His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2)

by Jo Goodman

  "You are kind to say so," Victor said. "I've told Katy much the same thing, but she thinks I am prejudiced in her favor."

  Logan smiled pleasantly. "I'm certain you are. I am also certain that you're correct." His gray eyes wandered to Katy. "You are missed in the play, Mrs. Donovan. It would be foolish for you to underestimate your own talent. As one of your earliest admirers, I believe I can speak honestly of the theatre's loss."

  "As my husband says, you're very kind," Katy said stiffly.

  "I mean it, Katy," he added under his breath.

  She glanced up and caught his gaze. His beautiful eyes were very solemn-looking and there was something in his expression that was kind and comforting, almost as if he were willing her to believe him.

  She was grateful when Victor intervened.

  "How are Christian and Jenny?"

  "Quite well, I suppose. They've gone to Paris."

  "Oh, yes. I think I did know they were going. I had forgotten."

  Logan smiled. "Under the circumstances, it's understandable. If you will excuse me now. Again, please accept my best wishes."

  Victor and Katy exchanged puzzled glances as Logan disappeared in the crowd that descended in his place. People who had shunned them just minutes earlier were suddenly greeting them. Logan's public acceptance had set a new standard, making it possible for others to step forward without fearing they would be shunned in turn. By the time Victor and Katy returned to their seats, Katy's facial muscles ached from the forced smiles.

  The second act did not hold her attention. She kept thinking of Logan. Why had he done it?

  "Perhaps it is his way of calling a truce," Victor said when Katy posed the question to him later that night. He was sitting up in bed, reading reports sent to him from the store. Papers and ledgers were scattered all over the bed. He added absently, "Or perhaps Logan is admitting that I won and he lost."

  "Won? Lost? You make it sound as if there was a contest."

  Victor made a few notes before he regarded Katy over the rim of his spectacles. "It was a contest of wills if nothing else." He shifted some papers, making room for Katy, and patted the space beside him. She dropped her robe at the foot of the bed and slipped in next to her husband. "Whatever his motives, Logan did us a favor tonight."

  "It was unexpected, that's all," said Katy. "I had not thought he would be gracious about losing, although I am not so certain Logan thinks he has lost."

  "How could he not?" Victor touched the tip of Katy's nose with his forefinger. When she wrinkled it, he kissed it. "I have you. He doesn't. Of course he lost."

  Katy's smile vanished. "Maybe I was never the prize," she said quietly.

  Victor's iron gray brows lifted.

  She snuggled closer to Victor, her eyes worried.

  "Why don't you sleep in your own room tonight?" asked Victor. He shuffled through the pile of papers on his lap, showing her the extent of his work. "I will be up late going through all of this."

  "I don't mind. I can sleep with the lamps on. Perhaps there is even something I could help you with."

  Victor patted Katy's thigh. The gesture was unwittingly patronizing. "I don't think so, dear. Really, you would be more comfortable in the other room. I promise I won't make this a practice."

  Katy's hurt went heart deep. No, she thought, she did not feel as a prize ought to feel. She felt neither wanted nor cherished. Her husband was turning her out of their bed. It was humiliating. "All right, Victor, if that is what you want."

  What he wanted? Victor almost screamed with frustration. What he wanted was to take her in his arms and make love to her. He wanted to love her the way Logan Marshall had loved her. He wanted to bury his face in the curve of her neck and feel her legs wrap around his thighs while he filled her. He wanted... he wanted. "Yes," he said, not glancing up from his work. "I think it would be better tonight."

  Katy got out of bed. The room felt cold. She picked up her robe and went to the door that connected their rooms. "I think I will go to the Chesterfield tomorrow," she said. "I need to collect my things. I will pack some trunks and send one of your employees round for them later."

  "Very well."

  She paused in the doorway, her hand on the glass knob, and watched Victor bend over his work. She wondered if she should repeat herself. It did not seem that he had heard her. What did it matter? she wondered. He would be at the store tomorrow, and she would be able to go to the hotel and come back by the time he returned home. Katy went into her room, closing the door quietly behind her. She found herself wishing they had never left the Willows.

