Morning Song

by Karen Robards

  "I will! I'll scream! I'll scream so loud that they'll hear me clear up to the bridge!"

  "If you even try it, I'll gag you and tie you up and sit you down and make you listen to me. If you don't believe me, just let out a yell."

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  Oddly, the very levelness of his voice was convincing. Jessie was left with no doubt that the swine would really do as he'd threatened if she screamed. So, prudently, she did not.

  "Sit down." It was an order, not an invitation. When Jessie continued to stand where she was, silently defying him, he took a step toward her. The cabin was dark, and she could see no more of him than a large, menacing shadow. It occurred to Jessie suddenly that she did not know this man at all. This was not Stuart Edwards, whom she loved. This was Clive McClintock.

  "I said sit down!" The words cracked like a whip. Jessie was standing near the end of the bunk, upon which she abruptly sat.

  "Very wise.'

  He crossed the cabin to where the lamp hung from a center beam. There was the click of flint on steel, and then the lamp was lit. Its warm glow flickered and gradually grew, illuminating the cabin. Jessie sat as he had ordered, warily watching his broad back as he crossed to pull the curtains over the porthole and thus shut out the night.

  "If you run out that door, I'll catch you within three steps." Either ne had eyes in the back of his head or he knew precisely how her mind worked. Guessing that it was the latter, Jessie regarded the back of his head with renewed rage. She had indeed been on the verge of bolting for it. But, as he threatened, he'd have her back within seconds. Even if she did manage to get away from him for a while, he would track her down. On a steamboat the size of the River Queen, there was nowhere to go. Then he turned to face her. Jessie gasped as she saw the mess she'd made of his beautiful face.

  Blood was smeared around his mouth and over his cheeks, and his nose was already slightly swollen from the blow she'd landed. 310

  More blood oozed from his nostrils. As Jessie stared, just a little appalled at her own handiwork despite the fact that he'd mightily deserved what he'd gotten, he moved over to the washstand, dipped a cloth into the water that remained in the basin, and held it to his nose. Looking at him, Jessie felt a quiver of trepidation. What would he do to her in revenge? Never had she thought to physically fear him—but again she reminded herself that he was not the man she thought she knew.

  But then her gaze lifted. Above that damaged nose were the clear blue eyes and black hair of the man she'd loved. Lying, cheating scum or not, Jessie suddenly wasn't afraid of him anymore.

  "I hope it hurts." She meant it, too.

  "It does, thank you very much."

  "You deserved it, and more."

  "If I didn't agree with you, I'd have paddled your backside by now."

  "If you lay one hand on me ..."

  He sighed, and shifted the cloth beneath his nose. "Don't threaten me, Jess. If you'll just let me explain, you'll see that this whole unfortunate situation is nothing more than a—

  misunderstanding."

  "Some misunderstanding!" She snorted. "I suppose you're going to try to tell me that you introduced yourself as Clive McClintock, and we, poor backward fools that we were, somehow misunderstood you to say Stuart Edwards?" He eyed her in a way that told her that her sarcasm was not appreciated.

  "I love you, you know. Whatever you may think, I wasn't lying about that."

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  "Oh, I believe you." Clearly, from her tone, she did not. He removed the cloth from beneath his nose, which had apparently stopped bleeding, and turned Id the mirror over the washstand to wipe the blood-stains from his face. There wasn't much he could do about the stains on his shirt. He swiped at them with the cloth, with no perceptible result. Grimacing, he decided to let them be.

  Turning back to her, he crossed to the bunk and stood in front of her. Fists resting lightly on his hips, he looked down at her with a considering expression. Jessie had to tilt her head way back to see his face, and immediately felt at a disadvantage. Still, if she got to her feet she would be practically in his arms, the very idea of which she could no longer abide. So she stayed where she was.

  "I'm still the same man I was an hour ago. I haven't changed, except for my name. Wasn't it Shakespeare who said that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet?" There was a coaxing note to that last. If he was trying to be funny, the effort fell dismally flat.

