by Jo Goodman
"I knew what I needed to know."
Katy heard the defensiveness in his tone. "It is easier to justify your actions if you believe the worst of me."
His eyes hardened. "I have nothing to justify."
"All right," she said. She felt too ill to argue. "Would it do any good to ask you to leave before Victor gets here?"
"No. I want to make certain you don't tell him I am the one who put that bruise on your cheek."
Her fingers lifted automatically to her face. She gently touched the outline of the bruise, testing the tenderness. "I would never say it was you," she told him, a wounded look in her eyes. "I do not even know how you came to be here."
Logan watched Katy's hand drop away from her face. She had slender, beautifully tapered fingers. His eyes followed her movement. He remembered those hands caressing him, holding him intimately. The tips of her fingers had pressed into his back; her nails had cut half-moons in his skin. He recalled cool hands on his warm flesh and the curve of her palms on his thighs. Her wedding ring caught his eye and the memories dissolved. A frown pulled at corners of his mouth, and he answered Katy stiffly. "I hoped that you would eventually come back to the suite to get your things. I arranged to be notified when you did. Don't worry; it's all being handled carefully. Only one other person besides you and Victor knows I was here today."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
She raised her hands in a helpless, all-at-sea gesture. "Why to most everything. Why did you want to see me? And why help me? Why do you care if anyone knows that you're here now? I would think you'd be happy to ruin my marriage. Why did you come to the theatre last night, and why make a point of being friendly to Victor and me?"
"I don't want to ruin your marriage. I am done with you, Katy. That's why I came today, to speak to you in private because I thought you would never admit me in your home. I wanted to tell you that I will not be bothering you, that you are safe in your marriage, and that you needn't keep looking over your shoulder expecting me to be there." His heels slid off the bed frame and Logan leaned forward in the rocker, resting his forearms on his knees. "In spite of what you think of me, I don't want to see you hurt."
"Perhaps not physically injured," she said, "but you were deliberately trying to hurt me."
"Yes," he said quietly. His eyes lifted to hers. "Yes, I was."
"Victor knows that you wanted me as your mistress."
"I suspected that you told him. There is a curious streak of honesty in you that appears from time to time."
She ignored the last, too weary to fight that particular battle. What did it matter what he thought of her? "He thinks you were kind at the theatre because you have admitted that he's won and you've lost."
Logan's smile was brief, brittle. "I was kind, as you call it, at Wallack's because I won and you lost. Victor is welcome to you as far as I am concerned. I only set out to take the most important thing I could from you—your work in the theatre. I thought making you my mistress would suit my purposes. You found another way to give me what I wanted. You married Victor and gave up acting. If you told me right now that Victor was more important to you than the theatre, I would not believe you. And if I did believe you, you would live to regret your words, because I'd find a way to take him from you, too."
Katy's face paled, making the bruise more livid. Hardly aware she was speaking her thoughts aloud, she said, "My God, you are a monster."
"Yes." He stood. "I will wait for Victor in the other room. I'll tell him what I know of what happened. You can tell him anything you damn well please."
* * *
There was little talking during the carriage ride home. Victor heard everything he wanted to hear at the hotel, which was precious little as far as he was concerned. Katy could not describe her attacker and absolutely refused to involve anyone from the hotel or ask the police to intervene. It was clear to Victor that she was holding back some piece of information and equally clear that, this time at least, Logan Marshall was not the reason. Victor saw with his own eyes that Logan's concern was genuine.
Upon returning home, Katy went straight to her room. Victor poured himself a drink in the library before he joined her. Katy was just dismissing her maid when Victor reached the bedroom. He watched his wife climb gingerly into bed, turn the pillow to the cool side, and lay her uninjured cheek against it.
Victor took a swallow of whiskey, then sat down on the edge of the bed. "I think I should send Harris for Dr. Turner," he said.
"No. Really, Victor, I am going to be fine."
"Logan said you would argue."
