Jeannie with the light brown hair—borne like a vapor on the summer air—’”

“I know it,” Lily said quickly. Singing ballads was not new to her, for her voice was more suited to their simple melodies.

Charlie allowed his fingers to move leisurely across the keys, his chords giving Lily the key he’d chosen. She focused on May, aware that her salvation lay in the woman’s influence on Ham Scott. Untrained, yet melodic, her voice rose in the first notes of the song May had chosen. It was guaranteed to make any wanderer homesick, she thought, and she was no exception.

May smiled, her mouth quirking with approval. “You’ll do, honey,” she said as the last note faded. “Stephen Foster is your style.”

Ham walked to the edge of the stage and cast a glowering look at his star performer. “That’s not what I had in mind for her, May. I wanted a contrast to your way of singing. You know, lifting her dress and showing her legs some. A fast song with words the men in the crowd will get a kick out of.”

May snorted, a strangely inelegant sound coming from such a woman, Lily thought. “You don’t know diddly about what men want from a singer, Scott. Lily has a body that’ll show up well in most anything she wears. And keeping them guessing about her legs will have them on the edges of their seats.”

“Well, she’s not wearin’ that rag,” Ham said bluntly. “I want her in the red satin.”

“No.” It was a softly spoken denial, yet held a definite threat should it be ignored. “She won’t be wearing it again.” Morgan shoved away from the doorway and approached Ham, the red satin crumpled in his hand. “We’re docking somewhere today, aren’t we?”

Ham nodded, his look at Morgan bordering on anger. Yet he held his tongue, as though he dared not argue with the man who faced him.

“When the boat stops later this morning, I’ll find something for Lily to wear.” The glance he shot in her direction was eloquent, and Lily was silent. “She needs to wear something that makes a man wish he owned her, but at the same time establishes her unavailability to those in the crowd.”

Ham’s eyes narrowed and he held up a hand in protest. “See here, Morgan. I’m not investing money in the girl so’s she can look like the picture on a box of candy and be just about as touchable. These men are willing to pay for the women they want.”

Morgan straightened from his relaxed stance and tucked one hand in his trouser pocket. “I’m buying her company for the rest of the trip downriver,” he said mildly. At Ham’s grunt of derision, Morgan smiled and showed the edges of straight, white teeth. He resembled a wolf about to attack, Lily decided, and apparently Ham thought along a similar vein.

“Long as you’ve got hard, cold cash, she’s yours,” the man said after a moment. “But you’ll pay a high price, Morgan. I’ve had several offers already.”

“This isn’t the place for this discussion,” Morgan told him, his voice a low, menacing growl. And then he looked once more at Lily. “I think the lady needs to voice an opinion on the matter.”

She looked down at the floor, wishing herself a million miles away, and was relieved to feel May’s arm around her shoulders. “Y’all need to leave the girl alone,” May said with a decided lilt in her voice. “She’s got more important things to think about right now. We’ve got music to work on.”

She waved long, graceful fingers in a languid movement at the two men and laughed, a dark, smoky sound. “Go on now. Out with the pair of you. You can settle your business somewhere else.”

Morgan nodded, his final look in Lily’s direction one of approval, she thought. At least his eyes warmed as they focused on her face, and she thought a small smile tilted his lips for just a moment.

“He’s smitten,” May said bluntly. “You must have given him quite a night of—”

“No.” The single word was a denial of May’s assumption, spoken softly but firmly as Lily met the other woman’s gaze. “I gave him nothing. Nothing but conversation and my company in his room until morning.”

May looked dubious, but laughed aloud. “Well, keeping him dangling seems to be working, sweetheart. Just don’t let it go to your head. One of these days, or nights, he’ll expect payment for his protection of you.” She smiled and bent her head, the better to speak in Lily’s ear.

“I’ve never heard of Gage Morgan buying a woman’s favors. You’re a first.”

“You know him?” Lily’s eyes widened as she watched May’s smile. The woman’s dark eyes flashed with humor, and she smiled openly, yet Lily would lay odds that they held an abundance of secrets.

