by Jo Goodman
"I think we should have asked the nanny if seasickness was going to be a problem," he said, flicking the abused picture with his ring finger. He looked at Holland, who was now playing quietly with his toy soldiers on the bed. Last night one of those lead soldiers had caught Christian in the small of his back at a most inopportune moment. It had not seemed very amusing then. Now Christian found himself chuckling at the memory. He turned his attention back to Jenny. "Remind me to check the bed thoroughly tonight."
Only a hint of a smile altered her beautifully serene expression. "I'll do that," she said. "Now, tell me what you think of these pictures."
"They are amazing," he said honestly. "It's as if you've captured the essence of the actress and her character. The multiple exposures were very effective. When did you do them?"
"A few days after we first came up with the idea," she said. "Remember? At Delmonico's."
"I remember. I also remember that Logan told us later that Miss Dakota did not want any part of posing for the camera or for me."
"Yes, well, Logan was lying. He never asked Miss Dakota if she would do either." Jenny's dark brown eyes held Christian's. He looked away first. "What's more, I think you knew that."
"Actually, I did. He had his reasons."
"Perhaps if he had been honest with me I would not have gone to Katy and asked her to reconsider her position."
"I see." It was easy to understand what had transpired then. The photographs were proof of that. "I can't say that I am sorry you went around Logan. These are remarkable, Jenny. Truly remarkable. I want to paint her."
"I thought you might."
"She's willing?"
"She said she was. She is really rather shy, Christian. Your sketches will be very important to her. I don't think she will enjoy posing." Jenny sifted through the photographs. "Damn," she swore softly. "I wonder what happened to it."
Christian began looking, too, even though he did not know what he was looking for. "Happened to what?"
"Did you see one where Katy is standing with her dress held up in front of her?"
"I think I would remember that," Christian said dryly.
She went through the pictures again, then looked under the table to see if it had fallen there. Jenny stood up, glanced behind her on the chair, shook her skirts in the hope that the photograph would somehow miraculously appear. It did not. She looked suspiciously at her son, who paid absolutely no attention. His cherub face was intent on leading a force of troops over the rough terrain of a mound of pillows. There was no use asking him. "Oh, Christian," she said unhappily, "it was a superb picture. The dressing screen dropped, you see, and Katy was caught off guard. She looked so—"
* * *
—vulnerable. Logan couldn't think of any other way to describe her. He held the photograph carefully, scarcely believing that he held it at all. In the wake of finding the photograph, Logan did not remember what had sent him to the third floor studio in the first place. He sat on the narrow steps, one shoulder leaning heavily against the faded floral-patterned wallpaper, and stared at Katy's image staring back at him.
It was Jenny's work, of course. Christian rarely did photography any more. Logan's professional eye acknowledged that it was an excellent picture. The lighting was exactly right, emphasizing the smooth ivory contours of Katy's naked shoulder and the slender stem of her neck. Katy's eyes were enormous, her lips parted fractionally. A shadow deepened the cleavage between her breasts. She stood there expectantly, waiting. Logan wondered what she had been thinking in that moment, what she had been waiting for.
He could not find it in himself to be angry. After all, he had lied to Jenny. But Katy? Katy knew he did not want her anywhere near his family, and yet she had defied him. Still, he could not be angry.
She was achingly beautiful, perhaps more so in the photograph than she was in reality. The stillness surrounding her, the watchfulness of her expression, made him aware of every graceful line of her body. His finger lightly traced her arm from shoulder to wrist. Her eyes beckoned him.
Logan slowly got to his feet. He considered dropping the photograph on the stairs where he had found it, leaving it there for Jenny to discover when she returned from her trip. But someone else, a servant perhaps, might look at it as something other than what it was.
He decided to keep it.
* * *
Katy was sitting in the dining room, finishing her breakfast while reading the newspaper, when Michael walked in. She did not look up from the Chronicle. Using a variety of tactics, Katy had avoided being alone with him since the incident at her hotel. By her calculations, Michael should have left for the store an hour ago with Victor. Katy would have eaten in her room if she had known he was still in the house.
Michael served himself from the sideboard, taking a liberal helping of eggs and steak from the silver warming trays. He split a muffin, added it to his plate, and then poured himself a hot, dark cup of coffee.
Katy rose to leave as he placed his breakfast on the cherry wood table. Michael grabbed Katy's wrist.
"Let me go, Michael," she said between clenched teeth. "So help me, I will scream if you don't release me."
"Don't make idle threats, Katy dear. We both know you are not going to scream to bring the servants running. It would get back to Victor and you do not want that." His fingers uncurled slowly. He held her eyes for a moment, then he sat down and snapped a linen napkin open on his lap. "Sit down, Katy. I think we need to talk. God knows, it has not been easy to be alone with you. You've thwarted me any number of times here at the house. Outside, I have that damn detective my father hired to contend with. You cannot imagine—"
"Detective?" She sat down, holding onto the edge of the table to keep her hands still. She searched Michael's handsome face for some clue, but he was giving away nothing. He had actually nudged the newspaper away from her place and was pretending calm interest in the headline article. "What detective?" she asked.