  "Or stink as bad," Jessie replied tartly, and crossed her arms over her chest as if to erect a symbolic barrier against him.

  "I was going to tell you."

  "Oh, yes?" Jessie inquired politely. "When? It seems to me that you passed up several excellent opportunities—such as before you seduced me."

  "I did not seduce you," he said, sounding nettled. "Damn it, Jessie, I fell in love with you. And you fell in love with me. Me, not Stuart Edwards. Me."

  "I don't even know you. Clive McClintock and I have never met."

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  "You're determined to be difficult about this, aren't you?"

  "I suppose I must be. It's contrary of me, I know, but I find it hard to overlook the fact that everything you've ever told me is a lie."

  "Not everything."

  "You'll have to pardon me if I don't believe you."

  "You want the truth? I'll give you the truth. I'm a gambler, and I used to work the riverboats up and down the Mississippi. One night I won big, enough to set me up for life if I was careful with the money. But it was late at night, and I had to keep my winnings with me until morning. Two men broke into my cabin that night, stole the money I had won, and put a knife through my hand. I chased them and killed one—the real Stuart Edwards—

  but the other got away with my money. Then I found out that my hand—I'd never be able to make a living as a professional gambler again. Too much damage."

  "So you decided you'd pretend to be someone respectable—I assume that Stuart Edwards really was Miss Flora and Miss Laurel's nephew? You didn't lie about that, too? No?—and see if you couldn't rob people just like you were robbed, only in a slightly more genteel way."

  "I thought I was telling this, not you."

  Jessie made a gesture with her hand that told him to proceed.

  "With my hand like it is—hell, you know what I'm talking about—I had no way to make a living."

  "Honest labor never occurred to you?" Sarcasm was beginning to come naturally to her, she discovered.

  "Will you let me finish?"

  "I'm sorry. Please, continue. I'm fascinated, really." 313

  "I went looking for my money. I'd meant to buy a piece of property with it, to set myself up as a sort of gentleman farmer. Oh, nothing on the scale of Mimosa, of course, but a place that I could build into something one day. I was sick of gambling, sick of the river anyway. But I never found the bastard who got away with my money. I did find out that Stuart Edwards had two old aunts who wanted to leave him everything they owned. Stuart Edwards was dead. But I wasn't. I thought I'd just go see the old ladies, let them think I was their nephew. If they were on the verge of death, I thought that a visit from their nephew might even comfort them."

  "How very noble you are!" Jessie marveled. He held up a hand as if to acknowledge a hit. "All right, I thought I might inherit their property in the real Stuart Edwards'

  place. After all, he stole what was mine. And he was dead. Somebody had to inherit from the old ladies."

  "There's no need to sound so defensive. I'm sure anyone would have thought exactly the same thing."

  The look he shot her was enough to silence her. "Then I got to Tulip Hill. It was clear that the Misses Edwards weren't going to expire for quite a few years yet. I was going to take myself off again—until I met Celia."

  "At least your thought processes are consistent. Consistently opportunistic."

  "Hush your mouth, Jessie, and let me talk. I met Celia. Aunt Flora's an inveterate matchmaker, and it was she who told me that the widow Lindsay was as rich as a damn
ed Midas. I had a look at Mimosa and liked what I saw. Hell, you knew months ago that the only reason I married Celia was for Mimosa. Marrying for money's not a crime."

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  "No."

  "It's not as if I forced her to marry me. She was hot after me from the moment she first laid eyes on me—it was all I could do to keep her out of my bed until the wedding."

  "That must have been a chore. Being a fortune hunter does have its problems."

  "Jessie, if you don't keep quiet I'm going to strangle you! Celia and I both were getting exactly what we wanted from the marriage, so what was wrong with that?"

  "You were getting exactly what you wanted. Celia wanted to marry Stuart Edwards, gentleman. Not Clive McClintock, rat."

  "All right. I grant you, she probably wouldn't have married me if she hadn't thought that my bloodline made me her social equal. But did I do badly by her, or Mimosa? Did I do badly by you, Jess?"

