by Jo Goodman
"I've heard of it," she said, her eyes bleak.
"He spent time there. I do not know how much, but by all reports that filtered out about that place, it was a sentence in hell. When the prisoners were released, Logan left there not knowing who he was or where he came from. I am afraid if you want details you will have to talk to him or his family. I only know that after a few years he remembered something that brought him back home. Since his return he has put all his energy into the Chronicle."
"He's not married, then?"
"No."
"Betrothed?"
"Not to my knowledge. I've never heard his name linked with a particular woman for very long. And he's not a, er, a—"
"A womanizer?"
"Precisely. He is also not one for spending a lot of time at the club or social events. Do not misunderstand. He is not a hermit, but even when he's out one gets the impression he would rather be somewhere else."
"Where does he live?"
"In the home he grew up in, with his brother and sister-in-law and their son. It is probably truer to say that he eats and sleeps there on occasion. I understand he lives at the paper. In that sense he is very much like the man his father was." Victor flicked his cigar over a cobalt blue ashtray and leaned toward Katy. "Now, suppose you tell me why this sudden interest in Logan Marshall. How do you know him?"
Katy took a sip of her tea, set down the cup, and laughed a trifle nervously. Gaining composure was a hard fight, but she won. "It should be obvious from my questions that I do not know him. Last night he stopped backstage after the play to say that he enjoyed my performance."
"You didn't mention that when we saw him at Delmonico's later."
"No, I did not."
"You also didn't mention that Michael had been to see you. I found that out this morning at breakfast."
Katy could just imagine the scene that had occurred in Victor's home. Ria, not understanding Michael's real motives, would have supported her husband. The conversation would have been conducted in cool, civil tones that made even lies seem reasonable and rational. "I did not want to upset you, and I knew that it would. Your son does not like me, Victor. I've accepted that even if you haven't." It was not precisely a lie. Katy believed that Michael didn't like her, and she had accepted it. He wanted her in his bed, but his desire had nothing to do with liking her. Sometimes Michael threatened to tell his father exactly what he wanted from Katy, but as far as she knew he never had. "Michael thinks I am interested in your money. He wants me to stay away from you."
"Michael thinks a lot of things that aren't true. If he would listen to anything I have ever said about you, he'd know he was wrong—about all of them."
"It's all right. Really, I don't mind. He is only trying to look out for your interests."
"I am not senile," Victor said. "And he is looking out for his own interests, not mine. Sometimes I think he—" Victor stopped himself, jamming his cigar into the ashtray.
"Yes?"
"Never mind. It was a foolish thought. As you said, Michael does not like you."
"That's right. Anyway, our conversation last night was brief. Mr. Marshall interrupted us, and he and Michael went to Georgia's for a drink."
"Michael didn't tell me that."
"He probably didn't think it was important. Surely there is nothing remarkable about him sharing a few drinks with Mr. Marshall."
"No... I suppose not."
But he was thoughtful and unconvinced. Katy could see that much. "They're friends, aren't they?"
"Not friends precisely, but as you say, there is nothing remarkable about them going off together." Yet it was odd, Victor thought, because Michael had never had many kind things to say about Logan Marshall. To his son's way of thinking, Logan's character was flawed because he was too single-minded and too wholly independent. Victor had fervently wished any number of times that Michael had those same character flaws in his professional life. It occurred to him to wonder if Michael could be jealous of all that Logan had accomplished at the Chronicle. It was something worth considering. "So, your interest in Logan Marshall stems from your meeting last evening? He must have made a deep impression on you."
"I think I made an impression on him." Katy stood up and walked to the fireplace. Turning, she leaned against the mantelpiece and wrapped her arms around her middle. "He came to my suite last night, Victor."
"You let him in?"
"I, um, yes... I let him in."
"And?" He was sitting up very straight now, watching her intently over the rim of his spectacles.
"And we talked."
"And?" he prompted again.
"Mr. Marshall wants me to be his mistress."
Victor let out his breath slowly. The bottoms of his glasses fogged. He took them off, folded them carefully, and put them in his waistcoat pocket. "What did you say to that?"
Katy hugged herself more tightly. "Victor, you don't understand. He did not ask. He spoke as if I could not refuse. He is not giving me a choice. I was two weeks behind on the rent for the suite, and he found out and paid it. Paid it! He acted as if it was his right to make good on my debt. But it's not, Victor. I do not want anything to do with him. He frightens me, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. That's why I sent for you. Can you make him see reason? Can you make him leave me alone?"
During her agitated speech Victor had come to stand in front of Katy. By the time she finished talking, his arms were around her and her head was resting against his shoulder. "What would you have me do, Katy dear?"
"Something... anything."
Victor said nothing for several minutes. "Look at me, Katy," he said, lifting her chin with his forefinger. "There is something you're not telling me. This man you are describing is not the Logan Marshall with whom I am familiar. I knew his father. I know how the sons were raised. Logan would not do this—"
Katy pulled away from Victor. The look she gave him revealed her hurt. "Do you think I am lying?"
