'Carol again!' he exploded, gripping her shoulders in bruising hands. 'Do you think it mattered that she had poise and sophistication? That she knew which fork to use or which words to mouth? Things like that don't mean anything. It's what she was that counted. And she wasn't half the woman you are. Forget her!'
'Do you think I haven't tried? I look around this house, at all the things that fill it, and know I don't belong. Not the way Carol did.'
'Have I ever asked you to be something you're not?'
'Yes. You want me to dress in costly clothes and sit at your table as if I belong.'
Her head dipped forward in defeat, but he put his hand under her chin and roughly forced her to look at him. 'You do belong! I'm going to tell you this only once and I don't ever want you to forget it. I have money, a lot of it, but it doesn't make me different from any other man. I use it and I enjoy the things it can do—but you see, money doesn't have me.'
Kathryn frowned at him.
'You don't see it, do you? That's the difference between Paul and me. He's like my mother was— and Carol too. No matter how much he has, it isn't enough.' His hand made a wide sweeping arc. 'My father built this house for my mother according to her specifications. He furnished it with the things that were important to her. It took him a long time to realise that it still wasn't enough.
'This is a long way from the one-room hovel my father had in the Yukon, but he was happy there as he was never happy here. Some winters he was snowed in for months at a time and didn't see a soul. But the Indians taught him how to survive and he relished his solitude. He had no family and had lived alone for years.
'Then he met my mother and wanted to marry her, but she wouldn't have him because he had no money.' The bitterness in his eyes stung her. 'He was a logger. That's all he wanted to be, but she drove him, and money became his god too. He could never get enough for her, there always had to be more. She married him, finally, but I don't think they were ever really happy. She wanted more than he could give. When Paul and I were born he thought he would have some measure of contentment—but no, there still wasn't enough money. She drove him to forsake his integrity, to become blind to everything he believed in, all because money had her. Paul's that way. Carol was too. I am not. Can you see that?'
Kathryn looked at him. 'I know you've always worked for what you wanted,' she said slowly, haltingly.
'You're my wife, Kathryn. I work hard every day to provide for you and Jon. It's my salary we live on and it's never been handed to me. I'm not just handing it to you either. As my wife you're entitled to everything I work for.'
'But Paul? He said he was entitled to some money your father left.'
Logan turned away from her and stepped to the window where a blind black emptiness met him. 'Paul has an inheritance I won't let him touch only because he'd squander it all inside a year. He makes a great deal of money on his concerts. He could make more if he worked at it, but even that's not enough. Last year he came up with the idea that Jon is the key to unlimited wealth. If something happened to me, he thought he'd get custody of Jon and complete control of the Ramsey fortune. He started laying the groundwork, trying to ingratiate himself to Jon. Then all of a sudden he came up with this brainstorm that since he knew Carol before we were married, he just might be Jon's father. He's a very impatient man. He'll try anything to get Jon away from me just so he can have money.'
Her face whitened. 'This afternoon Paul told me he had an affair with Carol before you married her. He said Jon was the result of it. He was very convincing.'
Logan's whole body tensed. 'He had no right to say such a thing!'
'Is it true?' she whispered.
He stood absolutely still for a long screaming moment before he slowly turned from the window and stared at her. His jaw was jutting granite. 'What do you think?'
Kathryn didn't want to believe it had been Logan with Carol. She swallowed. 'Paul—Paul asked me to help him take Jon away from you.'
His face turned a sickly grey. His hands clenched at his sides. 'Can you imagine the kind of life Jon will have if you do? Paul doesn't want the boy; he wants the money he represents. Can't you see that? Carol was my wife. I married her, not Paul. Jon is my son.'
'But is he really yours? Were you Carol's— lover—before you married her?' she whispered, holding her breath, waiting.
Logan straightened his shoulders and braced himself. He looked as if he was struggling before coming to a painful decision, then with faint blue lines etched at the sides of his mouth he looked straight into her eyes and spoke with shuddering reluctance. 'Yes. Carol and I—' He breathed deeply. 'You know how beautiful she was. Can you blame me?'
