by Jo Goodman
Katy did not want to want him. Not like this. She did not want the emptiness inside her filled with something this fine, this beautiful. I should have had this with Victor, she thought, miserably aware that she responded wherever Logan touched her. Victor is the one I loved.
Darkness protected her from Logan's eyes, but not from his hands. Katy found herself holding her breath, sipping the air in tiny measures, while Logan's palms learned the shape of her body. She felt tension pulling her limbs taut as Logan's fingers dipped between her thighs.
"Logan?"
"Hmm?" He began stroking her intimately.
Katy did not answer, could not answer. Heat blossomed at the core of her, coaxed to life by Logan's insistent, implacable touch. When his mouth replaced his hand, she tried to push him away. Later her heels pressed into the bedding as she lifted to meet him, and she sucked in her lower lip to keep from crying out. He made her liquid inside, so hot she was melting. Her legs curved around him, and she felt his hands slide under her buttocks. She hovered on the edge of a precipice, frightened and uncertain, and then gave herself up completely as Logan made her come alive in his arms. Strings of tension dissolved and her skin tingled with pinpricks of heat. She said his name over and over, and when she turned her head to the side she felt a tear slide along her temple and into her hair. Until then she had not known she was weeping.
"Shh," he said, raising himself up on his elbows and sliding over Katy. He kissed her wet face. "No tears, Katy."
She nodded, afraid to look at him, afraid he could see what was in her heart. "You made me feel... it was beautiful."
"It's not over."
"It isn't?" Then he was inside her, sheathed by her body. She rested her hands on his shoulders and felt him begin to withdraw, then thrust forward again. Her smile spoke of pleasure. "No, it's not, is it?"
Logan adjusted his position. Even the smallest movement bought an agony of pleasure. She seemed to close around him, holding him hotly and tightly. He kissed her on the mouth, the neck, and shoulders and finally his lips closed over the peak of one breast. Drawing her nipple into his mouth, Logan's hips ground against hers. He felt her knees draw up on either side of him as she accepted the fullness of his entry. Her heels caressed the back of his thighs and the hollow of his buttocks. Her hands stroked his arms and shoulders. He raised his head once, only to bury it in the curve of her neck. She could feel his warm breath against her throat, and the damp kisses he placed on her skin made heat unfold in the center of their joining.
He moved hard against her, and Katy's fingers tangled in his hair, unconsciously tugging on it in a rhythm that matched his. Logan felt the familiar coil of tension as he moved deeply in her. The excitement he had nurtured in her was part of him now.
"Katy," he said.
That was all. Just her name. And Katy felt as if she had been given something precious. She felt the muscles bunch in his shoulders and neck. The entire length of him was taut and hard, and his breathing changed to the quick and shallow rhythms of his body. When release shuddered through him, Katy felt it in her. She held him tightly, liking the weight of his body flush to hers. She hid her disappointment when he finally moved away.
Logan did not move far. He turned on his side, propped his head on one elbow, and kept Katy close by placing one leg over both of hers. His fingers trailed slowly over her chest so that the back of his hand brushed one breast. "Cold?" he asked when she shivered slightly.
Katy shook her head. Her breasts were incredibly sensitive to touch. Logan's caress made her want to come out of her skin. She raised one hand and placed it over his, stilling his movements. "It is too much," she said. "Almost painful."
He nodded, withdrawing his hand. It fell in the curve of her waist and his thumb stroked her abdomen, passing back and forth across her navel. "Better?"
"If you have to touch me, then, yes, that's better." She had not meant for her words to come out quite so stilted or cool. It was just that she felt too vulnerable when Logan touched her belly or her breasts. The changes pregnancy brought to her body were obvious to her, and she feared they might be obvious to Logan as well.
"I see," he said, matching her tone. "You're done with me, is that it?" He purposely kept his hand right where it was.
"No," she said quickly. "No, I didn't mean it like that. You make it sound as if..."
"Hmm?"