  * * *

  The desk clerk was solicitous, asking Katy if she wanted any help with her packing. She thanked him but assured him she could do it on her own. The steam elevator that lifted her to her room was its familiar, cranky self. Katy exchanged a few pleasantries with the operator before she alighted on her floor.

  Nothing had changed in her suite. Except for a thin film of dust that covered all the furniture, everything was just as she left it. That surprised her. She had thought that Logan would have taken over the suite in some way, yet it appeared that he had not used it at all.

  Her trunks were delivered from the storage area below the lobby, and when the bellman left, Katy set about packing her gowns. She did not need the clothes. Victor had given her a new wardrobe before they left for the Willows. What was not ready for her to take on her honeymoon would be ready for her now, and most of the things he had chosen would put her gowns in the shade. Still, these things were hers and that counted for something with Katy. She had earned these, she thought.

  Katy had never thought she was prone to self-pity. The bent of her current thoughts troubled her. She pushed it all to the back of her mind and concentrated on what she was doing. There was a certain amount of pleasure to be derived from doing rote tasks such as folding and smoothing and packing.

  "I see you are moving out."

  Katy jumped and spun around, dropping the gown she was holding. She hated being scared and the fright fueled her anger. "Damn you, Michael! What are you doing here? Haven't you anything better to do than sneak up on people and scare them witless?" She bent and picked up her dress, folding it with quick, agitated motions. "How did you get in here?"

  "So many questions," Michael chided. He stepped into the bedroom and sat on the edge of one of Katy's brassbound trunks. His fingers plucked at a piece of lint on his dark gray trousers before he leaned back and crossed his feet at the ankles. His posture was relaxed and casual as if he had every right to be where he was. "I heard you mention to Ria at breakfast that you were coming here. It occurred to me then that perhaps this was the best time to talk to you without fear of interruption. I think you know why I'm here and what I want. Some things have not changed at all."

  "Michael, I really don't—"

  "As to how I got in here, did you know there is something wrong with the lock on the door? I think it's broken. You should talk to the front desk about that, Katy. You are hardly safe here."

  "Obviously," she said under her breath.

  "And I didn't mean to frighten you," he said. "I did knock you know, several times, but you didn't hear. The door opened on its own." He shrugged. "Here I am."

  She pointed to the door. "There you go."

  "Katy," he cajoled, smiling.

  "I mean it, Michael. I want nothing to do with you. I never have. You are correct—some things haven't changed."

  "You wound me."

  "I'd take it kindly if you would bleed out in the hallway."

  Michael's smile disappeared and his eyes frosted over. He abandoned his casual pose and stood. "Enough, Katy. I am done with you keeping me at arm's length. I don't see that your marriage to my father matters in the least. If anything, it's deuced convenient. I thought I would have to set you up in your own house or maintain this apartment. Now I realize that is no longer necessary. You and I can arrange to see each other at home, and by practicing a modicum of discretion, no one will be
the wiser."

  "Even if I were going to make your father a cuckold, Michael, I would not do it in his own home, and I certainly would not do it with you. Frankly, I have had quite enough of this conversation. I find it incredibly distasteful. You can leave of your own accord, or I can have you thrown out."

  "Really?" One of his pale brows lifted. The half-smile he gave her was knowing. "Do you think Father would not hear of it? Or worse, his friends? Are you sure you want to shame him? I assure you, I would be the innocent in this. Who would believe your word over mine? Everyone expects the worst of you, and you would be falling into their hands. I would accuse you of inviting me here, planning the grand seduction, and there aren't many people who would believe otherwise."

  "Have you no shame?" Katy asked. "Don't you care anything for your father?" Everything that Michael said was true, she thought unhappily. She would not be believed; he would. Victor alone would stand by her side and still, Katy could imagine him watching her, wondering in some small corner of his mind if perhaps she had asked Michael to meet her. "What of your own reputation? What of Ria?"