“He’s been on the riverboat before, a couple of times in the past months.”

“Is he only a gambler? Or does he have another occupation?”

May shrugged idly. “Who knows? He gambles, but I have a notion he doesn’t need to, not for his spending money anyway. The girls would give their eye teeth to have him pay them a little notice, but he’s not that way.”

Lily nodded, her thoughts spinning as she considered May’s remarks. The man was not poor, of that there was no doubt. And yet he seemed to her to be more ambitious than his occupation would indicate. “Maybe he comes from well-to-do people,” Lily surmised.

“Well, it doesn’t matter much right now,” May said flatly. “This morning we’ve got a program to work up for you. Ham won’t let you sing center stage if the audience doesn’t take to you.” She motioned to Charlie, who had strolled back into the saloon from the deck outside.

“Let’s try a couple of ballads, Charlie. How about ‘Swanee River’? Do you know that one, Lily?”

“I think so.” In fact, it was a song she’d heard from childhood, one her mother had sung to her. “Let me try it.”

May stalked her, pacing in a circle as she sang, and Lily finally closed her eyes, the better to concentrate on the words that appeared in her mind as Charlie’s talented fingers moved up and down the keyboard. “Now let’s try ‘A Soldier’s Farewell,’” May said, and Charlie obligingly changed keys and began a short introduction.

Lily recalled the words as she waited for her cue to begin and then the music became merely a backdrop for her voice as Charlie played chords that supported the music she created.

“Lift one hand a bit. That’s it,” May said quietly. “Now touch the skin beneath your eye with the tips of your fingers. Just a whisper of movement, as if you might have shed a tear.”

Lily’s eyes flew open and she felt her throat thicken as the melody soared. A lace-edged handkerchief in her pocket was in her hand then, and the gesture she obediently performed bore fruit as a lone tear slid from each eye.

“You’ll have them cheering and standing on their feet, honey,” May said. “Just keep that innocent look on your face, and don’t meet their eyes. Keep lookin’ over their heads as if you’re watching for some handsome stranger to come in the door.”

And well she might be, Lily thought. Although Gage Morgan was no longer a stranger. She’d spent the night with him, slept in his arms, if his word could be believed. And if she were to be completely honest, she had to acknowledge she bore no memory of those hours, as if she had been aware of the safety he offered.

“Well,” May said after a moment, “I think Ham Scott would be a fool to waste you on serving beer.”

“I’m no fool,” the man said from the doorway. “We’ll give you a shot at it tonight, Lily. It’ll be sink or swim.”

Behind him, Morgan watched and then turned aside.




Chapter Three


T he applause soared to the ceiling of the saloon and Lily bent her head in response, then stood upright to face the men before her. Breathless as she heard the whistles and stomping feet of the men who cheered her performance, she relished the moment of undiluted pleasure.

Standing with his back to the bar, Gage Morgan watched, a half smile twisting his lips, his eyes glittering in the light of kerosene lanterns. His presence drew her, and with a degree of reluctance, Lily looked his way, flicking a glance at the dark-haired man who viewed her with a gaze that laid claim to her.

And after all, Lily thought grimly, he had the right. He’d bought her company for the duration of the trip down the river, and had already given Ham seven more five-dollar gold pieces to complete the purchase. She’d watched as the money changed hands, and then turned aside, feeling like so much merchandise being traded over the counter in a general store.

Or perhaps as if she’d been rented out by a madam in one of the establishments men patronized in every town between New York City and San Francisco. In any event, it was a case of being bought and sold, and the humiliation of it clung to her like wet feathers from a plucked chicken.

She looked out over the men gathered before the stage and allowed a small smile to touch her lips, then backed from their view to stand behind the gaudy velvet curtain that hid the wings of the stage. May touched her shoulder, a gentle brush of her fingers, and the words she spoke were like balm to Lily’s hurt pride.