"As if I was using you," she finished quietly.
"Weren't you?"
"Please, Logan, don't be horrid. I thought you understood."
Logan thought he had understood, too. In the beginning, perhaps he had, but making love to Katy altered his perspective. On reflection he saw that he had refused to take her quickly because he wanted her to know that he was the man in her bed, not Victor. Loving her thoroughly, making her want him, was his way of punishing her for marrying Victor in the first place. He had not fully realized that until now. No matter what she needed from him, he could not play the understudy to her husband. And all the while he was touching her, he knew it was the last time he would hold her. She would never come to him again. "I am sorry," he said finally, his hand dropping away. "We do better when we are not talking."
Katy sat up and searched the foot of the bed for her nightshift. She found it, but when she started to put it on, Logan stopped her. He took it from her and dropped it on the floor, then pulled the sheet over them, bringing Katy to lie along the length of him at the same time. She turned in his arras and her mouth brushed his shoulder. His skin was warm and still faintly damp. "I should be going," she said.
"There are no 'shoulds' right now," he told her. "What is it you want to do?"
"Stay here, with you, just like this."
"Then that's what we'll do."
"But—"
He placed his finger across her lips, silencing her. "There is enough time for shoulds in the morning." Logan felt the outline of her sleepy smile against his skin. "Tired?"
"Mmm."
Logan's fingers whispered through Katy's hair. "Get some rest, Katy. I am not going anywhere."
He was as good as his word. Long after Katy's even breathing signaled sleep, Logan remained awake, holding her, adjusting his position when she turned in her sleep. His hand strayed to her abdomen, and he palmed the unfamiliar tautness of her belly, knowing the cause and haunted by it. He often wished he had had enough willpower not to look at Scott Turner's patient records. Knowing Katy was pregnant with Victor's child aroused a myriad of conflicting emotions. "It should have been my child," he said softly to himself. "Then there would be no question of giving you up."
In the darkness, Katy stared straight ahead.
* * *
"You'll be all right?" Logan asked as Katy sat back in the hansom cab he had summoned for her. She fussed with the stiff folds of her mourning gown trying to smooth the material over her lap. It did not command any special intuition on Logan's part to know that she was nervous.
"I will be fine," she said shortly.
Logan leaned into the cab a little more. "You don't have to go back to Victor's home if you don't want to, Katy. I am certain some other arrangements can be made."
Katy had a fairly good idea of what those arrangements were, and she was not having any. "Of course I am going back. Don't forget, it's my home, too. I cannot keep avoiding the place just because it reminds me of Victor at every turn."
She had her back up this morning, Logan thought, and he recognized his powerlessness to make things any different. "Already hating yourself for last night?" he asked.
She refused to look at him. "You predicted it."
"You could have proved me wrong," he said, trying to raise a smile.
"Would you please let me go now? You are holding up the driver. He may have other fares this morning."
"For God's sake, Katy, it's just barely daylight. Don't worry about the driver and his damn fares." His sharp tone brought a quick, surprised glance from her. "We did not do anything wrong last night. You have no
thing to be ashamed of."
"Lower your voice," she said stiffly. "Do you want all of Fifth Avenue to know what happened?"
"I wouldn't care."
"Well, I would. You should have never put that whiskey in my tea."
Logan's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Are you trying to tell me that everything you did last was because of a dram of alcohol in your tea? You're embarrassed, so it's my fault now? One of us needs to accept some responsibility here, madam, and it is not I. I was perfectly satisfied with last night's outcome and if you are honest, so were you."
Katy retied the ribbons of her bonnet, trying to block out what Logan was saying. "Stop it," she said. "I don't want to listen to this." The gentle, husky sound of her own voice was a roar in her ears. She could hear herself saying Logan's name over and over as he made her respond to him. It should have been Victor's name on her lips. "Tell the driver I want to leave now. And give him Jane's address in the Bowery. I'll find another cab there to take me home."
