The Marriage Agreement

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.