“I told you they’d love you, didn’t I? Morgan picked out just the right dress for you to wear, honey.” May’s fingers tugged lightly at the soft, turquoise fabric, and her knowing eyes swept over Lily’s slender form. “You had them in the palm of your hand when you sang that last song,” she told her. “Men away from home, no matter how hard and callused they might be, are always suckers for that kind of music.”

“Ham said he wants me to split this skirt and let my legs show when I walk,” Lily told her. That his exact words had been a bit more specific was a humiliation in itself, she thought. Men like legs. The longer, the better. His gaze sliding to encompass her entire body had reminded Lily that Ham was, in effect, the man who’d sold her to Morgan, as if he owned her, body and soul.

“Ignore him,” May advised her with a smile. “I’ll remind him how much the men liked you, just the way you look right now. He won’t argue with me.”

And that was the truth, Lily decided. Whether or not May was occupying Ham’s cabin was none of her business, but obviously the woman had influence.

“Now,” May said briskly, “you need to find someplace to put your feet up for an hour. Your next show is at eight.” She shot a quick look at Morgan and earned a lifted brow as he smiled at her. “Try Morgan’s cabin. Ham won’t bother you there.”

“No,” Lily agreed. “But Morgan might. And I’d just as soon not have to get that close to him till I have to.” Memories of the previous night had huddled in the back of her mind all day long. The thought of what Morgan might demand of her once the last show was finished was uppermost in her mind, and the further she could stay from him, the better she’d like it, for now.

May seemed to sense her disquiet. “He won’t bother you between shows,” she told her. “That’s almost a guarantee. Do you have a key to his cabin?”

Lily shook her head. “No. I’ll have to ask him to let me in, I suppose.”

“Well, you can’t go back to your old bunk,” May said flatly. “Ham’s already given it to the woman he hired to help with the cooking. She was stuck in the galley cabin with Hank, and more than ready to share a room with women.” She touched Lily’s shoulder, urging her from the wings. “I’m on,” she said, and tugged at her dress, then patted her hair as she prepared to take the stage.

The three steps that led downward to the saloon floor were in shadow, and Lily used the wall for balance as she touched the first tread. A hand settled on her elbow and without looking up, she recognized Morgan’s scent and the firm grip of his fingers. Her whisper of thanks was swallowed by the roar of the men as May strolled out onto the stage.

“Come on,” Morgan said quietly. “You look like you need to put your feet up.”

Lily shot him an amused look. “You must have been talking to May. That’s almost a direct quote,” she said. Her feet ached. The pair of shoes Ham had tossed in her direction apparently had belonged to the same woman who’d worn the red dress and the other shoes. They were a size too small, and Lily’s toes felt numbed from the pressure.

Edging along the wall, Lily headed for the door to the port side of the boat, Morgan close behind her. The fresh air was a relief after the smoky atmosphere in the saloon, and she inhaled deeply as she walked to the rail. Her hands touched the smooth wood and clutched it as she looked down into the water.

Muddy brown, the Mississippi was anything but a beautiful river. She’d decided that at first glance, and her assessment had not altered over the past two days. Beside her Morgan was silent, his hand sliding from her elbow to rest on her shoulder, his arm bending to tug her closer to his side. She allowed it. Indeed, she had no choice, she thought, her mouth twisting as she relaxed against him.

“Ready to lie down for a bit?” he asked, his head bending, allowing his lips to nuzzle her temple.

“Where will you be?” she asked, tilting her head to peer up at him in the darkness.

He was silent for a moment and then he laughed, a dark, edgy sound that brought gooseflesh to her upper arms. “Now, where do you think I’ll be? It’s my cabin, Lily.”

“Why don’t you go and play poker?” Her voice sounded waspish, she thought, and not for a moment did she rue the tone.

“Not tonight.” And that seemed to be his final word on the subject, for he turned her and nudged her in the direction of his cabin.