"As much as I hate to give Mr. Marshall the satisfaction of being right, I do not want a doctor. There is simply no need. Let's just forget this ever happened, shall we? It was an unfortunate occurrence, nothing more than that. I am certain my attacker's intention was to rob me, and when I caught him out, he panicked."
Victor stared at the tumbler he was rolling in his palms. He supposed Katy's story was not going to change just because they were completely alone now. He wished he could believe her. "All right," he said. "We will forget it ever happened."
The next morning Victor hired a private detective.
* * *
Dr. Scott Turner came around to the front of his desk and rested one hip on the edge. His striking blue eyes were grave, the set of his handsome features solemn. "You are pregnant, Mrs. Donovan."
A sheen of tears gathered in Ria's eyes. She looked away, blinking rapidly. "I thought I might be," she said on a mere thread of sound. Ria fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief.
Scott picked up a pencil and tapped it lightly against his knee, while his patient struggled for composure. "I thought I was clear when you had your last miscarriage that—"
"You were very clear, Doctor," she interrupted. Her face flushed and, after a moment, she added quietly, "My husband wants this child."
Without being aware of the pressure he was applying, Scott snapped the pencil. Startled, he dropped both pieces. Would it were Michael Donovan's neck, he thought. Ria's husband deserved to be throttled for this turn of events. "When you arrive home today I want you to go straight to bed and stay there. You are not to lift anything heavier than your hairbrush. Is that understood?"
"Yes." She raised hopeful eyes to the doctor while her fingers twisted the handkerchief. "There is a possibility then that I could carry my child to term?"
"There is always a possibility," he said, wanting to hold out some hope to his patient. He knew the odds were against Ria delivering a healthy child. His first concern was that she survived whatever happened. "That possibility depends on you doing everything I say, Mrs. Donovan. I will not accept any excuses this time for not following my instructions. It would be foolish of you to suppose there is not any danger to the baby or to you, but I believe we can minimize that danger. I will come by the house every two weeks in the beginning and later at least once a week. I do not want you to hesitate to send someone for me if there is even the smallest indication that everything is not as it should be. That is important. If you do begin to miscarry, I want to be there." Scott did not add that Ria's life depended upon it. He thought she was very much aware of that fact. "I will speak with your husband, of course, and your father-in-law. I will accept no excuses from either of them if they upset you."
Ria's fingers stilled. "Please, I would rather you said nothing to Michael or Victor just yet. I... I have not decided what I want to do."
A ridge appeared between Dr. Turner's fair brows as he frowned. "I am not certain I understand what you mean. What decision is there to be made?"
Agitated, frightened, and embarrassed, Ria stood up. "I have been talking to a friend," she said. She took a few steps to her right and pretended to study the framed diplomas on Dr. Turner's wall. "And she says if it turns out that I am pregnant—which it has—then she says I should ask you about... that is, I should find out if..."
"Yes?"
"She says you could get rid of the child f
or me," Ria finished in a rush.
Dr. Turner's brows rose nearly to the golden fringe of his hairline. "You are talking about abortion, Mrs. Donovan. My personal beliefs aside, it happens to be dangerous." Scott was amazed by the calm of his own voice. "May I know who suggested that you ask for such a procedure?"
Ria shook her head. "It would not be right for me to say. My friend was trying to be helpful, that's all."
"Your friend wouldn't be Victor's actress wife, would it?"
"No!" Ria turned swiftly on her heel. "Katy doesn't know a thing about this. Why ever should you think she... oh, I see, it's because she was an actress. You are assuming that she's the one who would put that bit of information in my ear. Well, you are quite wrong, Dr. Turner. The woman who told me is invited to the best homes, heads three charities, and says it is not an uncommon procedure."
"Then I apologize," he said sincerely. "I should know better than to make those kind of assumptions. Nevertheless, it is a foolish idea, Mrs. Donovan, and it would be best that you forget it."