  He had her there. She was a different person now from the backward girl he'd befriended. If he'd only left their relationship at friendship, she would be stoutly defending him now, instead of wanting to rip out his heart.

  "I meant to make life better for all of you. Even Celia. But she—you know what she is. By the time our honeymoon was over, it was all I could do not to murder her. But I didn't. I took over Mimosa for her—that damned overseer you had was robbing you blind when he wasn't in bed with Celia—and I tried to help you have a happier life than you'd had up till then. Hell, I felt sorry for you. I knew Celia must have led you a hell of a life."

  "You felt . . . sorry for me?" If he'd thought to appease her with that, he was sadly mistaken.

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  "Just at first." He saw his error and quickly tried to retrieve it.

  "Well, actually, at first I believed everything Celia had told me about you, and concluded that you were an ungrateful little brat. Then, when I saw how—uh, how you didn't quite fit in socially, I felt sorry for you. I thought you should have a chance to be like other girls your age, to dance and flirt at parties, to find a nice young man to marry. I discovered that you were really a sweet little thing under all that hair and bluster, and that you were pretty in your own way. All you needed was the right clothes, and a little experience in handling social situations, and you'd do just fine. I saw that you had both, didn't I? But then you changed from an awkward young girl to a beautiful woman. In a month or two, right before my eyes. That was something I never expected."

  Jessie was silent. He paused and stood looking down at her for a minute. Then, before she realized his intention, he hunkered down so that his face was level with hers. His hands were braced on either side of her as she sat on the bed, effectively imprisoning her.

  "You were the joker in the deck. I was richer than I'd ever dreamed of being, I had everything I ever wanted and more—and then I had to go and fall in love with you. I never meant to, Jessie."

  If he was waiting for some response from her, none was forthcoming. She looked at him, merely looked at him, forcing herself to harden her heart against his words. He was a practiced deceiver, but she was not to be bamboozled twice. He'd not get around her with pretty talk again.

  "So you decided to add me to the list of things that the bogus Stuart Edwards had acquired."

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  He moved then, impatiently, his hands catching her upper arms just above her elbows. Leaning closer, he balanced on the balls of his feet.

  "It wasn't like that, and you know it. Hell, Jessie, just this afternoon I gave up everything for you! I have just over a thousand dollars in my pocket, a little more in my own name in a bank in New Orleans, and the clothes on my back. If I didn't love you to the point of insanity, why would I give up Mimosa? It's worth a fortune, and as long as I stay Stuart Edwards it's mine. Only a fool or a man crazy in love would whistle a prize like that down the wind!"

  Jessie studied him. Notwithstanding his injured nose, he was, she concluded reluctantly, still the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes on. And also the biggest liar!

  "I don't believe a word you've said," she announced coldly. Then, as he opened his mouth to continue the argument, she thrust out her hands and shoved him, hard. With a surprised exclamation he fell over. Before he could recover, she sprang to her feet, dragged the chair out of the way, and bolted out the door.

  His curses singed the air.

  "Damn it, Jessie, you come back here!" he bellowed. But Jessie lifted her skirts and ran. She knew he'd be coming after her, knew it as well as she knew that the sun would rise in the morning, and she meant to get safely away.

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  XLII

  Of course he caught her. It took him a few more than three steps, but he caught up with her before she could reach the top of the stairs leading to the bridge. She'd fully intended to run to the captain and beg him for help. After all, she had paid for the cabin, and Stuart—no, curse him, Clive—had no right to stay there at all. But she never made it.

  "Damn it, Jessie, you're more trouble than you're worth." He grunted furiously as he grabbed a handful of material at the back of her gown and yanked. She was about four steps up, leaping nimbly for the bridge, and the yank threw her off balance. With a wild cry of fear she tumbled backward, to be caught in his arms. Threats or no, Jessie screamed. He silenced her instantly by covering her mouth with his. Jessie kicked, beating at his head with her fists, but he subdued her with ridiculous ease. His arms around her stilled her struggles and held her fast. His tongue took full advantage of her cut-off scream to thrust inside her mouth.