He left the lamp unlit, and she stood just inside the door until he crossed before her to the single, small porthole that looked out on the water. A curtain hung over it, and he drew it back, allowing the stars to filter a faint glow into the room. “We don’t need the lamp, do we?” he asked, turning back toward her.

“I don’t,” she answered shortly. “I’m going to take off these miserable shoes and give my feet a rest.” She crossed the room and felt for the end of the bed, then settled there, lifting one foot, then the other to remove her shoes.

“Wanna take off your dress?” He spoke in a low, lazy drawl, a touch of the South turning his words into a smoky invitation.

“No, thanks.” She tucked the pillow under her head and settled close to the edge of the bunk, wishing fervently that he would leave her alone. It was not to be.

“Move over just a little,” he said, and then bent to pick up her feet and shift her toward the center of the quilt. His body blocked the light from the porthole as he lowered himself to sit beside her. With an easy movement, he circled her ankles and brought her feet to rest in his lap.

“Morgan?” Her knees bent as she attempted to move from his grasp, but his fingers tightened and he shushed her with a soft, hissing sound.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Lily. If I were going to give you trouble, I’d have done it last night. Just lie there and think lovely thoughts. I’m going to help you relax.”

And he did. His hands worked magic as she obeyed his dictates, fingers rubbing her toes, his palm massaging the arch of each foot, and never once did those big, warm hands stray above her ankles. She closed her eyes, the pleasure of being tended in such a way touching her heart in a way she’d almost forgotten.

“What are you thinking, Lily?” he asked quietly.

“You’ll laugh,” she answered, and then chuckled herself as she considered her answer. “I was thinking of when I was very young and my mother used to bathe me at night and then cut my toenails and tut-tut over the calluses on my feet. I used to go barefoot whenever I had the chance, and she told me time and again that ladies always wore shoes.”

“You had a happy home?” His voice was dark, blending with the shadows in the room, soothing her, luring her into a state of relaxation she had not enjoyed in over a year. She nodded, even though she knew he could not see the movement of her head.

“A wonderful home,” she said after a moment. “My brothers used to tease me unmercifully, but I knew they adored me. My father—” Her voice broke and she swallowed the emotion welling up within her. “He put me up on a horse when I was two years old. Mama scolded him and made a fuss, but I loved it.”

“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.

“From the beginning now,” Morgan said through gritted teeth. “Who are you?”

“Lily. I’m Lily Devereaux.”

His hands moved to her shoulders and his grip tightened. “One more time. The truth this time, Lily.”

“Yvonne Devereaux died when I left New York,” she whispered. “I became Lily. I’ve told you that already.”

“That’s not quite the way I recall it, but we’ll take your word for it for now, and call you Lily. After you left New York—hell, before you left New York. Did you try to kill a man?”

“I hit him with a poker. I saw him fall to the floor, and there was blood all over the place.”

“And so you robbed him?”

She shook her head. “No, I never took anything from anyone. I ran. I left in a pouring rain and walked until I found a place to stay for the night.”

“Where?” he asked, feeling her pain even as he strove to inure himself to the emotions she brought to life within him. “Where did you go?”

Her eyes were listless, as if they beheld a time so fraught with peril, so frightening she could not bring herself to deal with it. “To a pawn shop. I had a brooch from my mother and the dealer gave me cash for it.” She inhaled, a deep breath that seemed to give her strength. “I stayed that night in a hotel, a place where there were men sleeping in the hallways, because they didn’t have enough money to pay for a bed.”

“And you had a bed?”

“A man felt sorry for me and gave me his. He spent the night sleeping in the hallway.”

“And from there?” Morgan asked, noting the flicker of awareness that told him she heard his query. “Where did you go from there, Lily?”

“I took a train west, toward Chicago.”

His voice was a low growl as he repeated the query that was uppermost in his mind. “What did you take from Weston?”

Her eyes focused on him and once more she stiffened, trembling in his grasp. “I took nothing from him. I thought I’d killed him, and I ran.”

“Well, according to this poster, you’re accused of robbery.” He watched her closely, saw the ashen cast to her features and felt a moment’s pity for her.