"But wouldn't it be better," she persisted, "for me to lose the baby now rather than six months from now? I will lose my life then, won't I?" Her eyes appealed to him. "I don't want to have this baby. I don't want to die."
"Then you don't want an abortion." Scott pushed away from the desk and crossed the room. He took Ria's trembling hands in his large, capable ones. "None of us can know what will happen, Mrs. Donovan, but there is nothing to be gained by dwelling on the worst possibilities. Abortion is out of the question. The procedure could kill you."
"But you could recommend someone to me," she said. "Someone reputable."
"Recommend an abortionist? I don't think so." He dropped her hands. "I am going to do everything in my power to see that you and your baby both remain healthy. I wish that you would do the same. You would be wise to stop listening to your friend."
Ria caught back a sob. "I thought you would help me, but you're on Michael's side. You don't care what happens to me!"
Before Scott could answer, Ria brushed passed him and hurried toward his office door. He called to her as she fumbled with the doorknob, but she ignored him. Scott slumped in the chair Ria had occupied earlier and was still staring at the broken pencil pieces on his desk when his wife walked in.
"You are wanted at the hospital, Scott," Susan said. Seeing her husband's preoccupation, she frowned. The sprinkling of freckles across the fine bridge of her nose darkened slightly. "Is something wrong? That was Mrs. Donovan who just left, wasn't it?"
"Yes." He felt Susan's hand on his shoulder and he reached back to touch her. "Yes, that was Mrs. Donovan, and no, nothing's wrong."
Susan knew he was lying, but she let it pass. If it was something he could share with her, he would. She bent and pressed her lips to the crown of his fair head. "The hospital," she repeated. "And don't forget that Logan's coming to dinner this evening. Try not to be too late."
"Logan?" His question gave him away. He had forgotten.
Tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, Susan nodded. "Jenny and Christian asked that you look out for him, remember? And you, ever the Good Samaritan and friend, said you would be happy to. Well, Dr. Turner, I finally managed to pull Logan away from the newspaper, I have a wonderful dinner planned, and I might even have an affair with that beautiful man if you don't show up on time."
"I'll be there."
She smiled serenely. "I thought you might."
* * *
A few days later, when Scott saw Victor Donovan in his office, he never mentioned his talk with Ria. He had already resolved to speak with her after one week, knowing that she needed to begin caring for herself by then or give up all but a slender thread of hope that she and her child could survive. He wondered if she would still be pregnant when he saw her next. And if she wasn't pregnant, would she still be alive? There were no reputable abortionists in the city. Scott had had little peace of mind since he had seen her.
Looking at Ria's father-in-law, for all appearances hale and hearty, Scott Turner felt as if a weight were pressing on his chest. It seemed he hadn't any good news to give out this week. Scott pushed back a lock of hair and swiveled around in his chair. His eyes caught and held Victor's.
"Well?" demanded Victor. "Tell me. Do not pretty it up, Turner. Just tell me."
"It's cancer."
Air spilled out of Victor's lungs in an abrupt sigh. There were tiny white lines at the corner of his mouth as his lips flattened in a grim line. "I see," he said finally. He felt old suddenly. Truly old. He touched his mustache with his fingertips, smoothing it. "There is nothing to be done then."
"There are a few treatments which—" He stopped when he saw Victor's cynical, knowing look. "No, you're right," he said unhappily. There was no evidence to support the effectiveness of any current treatment. "There is nothing to be done." Scott leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his desk. "The tumors appear to be localized in the prostate gland right now. That is located near—"
Victor nodded shortly. "I now where it is. You explained that before my examination. These tumors... they are the reason I have not been able to make love to my wife?"
"Yes, that seems likely."
Victor rested his head against the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling. Tears pressed at the back of his eyes, and he swallowed hard. "God, what a mess."
"Victor, I am sorry. I wish it weren't so."
He grinned crookedly. "These are not ancient times, Doctor. I am not going to kill the messenger."