Her eyes closed and she waited as the familiar stab of pain rushed through her. Then all her breath left her in a rush. 'No, I don't blame you, Logan.'
His mouth twisted as he walked to the closet. His face was bitter, but he was once again completely in control. His voice was firm and implacable and cold. 'There's no way Paul can take Jon away from me short of kidnapping him. If you try to help him, you'll only end up getting hurt too. I swear I'll find him if I have to take apart the whole world brick by brick. Jon is mine. There's nothing you can do to change that.'
He ripped a dusty rose silk dress off a hanger and threw it carelessly in her direction. 'Wear this tonight,' he ordered without looking at her. 'It's Paul's favourite colour. You've got five minutes to get dressed and come downstairs. I'll wait outside the door.' Without giving her a chance to say a word, he left with a firm unhurried step and closed the door behind him much too quietly.
The dress was floor-length, draping loosely at the shoulders and softly gathered at the waist. Its colour was perfect for her, but for all the notice Logan took of her appearance when she left her room, she could just as well have been wearing her old jeans and T-shirt.
He took her elbow indifferently and kept his gaze straight ahead as they started down the stairs together. But halfway down Kathryn stopped and tilted her head, listening intently. A soft melancholy sound floated up to them, and it only took her a moment to realise it was Paul playing the piano. The music became louder, flowing in a great golden tide, and she was caught in its spell as the chords rose and swelled about them. Her heart began to beat in thick heavy strokes as something in the mournful melody touched an answering echo deep within her.
She wanted to turn to Logan and pour out an apology or an explanation—anything to end this mistrust between them, but one look at his profile twisted with cynical bitterness choked the words off in her throat.
He increased the pressure on her elbow, urging her down the stairs. 'Paul's exceptionally good tonight. Maybe he's using you as his latest inspiration,' he said in a sneering tone that grated.
There was nothing between her and Paul, but she didn't know how to convince him. 'Maybe he's just glad to be home,' she whispered.
'Home!' Logan pushed open the door that had been left slightly ajar. 'This is nothing but a big empty house. I doubt it'll ever be a home.'
Seated at the piano wearing a wine-red dinner jacket with a large froth of white lace at his shirt front and wrists, Paul was engrossed in his music and didn't see them come into the room. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed as his fingers travelled over the keys with unerring swiftness. The music continued to flow in a mournful melody, and then suddenly it became stronger, wilder, with a tempestuous crashing discord. Paul opened his eyes and stood up abruptly in the sudden silence, pinning both of them with a slashing glance.
'Just look at this room!' he said in a shrill voice. 'Look at it!'
Kathryn tore her eyes away from him and made a quick sweep up and down the length of the huge room. A monstrous crystal chandelier was suspended from the centre of the ceiling and its brilliant prismatic light sparkled all the way to the ebony grand piano at the far end. There were open French doors that led to a patio now shrouded in darkness. Scattered antique tables and pale grey Queen Anne furniture flanked a large black
marble fireplace, and on the floor was a wide Oriental rug with the predominant colours of muted oyster and green and blue. The walls were richly panelled in some light wood she couldn't name.
'What's wrong with it?' she whispered.
Logan allowed a slight smile to cross his face before he turned to her. 'Paul doesn't care for the changes we made. But I'd say it's quite an improvement.'
Paul threw them a look of undisguised loathing. 'Emma told me the Ming was broken! All the sculpture, the urns, the vases, the miniatures—everything that was here—is put away in boxes. Boxes! How could you? It's—it's a sacrilege!' he spluttered, sweeping his arms wide. 'This room was made for those things. You've even taken the Renoir off the wall!'
'It was time for a change,' Logan said quietly, keeping his voice calm. 'But if it bothers you so much, you're free to take all those things and leave. Find another place to house them. Nothing's stopping you.'
'You'd like me to go, wouldn't you?'