  Michael shrugged. "I don't think my reputation will suffer overmuch. You are the one with so much to lose. Have you forgotten the photographs?"

  Katy flung the nightgown she was folding away from her. "You wouldn't!"

  "Are you willing to take that chance?"

  She did not answer immediately. Michael had had the photographs for months and had never used them against her. There was always the threat that he would, of course, but he never made good on it. "All right, Michael, I won't have you thrown out, but as long as I am your father's wife those photographs are useless to you. If you show them to anyone, your father will disown you. You know I am telling the truth. There is only one way you could have come by those pictures and that is to have stolen them. Victor will realize it right away. You are much better off letting him think they were destroyed in his studio fire than proving to him that you are a thief. Before we were married, Victor might have let you get away with it, but not now. He will protect me, even if it means cutting you out of his will. Think about that before you threaten me with those photographs again. Do you really want the city to know what a wicked woman your stepmama is? Doesn't that reflect a trifle poorly on you?" Katy removed a drawer from her chiffonier and dumped the contents on the bed. "Now, get out of here, Michael, before I think better of my promise not to—"

  "Bitch!" He was beside her in two swift strides. Michael grasped her elbow, pulling her away from the bed and toward him. His fingers pinched her skin. He saw her wince but made no effort to ease his punishing grip. "Where did you ever get the idea that you could speak to me that way? I won't stand for it, Katy! Don't think you can lash out at me without receiving something in return. This is my price, whore, my price."

  Katy's head was held immobile by the hand Michael placed at the back of her neck. His fingers twisted in her hair. Some of the pins fell on the floor so that her chignon came undone. Katy pushed at Michael, but his grip merely tightened in response. Tears of pain gathered in her eyes. "Michael, don't—"

  Whatever she was going to say was silenced by the hard pressure of Michael's mouth. His lips ground against hers, and his tongue speared her mouth. Katy was revolted. She tried to pull back and could not. The length of her was pressed flush to Michael, and she felt herself being maneuvered back toward the bed. The thought of Michael talking her on the same bed where she had lain with Logan gave Katy a surge of strength. She bit down with her teeth and brought up her knee.

  Michael reeled backward. There was blood on the corner of his mouth and murder in his eyes. Katy found herself retreating into one corner of the room as Michael slowly straightened and started toward her. Her eyes darted around the room quickly, looking for some avenue of escape. It was useless to attempt to fling herself to the far side of the bed and to go in any other direction meant getting past Michael.

  Katy feinted left, as if making for the bed, then sprinted past Michael as he grabbed at the air. She made it as far as the parlor when she felt Michael's hands on her skirts. He jerked her to a halt by grabbing the elaborate ruffled bustle at the back of her gown and spun her around. Off balance, Katy threw up her hands to ward him off. He struck them down, and then the flat of his hand connected with Katy's cheek. She fell sideways, knocking over a table and scattering the dainty porcelain figurines that rested on the top.

  Pushing at the fallen table with her feet, Katy scooted backward on the floor and tried to put some distance between her and Michael. Her cheek throbbed and her hip hurt where she had hit the table. "Don't come any closer, Michael. I swear I will kill you if you touch me again."

  He laughed. "I admire your bravado almost as much as I admire your body." He bent, reaching for Katy's wrist to pull her to her feet. When she flinched, he merely swiped at her again. She ducked, but not enough, and his palm slammed hard against her ear.

  Pain sent her reeling. Crying out, Katy protected her head with her arms and shrunk away as Michael came at her again. She never knew if his intent was to help or hit her. The blackness at the edge of her vision exploded just a moment before she fainted.

  Chapter 7

  It was the sound of her own soft moan that roused Katy to consciousness. She turned on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. Her head ached horribly, and she was aware of a dull, throbbing pain in her arms and legs.