“Why did you hit him, Lily?” Morgan lowered her to sit on the edge of the bed and she shot him a grateful glance.

“Thank you,” she whispered, placing her feet carefully side by side, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “He offered me a house to live in.”

“And you took offense at that?”

She shook her head. “No, I was angry because he’d promised to marry me when we left the plantation, and when we got to New York he kept putting me off and he…”

“He what, Lily? What did he do?” And even before she spoke the words, Morgan knew the story she would tell.

“He said he’d never marry a girl who couldn’t even speak proper English. He was already engaged to a society woman in the city, but he’d like to keep me as his mistress.” As though the word were poison, she spat it from her lips, and then bowed her head.

“Proper English? He said that?” And for the past days Morgan had enjoyed the soft phrases that slipped past her lips, the slurring of letters that proclaimed her heritage. “The man was a fool,” he said harshly, then knelt at her feet. It was time to make a major decision here, and not much leeway to do it in.

“Can you bring yourself to trust me? Will you do as I ask you?” As the query penetrated her mind, he watched, noted the expression of confusion that painted her features, and then the hope that dawned in her dark eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” she murmured. Her hands gripped together and her knuckles turned white as he watched them tighten. “I thought he was dead.”

“Lily.” He spoke her name once, then again. “Lily, listen to me.” His thoughts moved quickly, past this day to tomorrow and the next, to the multitude of Wanted posters that would be cluttering towns from Chicago to New Orleans and back. “You can’t be known as Lily Devereaux any longer. Not if you don’t want to be found.”

“But that’s my name,” she said.

“If you pretend to be my wife, you can become Lily Morgan.”

She looked up and met his gaze, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And then what? Pretend for the rest of my life?”

“I can use you as my wife. You’ll make a good cover for me.”

“A good cover for what? What are you, Morgan? Some sort of a crook?”

He shook his head. “No, far from it. But right now I need to get back on the job, and with you along as my bride, I’ll fit the image I need to portray.”

Her shoulders squared and her spine stiffened as she gathered herself, a visible process he recognized. “Let me get this straight,” she began. “You’re willing to believe me now, but you didn’t before? And now I find you’ve been holding out on me.” Her voice rose. “And you accused me of lying, of hiding the truth.”

“You were lying to me,” he said patiently. And then one hand touched her mouth, stilling her protest. “Let me change that. You weren’t being entirely honest, let’s say.” He spoke quietly and slowly, knowing that his movements from this point onward hinged on her reply. “If I tell you what you need to know, will you help me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“We always have a choice, Lily. I told you that before. Remember?”

“That was about going home again,” she reminded him. “This is something altogether different. What if your plans cause me to break the law? Is there a law against posing as someone’s wife?” She looked so honestly befuddled Morgan was tempted to laugh. He took pity on her innocence.

“I don’t think they can put you in jail for posing as my wife. But they sure as hell can toss you in prison for trying to kill some dandy up in New York.”

“Well, maybe I deserve it. I meant to kill him. I thought he was dead.” she said.

He shook his head. “Oh, Lily. If you could only hear yourself. The man is after you, sweetheart. He’s going to hunt you down. And then he’s going to gnaw on your bones.”

She shivered again, but her chin jutted forward as her eyes narrowed a warning. “He’ll have to catch me first.”

“He’ll catch you all right,” he told her agreeably. “Unless you listen to me.”

“Any guarantees, Morgan?” she asked.

He shook his head. “None. Except that I’ll take care of you to the best of my ability. I won’t ask any more from you than I’m willing to give you.”

She shook her head. “Like what? What are you talking about? What are you going to ask of me?”

He spoke slowly, with a degree of patience he hadn’t known he possessed. “I’m asking you to pose as my wife, Lily. I’m asking you to help me with a job I’m in the midst of. And I’m asking you to trust me.” He eyed her cautiously. “Can you do all of that?”