"You are not going to the Bowery. It's not safe."
"I am not going home from here either. The newspapers would have that story by afternoon. The Chronicle included. As soon as the driver stops this cab in front of the house, he will know who I am. I am not going to shame Victor's memory that way." She turned to him then, her face pale and her brown-and-gold eyes anxious. "Tell him, Logan."
He hesitated a moment, studying her resolve. Tapping the side of the carriage, Logan got the driver's attention and gave him a location in the Bowery. "Good-bye, Katy."
She nodded faintly. When she spoke, she could only mouth the words. "Good-bye, Logan."
He shut the door, tapped the side of the carriage again, and stepped back onto the sidewalk. He stood there alone, stoic and still, long after Katy's cab had vanished from sight.
* * *
Katy gave her bonnet, gloves, and cloak to Duncan who met her in the foyer. His expression was nothing so much as indifferent. If he had an opinion regarding her early morning arrival after an all night absence, he managed to conceal it from her. Katy had one foot on the first step of the grand staircase when he called to her.
"Mr. Donovan's waiting for you in the library, ma'am," Duncan said. "He was most insistent that you join him the moment you returned."
"Was he?" Katy asked coolly. "I'm certain he did not mean I should forego the niceties of dressing for the occasion. Tell him I will join him when I am quite refreshed." Without giving Duncan an opportunity to assert Michael's wishes again, Katy ascended the stairs and went to her room.
The bath drawn for her was hot and soothing, but Katy could not relax. There was a dull, almost pleasurable ache in the lower part of her body that made it impossible for her to forget what she had done with Logan. It was too easy for her to imagine Logan inside of her again, moving against her, making her aware of how she wanted to be pleasured.
"Forgive me, Victor," she said, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them. "It should have been you."
Katy stayed in the tub until the water turned cool, then she scrubbed herself pink. There were marks on her body, tiny bruises made by Logan's mouth that no amount of washing could erase.
She could not look in the mirror when she toweled herself dry.
Her choice of clothes for the interview with Michael was necessarily limited to a mourning gown. She had only one other, and she laid it out on the bed before she arranged her hair, drawing it away from her face so that it fell in a cascade of curls down her back. Because Logan's branding kisses made it impossible for her to summon a maid to help, Katy's nerveless fingers fumbled over the task of dressing longer than was her desire. The gown she wore was black taffeta with long, tight sleeves, dozens of jet buttons, a high collar, and a short train falling from the bustle. She pinned a cameo, a gift from Victor, at the base of her throat, and fastened small onyx earrings to her lobes.
Schooling her features, Katy studied her reflection critically and could find no trace of the adulteress she believed she was. Satisfied that she would not betray herself, Katy prepared to meet Michael.
He was poking at the cold hearth when Katy walked into the library. There was a tumbler on the mantel with a little bourbon still in it. When Michael heard her enter, he replaced the poker and picked up the tumbler, finishing off the bourbon in one long swallow.
"Perhaps I should return when you are sober," Katy said, her hand remaining on the door handle. "It is a bit early in the day to be drinking."
Michael raised his empty glass in a mock salute. "It was very, very late when I started. Hours after Father's will was read. Hours after you were supposed to be here."
"As I said, perhaps this should wait until you are sober. You are slurring your words, and you don't even know it." Turning the handle, Katy opened the door a crack, prepared to leave. She jumped back, stifling a small scream as Michael pitched his tumbler at the door. The force of his throw caused the door to click shut, and he crossed the room, blocking Katy's exit. The tumbler lay at his feet, unbroken. He picked it up and held it out to her.
"Another bourbon," he said. "Do not tempt the fates by arguing with me, Katy. Just do as I say."
Katy took the glass from him, aware that her hand was shaking and that Michael saw it also. She was frightened and knew she had good reason to be. She had seen Michael angry before, and she had seen him drunk. Either condition could be formidable. The combination made him unpredictably volatile. She filled the tumbler with two fingers of bourbon and set it on a table.