"You did not let me finish. I was trying to say that Logan would not do this without a reason. There is something you are not telling me. What is it, Katy? How can I know how to help you if you don't tell me everything?"
Feeling trapped, Katy slipped past Victor, and walked to the far side of the room. She fiddled with one of the music boxes on a walnut end table, running her fingers around the scrolled edge of the box. "I sent him to Andersonville," she said softly.
"Pardon?" Victor cupped his ear. "I don't think I heard cor—"
She put the music box down and spun on her heel. Her skirt swayed against her legs. "I sent him to Andersonville!" Katy had never raised her voice to Victor, and she was appalled to realize she had just shouted at him. "Oh, God, Victor, I'm sorry. Forgive me. Everything that's happening... I'm not handling it very well, am I?"
"All things considered, I would say you are doing wonderfully." He made no move to come near her. He did not want her to see that he was the one shaking now. The idea that was spinning in his mind had the power to make him feel lightheaded, giddy, and younger than he had felt in a score of years. If Logan Marshall had been in front of him, Victor would have thanked him, not railed at him. "Will you tell me about Andersonville?" he asked when he could trust himself to speak without giving away his excitement.
But Katy could not talk about it. She opened her mouth to say something, and her throat simply closed in over the words. In more than seven years she had never spoken of the incident that had taken Logan from King's Creek to Andersonville. "I sent him there," was all she said.
"Katy, you were a child then. What were you, fourteen... fifteen years old?"
"Fifteen. And I knew what I was doing." All of it, she thought. She knew exactly what she had done. "He wandered onto my aunt's land in Virginia," she said. "He holed up in the barn. I found him and I... I delayed him so he couldn't leave. Aunt Peggy captured him, and I made certain he was sent to prison. He wants revenge, Victor. That's why he's doing this. He wants to hurt me for what I did to him.
He is not smitten with me, and he is not acting impulsively. Logan Marshall is calculating and shrewd."
Victor took a step forward. His hands balled into fists. "Last night, when he came here, did he... did he..."
"Rape me?" she asked. "No. I do not think he really wants me like that." But she remembered the kiss, and she wondered. "He hates me. He has never forgotten what I did to him, and he hates me for it."
Victor relaxed, uncurling his fingers. "Logan is certain he has the right woman?" he asked.
"He's certain. I never denied it to him. He has not changed so much since I saw him last, and I suspect the same is true for me." Katy's large brown eyes made a mute appeal to Victor. "Please, Victor. I need your help. I do not want Logan Marshall in my life."
"I suppose I could have him killed," said Victor.
Katy's head shot up, and she blinked hard. "What did you say?"
"I know some people who know some people," he said casually, watching her. "Down in the Bowery anything's possible. An accident would remove him from your life permanently."
"You're frightening me, Victor. Stop talking like that. I don't want anyone to have an accident—even Logan Marshall."
"You could leave New York."
"I've thought of that. But I have as much right to be here as he does."
"Well then, you could marry me."
"Victor!" She was ready to tell him to be serious, and then she realized he was. She swallowed the words that would have belittled his proposal and horribly hurt the man. Katy found herself reaching behind her for the striped brocade chair. She sat down uneasily. "Marry you," she said softly. "Victor, I would never let you make that kind of sacrifice for me."
He smiled faintly. "I thought you knew me better than that. I am not a sacrificing man. I wouldn't be giving up anything."
"But you could still meet someone, someone you could really love."
Drawing up an ottoman, Victor sat near Katy. He rested his forearms on his knees. "If I may be honest, Katy, then it's you who would be sacrificing. What would you gain from marrying me except a way out of your current dilemma?"
"You mean besides access to the considerable Donovan fortune and a stepson who would kill me before he'd let me have a penny of it?"
Victor laughed. "Besides that."
"I would be the wife of a loving, gentle man," she said softly, solemnly. "I would be respected and treated kindly and cared for as if I were vital to his very happiness."
"Yes," he said. "You would be."
Katy began to shake her head, prepared to tell him that in spite of the honor he had brought her, marriage was not the answer. She said nothing, however, because Victor touched her wrist and held her attention with his entreating gaze. "Do not be so quick to turn me down, Katy. Give yourself some time to think. We would not have to stay married forever, if that's what's bothering you. You could divorce me if you found someone you could be truly happy with."
"I could be truly happy with you," she said.
"I meant someone you could love."
"I do love you, but not—"
"Don't say it." He could not bear to hear that she didn't love him as a woman could love a man, with exclusive, intimate love. "It doesn't matter to me."
"But—"
"I would not press you in the marriage," he said. To make certain she understood his meaning, he added, "We would have adjoining, but separate, bedrooms and you would have the key."
"You would do that for me?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing together. She remembered last night and how he had stood behind her at the vanity with his fingers in her hair. The memory of that light, sensual touch was so clear that she unconsciously raised one hand to her nape. He wanted her. She could not deny it to herself any longer. "It would not be right, Victor. That is not the sort of marriage you should have."
He grinned a little self-consciously and tugged on his blackened mustache. The look he cast in Katy's direction was endearingly sheepish. "I am not saying that I would give up hope. I would probably try to seduce you several times a day. You should know that."