Scott smiled because he knew his patient meant him to. It was not so unusual for the people he couldn't help to want to comfort him. "I wouldn't blame you if you decided otherwise."
"How long do I have?"
"There is no way of knowing for certain."
"Make a guess."
"Victor," Scott said, a touch beseechingly. "I can t—"
"Dammit! Make a guess! You can't cure me, at least tell me how long you think I have left!"
The anger was not unexpected, and Scott did not flinch from it. He leveled his gaze on Victor. "Based on the size of the tumors, your physical stamina, and the sheer force of your will, I would say you have a year."
"Is that a conservative guess?"
"No."
Victor felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He pressed his fingers to his temples briefly and drew in a deep, calming breath. "All right," he said finally. "I suppose that's that."
"I will do whatever I can for you, Victor."
"Except make me well again." It was out before he could stop it. "I'm sorry. You did not deserve that. God knows, this is not your doing." He picked at an imaginary piece of lint on the crease of his trousers. "I will require your help, Scott."
"Anything."
"First of all, no one is to know. I realize that eventually my illness cannot be hidden, but until then I do not want my son or my daughter-in-law to know."
"What about your wife?"
The ache in Victor's middle deepened. For a moment it was impossible for him to talk. "Katy is not to know. You probably think, along with most of New York, that I was an old fool to marry her, but the truth is, she was foolish to marry me. You would be hard-pressed to find a more generous... I thought I could give her... but she's given me..." He stopped, embarrassed. He cleared his throat and continued. "I've been pressuring Katy to come and see you for weeks now. Last night I finally succeeded. Now, in light of what you know about our marriage and about my health, I think it would be wise to warn you. She is going to describe her symptoms and tell you they are directly related to a fall she took several weeks ago."
"And they're not?"
"I don't think so."
"But she had a fall?"
There was no reason to go into detail about Katy's altercation at the hotel. "Oh, yes, there was a fall, but I think Katy's nausea and lightheadedness should have passed some time back."
Puzzled, Scott's brows drew together. "What are you trying to
tell me, Victor?"
"Just because you know I have never made love to my wife, do not overlook the obvious. There is a very real possibility that Katy's pregnant."
* * *
"Pregnant?" asked Katy. Color drained from her face and unconsciously one hand dropped to her abdomen. The shirred bodice of her lemon gown seemed too tight suddenly and she had trouble catching her breath. Pregnant? Her voice was barely audible when she asked Dr. Turner if he could be mistaken.
"It is very likely," he said, watching her carefully. Victor had been right about Katy's reaction. She was stunned by the news. Scott wondered how the actress could have been so naive about the changes in her body. He shook his head slowly from side to side. The mind's capacity for denial never failed to astonish him.
"But I can't have a baby," she said softly, more to herself than to her doctor. "How can I have a baby?"
"Women have been doing it for a long, long time," he told her.
Katy worried the inside of her lip with her teeth. "Oh, God. I can't imagine..."
"Victor's going to be very happy," Scott assured her, correctly divining her thoughts. That was true, though Scott himself was still trying to understand it. It did not seem to matter to Victor that he was not the child's father; he was prepared to accept fatherhood with all its rights, privileges, and responsibilities.
Of course Dr. Turner would think that, Katy realized. He did not know Victor wasn't the father, and she certainly wasn't going to share that bit of information with him, no matter how much she wanted to unburden herself. "We never talked about children," she said instead. "I have no idea whether or not..."
Scott found himself wondering about the man who had really fathered her child. Had he held out some hope of marriage? Had he walked out on her or had she sent him away? "I feel certain that Victor will be pleased," he said again, stressing it as much as he could without giving himself away. He waited, expecting her to mention abortion. Victor had said that she would not, but Scott thought that in the circumstances she would consider it an option. After all, Katy could not be certain that Victor would accept another man's child. And there was no possibility that she could make Victor believe the child was his.