  It took her several moments to understand that she was no longer on the floor of the parlor and that her bedroom was unbearably hot. She unbuttoned the top three buttons on her gown with fingers that shook. Sitting up slowly, feeling as if she had been stretched on a rack, Katy rested against the headboard. Even that small movement made her nauseated. Rather than breathe deeply, Katy sipped the air in an effort to quell the unsettled feeling in her stomach. She grimaced, her reflection in the mirror across the room proving that she was as flushed and disheveled as she imagined.

  The outer door to the suite opened. Katy cringed as the footsteps neared her bedroom. She was looking around for a weapon to stop Michael when Logan came into view.

  "So, you are finally awake," he said pleasantly. "That's good. How are you feeling?"

  Katy could not make a sound. It had never occurred to her that she could be happy to see Logan Marshall. Her eyes took in all of him in a single glance. A lock of his copper-threaded hair had fallen across his forehead, and he raked it back in a familiar, even endearing, gesture. He was studying her, but for once his gaze seemed more concerned than condemning. Katy stopped looking for a weapon. Aware that she was staring now, she shrugged in response to Logan's question.

  Logan sat down in the rocker that he had pushed close to the bed. He unfastened the buttons on his jacket and the material opened over his dove gray waistcoat. "That bad?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "I sent someone from the hotel to get Victor. I assume he is at the store."

  "Yes," she said in a low voice.

  He frowned, a thought occurring to him as he studied the swollen area on Katy's cheek. "It was not Victor who hit you, was it?"

  "God, no," she said.

  "What happened, Katy?"

  "You didn't see?"

  "No." Almost immediately he knew he should have prevaricated rather than answer honestly. Since it was too late to rectify his mistake, he continued. "You were alone when I found you lying on the floor in the other room. I put you in here and went to get someone for Victor. Perhaps I should have sent for a doctor. I have a friend who is—"

  "No. I'll be fine."

  Logan was not as confident. She had been out cold when he found her, and she had not responded to his attempts to bring her around. He had taken note of the overturned table, the bunched rug, and the discoloration on Katy's cheek. Logan realized the bruise was not the result of a fall. He told her that, and when she did not deny it, he repeated his earlier request. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

  She shook her head. The movement made her
lightheaded, and she clutched the pillow harder. "Oh, God, Logan, I think I am going to be—"

  Logan scooped her up and carried her to the bathing room. He stroked her back while she leaned weakly against the sink and was sick. "Let me get a doctor for you, Katy. I should have done it right away instead of sending for Victor. You might have hit something when you fell."

  It was the blow Michael had delivered to the side of her head that was causing the problem, and Katy knew it. The ringing in her ear was incessant, annoying, and painful. "No, I don't want a doctor. I am merely dizzy, that's all." She took the glass of water Logan gave her and rinsed out her mouth. Logan picked her up and took her back to bed, ignoring her protests. "Thank you," she said primly when he finished fussing over her.

  "Dammit, Katy," he said, straightening. "You're hurt. This is not something to be kept secret."

  Secret? Wasn't it just like Logan to want to tell everything? "I fail to see why not. I am an adult now, Logan, not a child, and I will thank you to let me make my own decision about what secrets are meant to be kept."

  Logan was not certain he and Katy were talking about the same thing anymore. But if not, then what was she going on about?

  Catching Logan's puzzlement, Katy became aware of what she was saying. She drew in a calming breath. "And if I wanted to tell anyone, it would be Victor, not you, certainly not a doctor. This is none of your business."

  He sat back in the rocker. "None of my... no, it's not, is it?"

  "That's right."

  Logan said nothing for several minutes. He leaned back, resting the heels of his shoes on the bed frame, and stared at the fringed canopy on Katy's bed. "Of all the things I thought you might do, I never expected you to marry Victor Donovan."

  There was something odd in his voice that Katy could not identify. It was almost as if he felt some regret. "No, I suppose you didn't. But then, you never really knew me, did you? You never took the time to learn anything important about me."