'Whether you go or stay doesn't matter,' Logan drawled before turning away.
'You don't fool me with your indifference, old boy,' sneered Paul in a goading voice. 'You know when I go I'm taking the boy with me.'
Logan stiffened, but his voice was deadly calm. 'The things in this house can go with you. The people stay.'
Paul flicked a glance at Kathryn, then looked back to his brother. 'What about your wife? Is she as obsessed with the boy as you are?'
'I can't speak for my wife—and I'll trust you to remember she is my wife—but Jon is my son. They both belong to me.'
'Well, well, well!' Paul smiled maliciously, and stepped away from the piano to a low cabinet where an array of bottles and glasses stood ready. He poured a measure of whisky for himself and took a long swallow before pouring a glass for Logan. 'Sherry?' he asked Kathryn.
She nodded because she thought it was expected of her.
'You're not so different from me after all, old boy,' he said as he slowly walked toward them, handing Logan the whisky and Kathryn a delicate crystal wine glass. 'I enjoy possessing things. With you, it's people.'
If he noticed the brief unreadable flicker crossing Logan's face, he didn't say anything. He was too busy enjoying his open mockery and his brother's inability to dispute what he said. Settling himself in an elegant wing chair, he crossed his legs delicately, waiting until Jon came to tell them Emma had dinner ready.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Indigestion had been the one thing Kathryn remembered most about Jon's birthday, and it was something she was becoming more familiar with as the week wore on. Paul had mentioned that his valet would be arriving the next day. What he didn't say was that he also expected his agent, his manager, hairdresser, personal assistant and secretary.
It was up to Kathryn to settle them in, but she didn't quite carry it off with aplomb. The house was big enough to accommodate all these men, but she was thoroughly intimidated when they all arrived at the same time and without even waiting to be introduced, began demanding, in the stentorian tones of Shakespearean actors, certain rooms and special diets as well as the deferential treatment befitting their artistic temperaments. Paul assured them his sister-in-law would see to everything since she was now the lady of the house, and with a pompous swagger, left her standing distractedly in the hall surrounded by tons of luggage.
Logan's lip curled as he watched them trail after Paul the same way Drago trailed after Jon, then he flicked a black eyebrow in her direction. 'You look surprised. Isn't this what you expected of a great concert pianist?'
Kathryn bit her lip, struggling not to let her shattered nerves get the better of her, and wondered how long they intended to stay.
'If it's any consolation to you,' his shoulders flexed in irritation, 'this time next week they might be gone.'
'With all this luggage? You mean they don't intend to stay months?'
'They're like Paul. It's all part of an image.' He watched her swallow hard and try to take it all in her stride before his voice softened with compunction. 'They're just ordinary people, Kathryn. Don't let them bother you. They work for Paul, remember? But because he's so often in the public eye, some of his notoriety has rubbed off on them. It's given them swelled heads, but they're no different from you or me.' He lifted two of the heavier suitcases and gestured for her to leave the rest. 'I've called a domestic agency and some extra help should be starting tomorrow. For tonight…' his shoulders lifted in a resigned shrug, 'we'll just have to make the best of it.'
'You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?' she asked with a trace of bewilderment. 'How can you let Paul disrupt everything like this?'
'It's only once or twice a year now. If I let him know it bothers me, he'll do it more often.' Logan's face changed then and became cold and hard. 'Besides, it's better to have him here where I can see what he's up to and wait for his next move.'
All the following week Logan didn't go to his office but watched and waited at home. No matter what Kathryn did or where she went, she felt those icy blue eyes boring into her back. He might have said he wanted to keep an eye on Paul, but he made it obvious he didn't trust her an inch either. He kept in contact with his secretary by phone, and it was only after Jon was safely in bed each night that he would disappear into his study to tackle the mountain of paperwork waiting for him.
Paul was the only other one who knew what was going on, but he merely smirked and settled in more comfortably, and refused all his manager's attempts to interest him in another tour.