  "Any trouble down there?" An officer of the ship must have heard her scream. He'd left the bridge to stand at the rail at the top of the stairs, and was frowning down at them.

  Clive's reaction time was much faster than Jessie's. He lifted his head, grinned broadly at the man, said, "Just a lover's tiff," and was thrusting his tongue back down her throat again before Jessie could recover her wits enough to make any kind of protest. The officer withdrew. Jessie seethed, and bit down on that encroaching tongue so hard that it was a wonder she didn't bite it in two. He yelped and jerked his head back. As soon as her 318

  mouth was free she screamed again. Clive silenced her this time with his hand over her mouth.

  "You little hellcat, I'm giving you fair warning: the next injury you do me, I'm going to repay in kind."

  He was walking along the deck with her held high against his chest. Her skirts spilled over his arm and her head was nestled forcibly against his shoulder in what must, to any chance observer, have appeared a loving pose. Stars twinkled brightly overhead, visible for miles in either direction above the clear swath cut by the river. Gleaming moonlight reflected off the night-dark surface or the water, making the deck brighter than it otherwise would have been. The rising wind would have chilled Jessie if she had been in any state to feel it. But she was so angry that she burned with the heat of it, and the drop in temperature that had come with the night passed unnoticed.

  They had almost reached her cabin when another couple came into view, strolling arm in arm toward them. Jessie squirmed and tried to kick, squealing against his hand in an effort to alert them to her situation. But Clive's arms clamped around her so hard that they hurt, and his hand over her mouth tightened until she could scarcely catch her breath. Her face was turned to his shoulder, and the couple passed without, apparently, noticing anything out of the way.

  Then they reached her cabin, and Clive carried her inside. He dropped her without ceremony on the bed. Jessie cried out as she landed with a bounce, but was already preparing to scramble to her feet when he swooped over her, pinning her down with his hands.

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  "I've had a bellyful of your tantrums tonight," he said through his teeth. "Give me any more cause and I'll paddle your backside until you can't sit for weeks. You have my word on it." His eyes were stormy with temper. One look at them, and Jessie knew he meant it. She sat up as he released her and went to prop the chair beneath the door, but mad
e no further move to escape.

  "Get undressed." He had turned back to look at her. His boots were planted apart, and his fists rested on his hips. The very set of his chin bespoke belligerence.

  "I won't!"

  "Oh, yes, you will!" There was an almost predatory glint in his eyes as he watched her. "I won't!"

  "To hell with that," he snarled, and was upon her in a single stride. Jessie swatted at him wildly, but before she could do any damage he had her flipped onto her belly with her face pushed into the mattress so she could not scream. Then he sat on her back.

  The weight of him alone was enough to quell her struggles. Jessie was forced to lie helplessly, burning with fury, as he stripped her clear down to her chemise. When the last petticoat was tossed aside, she expected to find herself naked in the next instant. Instead he lifted himself off her and rolled her onto her back.

  Enraged, Jessie shot into a sitting position and tried to punch his nose again. This time he was ready for her. He plucked her fist out of the air, grabbed its fellow, and held them for just long enough to wrap her silk stocking around her wrists, tying her hands together.

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  "What the devil do you think you're doing?" she hissed, glaring down at her bound hands.

  "Getting ready for bed," he said through his teeth, and with his hand in the center of her chest he shoved her onto her back. "I'll sleep better knowing that you're safe at my side and out of mischief."

  "How dare you tie me up! I'll—"

  "Scream and I'll gag you," he warned, and at the look in his eyes she believed him. Fuming, Jessie made no outcry while he used her other stocking to secure her bound hands to the top of the bunk.

  Then he stood up and took off his clothes. Jessie refused to watch. Instead she stared furiously at the opposite wall until she felt him jerk the tangled bedclothes out from beneath her. The unexpectedness of it made her look around. He was naked, and looming over her.