She looked at him as if he were holding the only life preserver available and she was the sorry creature about to go under for the third time. And then with a deep sigh, she gave her answer. “I can trust you, I think. And I’ll help you with the job you’re in the midst of.

“But I won’t pose as your wife.”

He hung his head, a smile lurking at the corner of his lips. “You won’t pose as my wife? Is that what you said?”

She nodded firmly. “If I didn’t trust you already, Morgan, I wouldn’t be in this room with you. As to the job you’re doing, it can’t be much more dangerous than me running for my life from whoever’s after me.”

He had his doubts about that theory, but decided to hear her out. “So? That doesn’t tell me why you turned me down on the wife part.”

“I listened to one man promise me he’d marry me. Then he dragged me the length of the country, only to admit he’d fed me a string of lies, and I’d fallen for them, hook, line and sinker. The next time I run off with a man, he’ll marry me first, or I won’t go.”

“You want me to marry you?” He was proud of his even tone. The woman couldn’t know how hard his heart was pumping at her declaration. With all her shenanigans, he’d have her in the palm of his hand. He could settle with her once the job was done.

She nodded firmly. “I really don’t want a husband, Morgan, but you’ll do, since I don’t have anyone else lined up for the position. But with one stipulation. Someday when everything is all cleared up, when you’ve finished with me, I want you to take me home. I want my family to think I’ve pulled myself out of the gutter, and having you on my arm just might accomplish that.”

The girl didn’t know what she was getting into, and he wasn’t about to set her straight. He cleared his throat and lifted her from her seat on the edge of his bed. “A couple of things here, Lily. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve never been in the gutter, so we won’t talk about that again. I’ll need to hear the whole story one of these days, but not right now.

“In the second place, I’ll marry you. But know one thing, Lily. You’ll be a real wife to me.” He caught her chin in his palm, and lifted her face, watching as his words penetrated her mind. “You’ve got it right, lady. You’ll be in my bed, and I won’t be put off on that point.”

“You want to do that with me?” she asked quietly.

He could no longer contain his amusement with her naive assumptions. The grin escaped, and with it a soft chuckle. “Doing that isn’t an unpleasant thing for two adults to do together, sweetheart.” His thumb rubbed her jawline reflectively as he watched a flush rise to cover her face. “Trust me on this, Lily. I won’t ever hurt you, and I won’t leap on you like a damn bull just because we speak those words in front of a parson.”

She bit nervously at her upper lip and he rubbed at it with that same thumb. “Don’t do that. Just listen to me.”

“I’ve heard what you have to say, Morgan. And I’m agreeing. I’ll go with you, and I’ll sleep in your bed. But I’ll never be convinced that you can accomplish the thing we’re talking about without me being the one—”

“Enough,” he said softly. “We’ll get to all of that later. For now, let’s make some plans. But first—” He released her chin from his grasp and bent his head to touch her lips with his. He couldn’t resist, and to his astonishment he wasn’t about to try.

“Is this part of the other thing?” she asked dubiously.

He shook his head. “No, this is just called sealing a pact between partners.” And then before she could move away, he brushed against her mouth again, his lips soft and persuasive against hers. Carefully, tenderly, he caressed her, his hands curving around her face, then sliding down to rest against her back, his fingers tracing the slender curves of waist and hips. Then, bringing his palms to rest against her rib cage, he deepened the kiss, touching and tasting the fullness of her lips with his tongue.

She inhaled as he left her mouth still wanting, his caresses moving to explore her throat, and from there to seek out the soft flesh that tempted him. There, beneath her ear, and again to where her blood pumped down the side of her throat. And finally to where her breasts curved above the lace at her neckline. He spent a multitude of kisses on the firmness he found there, finding her unspoken response to be more seductive than he could have imagined.

“Morgan?” It was a gasp of reaction he’d waited for and he lifted his head to smile at her.

“It’s only a kiss, Lily. Only a kiss.”

She blinked and he set her aside, willing to wait until the time was right. Lily would be his. That lush body, the curls that spilled over her shoulders, the tempting lips that held a trembling smile—all would be his. And soon.