Michael finally looked up. "You are looking quite lovely this morning," he said. "You should wear that shade of rose more often. It puts color in your cheeks." His blue eyes dropped to the bodice of her gown. Katy's dress buttoned at the front, from her waist to the hollow of her throat. He thought the fit was snugger than it had been several weeks ago and told her so. "Pregnancy becomes your figure."
"I will not sit here and permit you to bait me, Michael," she said, feeling an embarrassed flush steal over her throat and face. "I will ask Victor about the detective myself." She began to rise.
"His name is O'Shea. Liam O'Shea. Father hired him the day after you and I had our... er... our misunderstanding at the Chesterfield."
"Why would he do that?"
"Isn't it obvious? Father was suspicious of your story. He wants this O'Shea fellow to protect you, and he wants to find the man who accosted you. Quite the noble knight, my father."
"Do not belittle him," she said quietly. "He is doing what he thinks is best for me. Frankly, if it has kept you away, then I am grateful to him."
"Are you really?" he asked, raising a cynical brow. He forked some eggs and a small piece of steak. "I find that hard to believe. You could have removed me from your life—if my father had swallowed your story—yet you did not say a word about me being in your hotel suite that day. Why not, Katy? Why didn't you tell him who was with you before Logan Marshall got there?"
She wondered how Michael had found out about Logan. She certainly had not mentioned it. It was just the sort of thing he would twist to suit his own purposes. "My reasons aren't important," she said.
"I beg to differ."
"All right, Michael," she said wearily. "I had some foolish notion of not setting father and son against each other."
Michael shook his head slowly. "I think you were afraid that Father would think the worst of you, and you did not want to lose your position in this family."
"That's absurd."
"Is it? I don't think so. Did you know you were pregnant then?"
; "No. How could I? Your father and I had been married only a short time."
Michael's fair brows rose a notch. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that you and my father never... my God!... it's true, isn't it? He never had you until you were married. That's how you got him! You held out for marriage! Madam, I applaud your enterprise."
"I have heard enough."
"Sit down, Katy," he said sharply. "That's better. You will leave when I've decided you will and not a moment before. Don't call my bluff because I can make things quite uncomfortable for you. There is no detective in here." He got up and locked the door. "Now we will not be disturbed."
"What do you want, Michael?" Her eyes glittered with gold, and her fingers pressed whitely against the tabletop.
"Your question bores me," he said, returning to his place and picking up his knife. He buttered a muffin. "I have answered it often enough. I want you."
"I am your father's wife!"
"So? You are not my mother." He took a bite of muffin and studied Katy consideringly. "It brings up an interesting point, though. Your child will be my child's uncle or aunt."
"I suppose so. I had not thought about it."
"Your child will be my half brother or sister."
"Yes." There was no other answer, not without admitting that Logan was the father of her baby. As long as Victor was willing to accept her child, then he was the father. "What is your point, Michael?"
His eyes narrowed, his mouth hardened. "My point is that your child will have the right to share in part of the Donovan fortune, Katy. And I don't think I like that."
"What are you talking about, sharing the fortune? You make it sound as if Victor already has one foot in the grave. I do not want to hear that kind of talk again."
"Katy... Katy... be realistic. My father will not live forever, and he is going to want to provide for you and the baby."
She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. "Stop it, Michael. I don't want to hear any more."
Michael moved quickly. He grabbed her wrists, pulled them away from Katy's ears, and yanked her to her feet. "You damn well better listen to me," he said, shaking her. "You would be wise to do everything in your power to make certain Ria carries my child to term. No more talk about abortion with my wife." He saw Katy's shock. "Ria does not have any secrets from me. None that I cannot eventually find out."
Katy's mind wandered back to her conversation with Ria in the carriage. Perhaps their driver was not as deaf as he wanted Ria to believe.
"I am not going to let you and your baby take away what is rightfully mine," Michael continued. "I will do anything, anything to keep what belongs to me."
"What do you mean?" she asked shakily, her face pale.
He glanced at her abdomen. "Use your imagination."
"Let me go, Michael." She paused. "Please."
He dropped her hands but his arms circled her before she could back away. "I like it when you say 'please' in just that way. It's very intimate, did you know that? As if we were in bed together; as if we were making love."
"Michael... don't."
She turned her head to one side just as his lips lowered. They brushed her temple instead, and Katy closed her eyes in distaste. She pushed at Michael's chest. His breath was hot and moist against her cheek. He said her name in a low tone and she hated the sound of it on his lips; hated the way he made it seem dirty and ugly. Then she surrendered.
"Oh, Katy," he said as her mouth opened up beneath his. He kissed her deeply, tasting her lips and soft inside of her mouth with his tongue. They turned together, and Katy was backed against the table.
"Michael," she murmured. "Oh yes, please." One of his hands cupped the fullness of her breast, making the nipple rise. The other hand slid behind Katy and pressed her close. It was that hand she stabbed with the sharp tines of her fork.
Michael jumped away from her, swearing and nursing his wounded hand in the palm of the other. Droplets of blood beaded at four distinct points. "Damn you, bitch! You will be sorry you did that!"
