The Marriage Agreement. Carolyn DavidsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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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