She laughed because he meant her to. "Several times a day? You flatter me."
"Most likely I am flattering myself. At my age, who knows if I would have the strength of my convictions."
Embarrassed by his candid comment, Katy looked away. "I do not think separate bedrooms would be necessary, Victor. If I decide to marry you, then we will be married. I won't have it any other way."
Victor's heart raced. Far from refusing him out of turn, she was considering his proposal now. "You would not regret becoming my wife, Katy. I can promise you that. You would never want for anything."
"That is not what's important to me. You know that. What about my acting? Would you allow me to perform if we were married?"
Of course, he thought, she would want to do that. "On the stage?" he asked.
"Naturally. I do not want to be confined to drawing room dramas for the amusement of your friends. My singing is only passable, Victor. And you know I do not play the piano or paint. I'm afraid I have little in the way of social accomplishments. But I can act. That is what I want to do, what I have always wanted to do. If that cannot be part of our marriage, then there can be no mar—"
"There is no reason you cannot continue your career," he said, interrupting. There would be a scandal, he knew, but he was prepared to weather it if Katy could do the same. At his age, he simply did not care what others thought, not if he could have Katy. He saw she was going to raise another objection. To cut her off, he pointed to the clock on the mantel and commented on the time. "Shouldn't you be leaving for the theatre? I thought you and Mr. Easton were going to go over some blocking."
As a diversion, it was successful. Katy put everything else to the back of her mind and kept it there while she rehearsed with Anthony Easton, went over a few costume changes with her dresser, and applied her makeup for her evening performance. It was only when she stepped on stage and saw Logan Marshall occupying an orchestra seat left center of stage that everything folded in on her.
She did not remember a thing about her performance, but the audience judged it a triumph, rising to its collective feet and offering loud, spontaneous approval.
Beyond the footlights she saw Logan. He was sitting. Smiling. And his eyes were cold enough to make her shiver.
Chapter 5
"Are you feeling quite yourself this evening?" Jane asked as she helped Katy out of her gown. "Here, let me undo these corset strings. Might be that I pulled them too tight. Heaven knows, I shouldn't. It is reed-thin you are now. I thought you were going to faint just as the last curtain came down. Remarked on it to Billy Batton, I did. He agreed with me—for once. Can't say that this is a matter where I wanted his agreement."
Katy murmured occasionally as Jane chattered on. She held a cold compress over her eyes and prayed that the throbbing in her temples would go away. The fragrances in the room were overpowering. Baskets of flowers dominated every available space. Roses were very popular—red, white, and yellow—it did not matter. Men from the audience sent them to express everything from passionate devotion to admiration for her performance. Scattered among the bouquets were notes begging for Katy's company at dinner. Those invitations generally meant there would be a later one begging for her company in bed. Katy never responded to them anymore.
Tension eased slightly when Jane plucked the pins from her hair, brushed it out, and redid it in a braid that was soft and loose and fell over Katy's left shoulder.
"Do you want help with your greasepaint?" asked Jane. Her dimpled hands moved swiftly over the surface of Katy's vanity, organizing the bottles and tins and vials with the sure command of a general. Everything stood at attention. Without waiting for Katy's answer, Jane began applying untinted grease to Katy's face, rubbing it in gently to remove her face paint.
Katy dropped her compress on the vanity, but she kept her eyes closed and her head tilted back against Jane's supporting forearm. "How do you think it
went tonight?" she asked. "I was concerned about the new blocking. I missed a cue in the second act. I should have gone to the sofa when Anthony began his speech."
"No one noticed. I'm sure I didn't. Don't you listen to the audience?" Jane was watching her employer consideringly as she wiped away the paint. "They loved the play this evening, and they especially loved you. Can't you feel their approval when everything goes well?"
"I do not want them to love me, and I don't act for their approval."
Jane's hand stilled momentarily, caught off guard by the intensity with which Katy spoke. "Then why?"
"I do it for me," she said, pushing Jane's hand away and sitting up. She finished removing the greasepaint herself. "For a few hours each night I get to become someone else, wear another person's skin, and feel and think things that are so different, and sometimes not so different, from the things I think and feel. And when I do it, I want to do it well. Not for them, but for me. You cannot imagine how important it is to be someone else."
Jane was thoughtful as she began putting away Katy's gowns, but she said nothing. It was a fanciful notion, she decided, that Katy Dakota acted because she wanted to escape. Escape what? As near as Jane could tell the actress had everything a woman could possibly desire. Why should she want to be someone else? "Will you want to wear the wine-colored gown home?" she asked. "I can lay it out for you."
"Yes, that will be fine." She sighed her annoyance when someone knocked at the door. "See who that is, Jane. Please, no visitors. I do not want to see anyone." Katy went behind the dressing screen so she would be out of view while Jane made excuses for her.
Jane closed the door with the toe of her shoe. Her arms were full with a large bouquet of daisies. She held them up for Katy to see. "Lovely, aren't they? Don't bother yourself; I'll get a vase. I know there's one around here somewhere. There's a card. Shall I read it?"