“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
The 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 giv
e 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.
The Marriage Agreement Page 6