Holding up the fork threateningly, Katy cautioned him as he stepped toward her. "I swear I will really hurt you with this if you come any closer." He hesitated. "I mean it, Michael. I'm not bluffing. I do not want you to touch me."
"You wanted me! I felt it."
"I am an actress, remember? I would not count myself much of a thespian if I could not fake passion—even for someone I despise." She skirted the table, putting it between them, and then went to the door without turning her back on Michael. "Do not ever threaten to harm my baby again. If you do, I will go to Victor. Neither of us will tolerate your threats." She opened the door behind her and backed out of the room, leaving Michael stunned and speechless. She did not realize she was still holding the fork until a servant passed her in the hallway and gave her an odd look. She handed it over. "Please tell Cook the steak was a little raw for my tastes," she said calmly.
* * *
The door to the library opened a crack, but Katy did not notice. She was standing on the ladder that was used to reach the upper volumes of Victor's extensive collection of books. Her position appeared precarious to the intruder. Only one of Katy's feet rested on a rung of the ladder; the other dangled below the hem of her pale blue day dress. She swung the foot back and forth lazily, just catching her kid slipper with her toes before it fell off. There was a large leather bound book lying open on the ladder rung at her eye level. She marked her place with one hand while the other held on loosely to the ladder.
It was clear she was not expecting visitors. She had not taken any time to dress her hair. It was plaited in a simple, girlish braid and she was chewing on one end of it, deep in thought. Unaware that she was being watched, she suddenly spit out the end, turned slightly on the ladder and began reciting lines from the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet.
Logan watched, fascinated by the lilting, youthful quality in her voice and the longing in her expression as she called out for her love. Unable to take his eyes from her or disturb her in any way, he moved quietly into the room. He was struck again by the enormity of her talent. She breathed life into the words and made him feel a mixture of despair and desire. For Juliet, he reminded himself. Not for Katy.
A movement off to the side caught Katy's attention. Startled, she lost her balance. The book landed with a solid thud, and she realized she was meant for a similar fate. She grabbed at the ladder, missed, and squeezed her eyes shut.
The impact she anticipated never happened. Logan caught her.
"I am sorry," he said, letting her slip down his body until her feet rested safely on the floor. "Katy? You can open your eyes now."
She didn't, not right away. She waited for him to release her and step back. When he did, she drew in a shaky breath, let it out slowly, then stared at him, anger tempered with relief that the intruder was not Michael. It had been a week since he had last bothered her, but Katy found herself still jumping at shadows.
Bending down, she picked up the book and held it in front of her like a shield. A moment later Logan hunkered down and picked up something as well. Katy gave the folder he carried a cursory glance before she raised her eyes to Logan's. It annoyed her further that he was not winded while her heart was still pumping like a captured bird's.
"Someone should have announced you," she said coolly. "Does Duncan know you're here?"
"If he is that formidable fellow with eyes like a dead fish, he does."
Katy refused to be amused. "Victor's at the store. He will be there the rest of the afternoon."
"I did not come to see Victor. I came to see you. I didn't know you would be rehearsing when I told Duncan I'd show myself in."
"I was not rehearsing," she said. "I was reciting. There is a difference, you know. Rehearsing is what you do when you are going to be appearing on stage. That is behind me now." Katy lowered the book fractionally, some of her anger ebbing. "I cannot imagine why you've come unless it's to cause problems between Victor and me. He will know
you've been here. Even if I was not going to tell him, the detective would."
"The detective? Oh, you mean O'Shea. So Victor hired him."
"How do you know?"
"After that business at the hotel, Victor decided he wanted someone to watch you. He knew my brother had hired someone a few years back when Jenny was in trouble, and he asked me about it. I gave him O'Shea's name."
"Then Mr. O'Shea probably won't tell Victor you've been here."
"Liam's working for your husband, not me. I may have a word with him though and convince him to keep silent. I think that's probably him in the carriage across the street."
Katy went to the window and cautiously drew back the curtain. There was indeed a closed carriage on the opposite side of the avenue. She let the curtain fall back and turned to Logan. "There is no sense in speaking to him," she said. "I will tell Victor you've been here myself. I do not like to keep things from my husband."
"As you wish."
Katy set the book down. Uncomfortable with her hands at her sides, she crossed them in front of her. It suddenly occurred to her what she was trying to do. Logan could not know about her pregnancy, she thought. It was unnecessary to try to hide anything from him, especially when Victor had only told her that morning that except for the slight fullness in her breasts, she was not showing any signs of the baby. Birth was still six months away. Katy's hands dropped slowly back to her side. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked politely. "A brandy?"
"Tea would be fine," he said, noticing the silver service on the table near the fireplace.
"All right. I will ring for a second cup and some cakes."
A few minutes later they were seated opposite one another in deep leather armchairs. Logan's folder was lying beside the silver tea tray. He had served both of them and was now watching Katy over the rim of his teacup. "Before I came here today I considered it very likely that you would have me thrown out. Yet you haven't. Why not?"