"Bring it here," he commanded.
Katy moved to the opposite side of the room and stood in front of the fireplace. "Get it yourself."
Behind him, Michael's fingers fumbled with the lock. It would be enough to deter Katy's exit until he could stop her himself. He went to the liquor cabinet and picked up his drink. "I think you would be more comfortable if you had a seat."
"I don't want to sit down."
"Very well," he said equably. "But I will." He chose one of the oversized leather armchairs near the fireplace, turning it so that it faced Katy. He was close enough so that when he stretched out his legs, his heels rested on the marble apron. Had he wanted to, his toes could have nudged the hem of her gown. Raising his face, he stared at Katy thoughtfully. "Black becomes you, Katy. I would not have thought you could look so lovely in mourning, but you do. That bodes well for me, I think, since you will be wearing that color for at least a year."
"Why do you want me here, Michael?" She hated the way his pale blue eyes traveled over her. Even the slack set of his mouth was a cold, calculating leer.
"Straight to the heart of the matter, eh?" He raised his glass to his lips and sipped from it gingerly. "You should have come in when you first returned, if you were so anxious. Where did you go last evening?"
"You remember Jane? My dresser at the theatre? I took a cab from the cemetery to her home in the Bowery. I simply could not face coming back here and listening to the will reading. Perhaps I should have told someone, but I didn't know that's what I was going to do until it was done. I am sorry if you and Ria were worried."
Michael listened to her story without comment and merely grunted at her apology. "And I am sorry I did not keep that detective on," he said finally.
"You don't believe me?" she asked.
"It doesn't matter, since it won't happen again. In the future you will answer to me. I'll want to know where you are going and what you are doing."
"Don't be absurd, Michael. I do not have to answer to you. And I won't."
"As my mistress, you will."
Katy shook her head. "How often do you have to hear me say no before you understand that I mean it? I will leave this house before I will allow you to touch me."
"Just so," he said smugly.
She was taken back by his smile. Her eyebrows lifted in a question. "What do you mean?"
Michael set his glass aside. "In point of fact, if you don't want to be my mistress, then you will not only have to leave this h
ouse, you will have to leave the city as well. Aren't you just the least curious about my father's will, Katy?"
She was perfectly bewildered. "What does one have to do with the other?"
"He left you and your child half of everything," he said calmly, examining his nails.
"Half? But that's—"
"Absurd. Patently absurd. And that's what I am going to prove." He looked up at her now, his eyes darkening with anger. "My father made out his new will soon after he found out he had cancer. I have spoken with his lawyer. Mr. Lockwood freely admits that my father was greatly troubled at the time of the rewriting. Of sound mind? I do not think so. Victor Donovan was not thinking clearly when he had Lockwood draw up the new papers, and if there was the slightest doubt, my father's suicide ended it."
For a moment Katy could not speak. "Suicide? What are you talking about? Victor's death was an accident. You were there. You saw it the same as I."
Michael cocked his head to one side and raised a cynical brow. "I saw my father deliberately step in the path of a speeding coach."
"That is not what happened," she said. Her hands fisted at her sides. "You cannot want to make people think Victor killed himself!"
"Can't I?" he asked. "I have had a long time to think about it, Katy. Most of the night, in fact. Shall I tell you what I've come up with?" He did not expect an answer to his question. "I plan to contest Father's will. I think I will find it very easy to prove he was so despondent that he cannot be held accountable for the terms of the will. I feel certain Lockwood will come around to my way of thinking, and Dr. Turner can be brought in to verify my father's illness. There were plenty of witnesses who saw my father trampled by the horses. How many do you suppose saw what I saw?"
"How many are you going to pay?"
"I don't think I will have to do that, but it's an alternative worth considering." He stood up and advanced on Katy, pinning her where she stood with the force of his gaze. "I am not letting you take what is rightfully mine. You are not entitled to a penny from my father's estate."