As one week turned into two, Margaret began stopping by in the early afternoons. Ostensibly, she was bringing papers she couldn't deal with alone or letters needing Logan's signature, but Kathryn felt a vicious stab of jealousy as she watched her make herself more and more at home. Paul invited her to stay to dinner that first evening and he was eagerly seconded by his manager and agent. She accepted at once, blending in with the rest of his ménage with astonishing ease, and now it was a nightly habit. Nothing and no one disconcerted Margaret, and Kathryn had to envy her.
It was only when Paul drew her aside and commented on how much time Margaret spent alone with Logan in his study after dinner that Kathryn realised what was happening. Before, Logan had had his moments of kindness to her even if he wasn't exactly trustful. But now that she thought about it, those moments were becoming all too rare. Margaret was usurping her position and she was letting her get away with it.
Logan had told her the morning after they were married that he wouldn't cross her barriers until she decided to take them down. Well, if she wanted him, now was the time. She had to let him know she was willing to be his wife in every sense of the world, and it wasn't going to be easy for her. Pride wasn't the easiest thing to swallow. She was afraid of making a fool of herself. What if he had got tired of waiting and decided he didn't want her any more?
After settling Jon that night, she restlessly paced the floor in her bedroom, trying to find the right words and alternating between hope and fear. Eventually the rest of the house became silent. She heard Paul's house guests retire to their rooms and the only ones left were Logan and Margaret closeted in his study. At midnight, she heard the front door close and the sound of Margaret's car on the drive, and taking her courage in both hands, she started down the stairs at once before it deserted her.
Logan was on his way back to his study when she made a slight sound behind him and turning, he scowled at her. 'What are you doing up?'
'Logan, I—' Her eyes could only lift as far as his shirt front and she twisted her hands together and felt herself stammering nervously. 'I—I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, but I—wanted to talk to you.'
'Can't it wait? It's late and I'm tired.'
'Tired?' She looked up into his face and stiffened in ice-cold shock.
At the corner of his mouth was a bright red slash of lipstick. Her stomach churned as she stared at it. The colour seemed to glow and grow brighter, shimmering and dancing before her eyes until she tore them away with an effor
t.
'I've had one hell of a day,' Logan said distractedly, dragging his hands through his hair before resting them at the back of his neck. 'There's trouble at one of the sawmills. I should have gone there rather than trying to handle it over the phone.' His dinner jacket had been discarded and his white frilled shirt was crushed and his dark tie was untied at his throat. A middle button on his shirt had come undone, and Kathryn's vivid imagination pictured just how that had been accomplished. She could almost see Margaret's slender body pressed to Logan's powerful frame, her fingers seeking the warm wide expanse of his chest.
'That's—part of what I wanted to talk to you about,' she mumbled, looking everywhere but at him. Her fingers nervously pulled at the buttons on the front of her simple white dress.
'Now how would you know about the trouble I'm having?'
'I didn't—exactly—but,' she looked at the toes of his shoes, 'but I realise you can't neglect your business indefinitely. What I mean is—' She took a deep breath, her eyes darting nervously at the floor. Pain seemed to choke her throat. She couldn't tell him all the things she'd rehearsed. Not now. Not with his latest betrayal smeared all over his mouth. 'I just wanted you to know—you can trust, me, Logan. I wouldn't do anything to—to hurt Jon—or you.'
A black scowl deepened the rigid lines of his face. 'So, he's finally making his move,' he said in a voice almost too quiet, too controlled. 'What I don't understand is how you have the nerve to expect me to be taken in. You've decided to throw in your lot with him!' He towered in front of her, his solid body trembling with sudden rage. 'Why? What's he got that I haven't?'
Her face jerked up to his and her flashing eyes went instantly to that streak of red. 'You're wrong. There's nothing between Paul and me.'
'Do you think I'm blind? I saw the kiss you shared in the forest. God knows how many other times he's had you. And I've seen the way you look at him when you don't know I'm watching. You can't take your eyes off him!'
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