“You have that confused look about you, Lily.” May watched her from heavy-lidded eyes and Lily sensed a hidden meaning in the woman’s words. “Like you’re trying to figure out which way to jump.”

“Jump? I’m not sure what you’re talking about, May.”

“About whatever it is Morgan has planned for you. He’s no dummy. He’ll use you for his own purposes, honey. Watch your step.”

“You don’t trust him?” Lily asked, fingering the sheet music Charlie had offered for her perusal.

“The question is, do you?” May took one of Lily’s spiral curls on the tip of her index finger and stretched it out to its full length, then released it, smiling as it resumed its original place. “He’s taken with you, that’s a given. But the man has secrets, girl, and you might be on the verge of a disaster.” She tilted her head and considered Lily for a moment.

“I saw a drawing that caught my eye, Lily. It was on a poster, dockside. When I looked again to be certain of my suspicions, it was gone.”

A feeling of dread blossomed within her as Lily stared in disbelief. “You saw it? You recognized me?”

May smiled. “It was a very good likeness, honey. But you really look more like a Lily than a woman named Yvonne.”

“I thought I’d killed a man, May. Now I find that he’s still alive and on my trail.”

“I knew you had secrets of your own, first time I saw you,” May said. She held up a warning hand. “Don’t get it in your mind that I’m after a reward. My mouth is shut when it comes to Yvonne Devereaux, but everyone else on this boat might not feel the same way I do. Just don’t let Morgan talk you into anything you won’t be able to get out of.”

The pause was short, but her heart pounded in her ears as Lily considered her words. And then they were spoken on an indrawn breath. “Like marriage?”

“Marriage? You’re going to marry him?” May’s demeanor underwent a sudden change as she sat down in a chair. “And how will that help you?” Her eyes narrowed as she seemed to consider the idea. “Or will it be for Morgan’s benefit? Is he planning on using you for cover?”

“What do you know about him?” Lily asked softly.

“Not a whole lot, but enough to recognize a man at work.” She glanced toward the piano, where Charlie played the song they were to practice. “I think it’s safe to say that Gage Morgan is not what he appears to be, Lily. Just watch your step.”

She rose and beckoned toward the sheet music Lily held. “Let’s go over this again, Charlie. From the beginning. I think we’ve got it now.” And with a short introduction, Charlie began the chords that supported their voices, allowing them to mingle in close harmony, May toning down her more powerful voice to suit Lily’s softer tones.

Even as her voice rose, and her skills blended with May’s accomplished presentation, Lily thought of the man she had left in the cabin. He was indeed a surprise package, and unless she was prepared to offer him her trust, their alliance could not work.

He’d been kind to her, even considering the bruises his hands had left on her arms and shoulders. His anger had marred her skin and she’d watched as he’d inspected the areas where his fingers had gripped her.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said quietly, and then his mouth curved in a rueful smile. “I’ve had to apologize twice for hurting you. It won’t happen again.”

But if she allowed herself to care for him, the pain she might face in the future would be all the worse, once his work was finished and she became a hindrance to him. And who was she trying to fool, she wondered. As if she weren’t already mightily attracted to the man. He was handsome and appealing, even given the harshness of his appearance and the cold deliberation that drove his actions.

She was between the devil and the deep blue sea, as the saying went, and the water was getting deeper by the hour.



“It’s been a problem finding you all alone lately.” The man who spoke remained in the shadows beneath the overhang on the top deck, where he would likely be unnoticed by anyone. His words were low, but alive with a taunt Morgan could not ignore.

“I knew you’d find me once you had news for me. As to the other, I’m setting the stage for my next move.”

“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose,” the messenger said. “I’d say your job has benefits.”

“Not a word about Lily,” Morgan warned. “You’ve never heard of the woman in case anyone asks you.”

“Oh, they’ll be asking all right. By the time we dock tomorrow there’ll probably be lawmen waiting for the boat.”

“I won’t be on it,” Morgan told him. “Nor will Lily.”

“I figured that out already. I’ve got a skiff waiting to take you to shore after she finishes this show.”

Morgan fished his pocket watch out and snapped open the lid. “Sure beats swimming, to my way of thinking. We’ll be there in an hour. Make a commotion of some sort to cover us.”

“I’ve been yearning for a barroom brawl for days,” the man said. His low chuckle was warmer now and he spoke quietly and quickly. “Be careful, Morgan. Using the woman may be the best idea you’ve had. She’ll be perfect cover, and easy to drop off somewhere down the line when the job is done.”

“Right.” Morgan lit a match and the light flared as he brought the flame to the tip of his slender cigar. “This may be the best idea I’ve had,” he murmured, taking the words as his own. He leaned on the railing and the man slipped from the shadows to disappear down a nearby set of stairs that led to the saloon.

The cigar flared as Morgan inhaled the heavy, tangy smoke. He looked at it with distaste written on his features, and cast it over the side where the water swallowed it with but a moment’s pause. The wave that sucked it up drew it under the surface and it was gone. And just that easily he might be disposed of, he thought, his expression grim.

Protecting Lily was his first concern for tonight, and that involved taking her from the boat in less than an hour. And then finding a stray parson to turn her into Lily Morgan.

The plan went smoothly, almost too much so, Morgan thought as he bundled Lily and her small valise into the skiff. From the saloon, shouts were raised and men were overturning tables and joining the fray. Strange how a few words could bring gamblers, and those who were making a business of drinking away the evening, to the point of battle, he mused. Taking up the oars, he cast off from the side of the steamboat and into the channel.

The suction drew him back toward the vessel, but his strength was equal to the task, and Morgan steered the small boat toward shore, eager to be beneath the overhanging branches of the trees lining the river. It was to Lily’s credit that she was silent. But given the choice of coming along quietly or being exposed to the sheriff at the next stopping place, she’d recognized the value of his plan. Holding her valise, she’d followed him from the cabin. She’d climbed down into the skiff, her skirt held high, taking her place on the far end, holding firmly to either side as Morgan joined her there.

The trees bent their curving, lissome branches almost to the water and in moments they were safe beneath the foliage. The boat was a hundred yards downriver from them, and the noise from the saloon faded, even as the flickering lanterns on the stern became two pinpoints in the darkness.

“Now what?” Lily asked in a soft undertone.

“Now we walk,” Morgan returned firmly. “We passed a small town a couple of miles back. We’ll head there and find a preacher to marry us in the morning.”

He pulled at the overhanging branches to draw the skiff closer to shore and then dug the oar into the soft river bottom, until they were safely moored next to the bank. It was a stretch for him, but in moments he’d jumped to dry land and then tugged the boat from the water.

“Let me give you a hand,” he said, offering his palm in her direction. She placed her own in it, and he was struck by the trust in that small gesture. By the firm grip of her fingers and the warmth of her palm. His Lily was brave—of that there was no doubt.

“Take my bag,” she whispered, and waited while he tossed the tapestry valise upon the bank. Her grip was strong as she allowed him to guide her from the boat, and she followed him closely. In short order he found a place that was easy to traverse to the meadow that met the water’s edge. Carefully they made their way through a sparsely wooded area to where a road headed in a northerly direction, and they set off walking.

“We’ll need to stop somewhere to sleep for a few hours,” he told her, his voice a low murmur in the darkness. And within fifteen minutes, he’d found a shadowed area beneath a grove of trees that offered a haven. The blanket he carried was spread on the ground and Lily lowered herself to its surface.

“Are you all right?” he asked, aware that walking in her new shoes was not a comfortable venture. They were made for beauty, not hard use, and he rued the fact that he’d not had the foresight to purchase a more practical pair.

“Fine,” she said, reaching to undo the footwear, then sliding the bits of leather from her feet with a sigh. “But I think we need to look into a different—”





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