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

by Jo Goodman

  "I wish I had. It would have been a more entertaining evening. Actually I was at the club. I had an argument with Samuel Dodson over some real estate. You cannot imagine what he wants for that lot on East Fortieth."

  Katy's welcoming smile faltered. "Do you never stop working? You're going to run yourself into the ground. Please tell me you are not really thinking of opening another store."

  Her concern warmed Victor. "I haven't decided. Donovan's has done well for a long time, but I think there's a need to expand as the city grows. A few stores in accessible locations would give Donovan's a boost into the next century."

  "That's thirty years away."

  "I like to think ahead. I'll be ninety then, and I will need something to amuse me. Women won't be interested."

  She laughed, put down her handkerchief, and swiveled on the stool to face Victor. "You rogue. You will be just as attractive to women in thirty years as you are now. And you know it, so stop fishing for compliments."

  Victor's cheeks took on a ruddy hue and his light blue eyes sparkled. "You're good for me, Katy Dakota." He stood, crossed the room to her wardrobe, and began going through her clothes. "And since you are so good for me, the least I can do is feed you. I've been thinking about it all evening. You haven't had supper yet, have you?"

  "You know I can't eat before a performance."

  "Are you hungry?"

  A short time ago the mere thought of food would have sent her running to the washbasin. Now she realized she was famished. "Very. What do you have in mind?" Please don't say Georgia's, she thought.

  "Delmonico's."

  "I would love it."

  Victor held up a red silk and satin gown for her approval.

  She hesitated, looking the gown over. The neckline was off the shoulder, dipping low in the front. It was perfectly modest, very much in fashion for evening wear, yet Katy was not entirely comfortable in the creation. Silk ribbons trimmed the bodice and the red lace shawl and overskirt. It came from Donovan's couturiers, a gift from Victor. Please, he had said, you'll do me such a favor by accepting it. "I don't know, Victor. It's a beautiful gown, but it's so... so—"

  "Red?"

  She nodded. "I would rather just wear it for you... when we're alone." Though he tried to hide it, Katy saw his disappointment, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. "It's all right. Of course I'll wear it." After tonight there would be a dozen orders for copies of the gown at the department store. This was the first occasion she minded being a living, breathing mannequin for V.I. Donovan's. She did not think it was Victor's intention to use her that way, so she didn't accuse him. Had it been Michael, she would not have hesitated. "Find my white kid gloves, will you? I think they're in that drawer over there. Oh, and the silk and ivory fan, too. It won't take me long to do my hair. I suppose I shouldn't have let Jane go."

  "I'm certain you will do fine." Victor came up behind Katy and touched the back of her neck, fingering the soft tendrils of hair that had escaped the pins. "My Annie had hair like this," he said. "Thick as thatch but each strand as fine as silk. She complained that it wouldn't take to styling. Her maid rolled it in rags, heated it with irons, crimped it. Nothing held." His hand dropped away, and he laughed self-consciously. "God, but Annie had beautiful hair." He took a step backward, avoiding Katy's eyes in the mirror. "I'll wait for you in the hall."

  "You don't have to."

  "No, it's better if I do."

  Katy watched him go. Her heart felt heavy with a strange sensation of foreboding. Victor's touch had been—there was no other word for it—sensual. He had been talking about his wife, dead longer than Katy had been alive, and touching her as he might have touched Annie. Katy worried her lower lip between her teeth and brushed out her hair with hard, punishing strokes. Please, she thought, closing her eyes. Please God, do not let it be like that with Victor.

  By the time she and Victor walked into Delmonico's, Katy had pushed all her troubling thoughts to the background of her mind. He had been attentive during the cab ride over, amusing, pleasant, and above all, avuncular. Katy's mood was relaxed, although a trifle reserved, as she let Victor escort her into the restaurant. Delmonico's was crowded, but even without a reservation, Victor was able to ask for, and get, his usual table. In a bastion of wealth and notoriety such as Delmonico's, there were the elite and then there were the sacred. Heads turned as they were led to their table. Katy assumed it was because of Victor. Victor knew better.

  Jenny nudged her husband with her elbow and gestured discreetly toward the couple wending their way through the maze of tables. "There's Victor Donovan," she said. "And isn't that Miss Dakota with him?"

  Christian glanced up briefly and then went back to his prime rib. "Yes, that's she."

  "She's so young."

  "Only a few years younger than you. Twenty-two or three, I'd say." And Victor Donovan was sixty if he was a day. The actress and the store magnate made an odd combination. Looking around Delmonico's, Christian realized he was not alone in his thinking.

  "On stage she looks older, don't you think? Perhaps it's all the paint the actors use."

  "That could account for it."

  "I thought so."

  "Make an effort not to stare, Jenny. One would think I don't let you out of the house often."

  "You don't," she said. "You rarely let me out of the bedroom."

  Christian sputtered, almost choking on his food. He shot his wife a menacing glance, put down his fork and knife, and drank some ice water.

  "Are you all right?" she asked solicitously.

  "No thanks to you. You do pick your moments, Jenny. Be warned, you can expect retaliation once we're alone."

  "Oh, good."

  One of Christian's hands crept beneath the table and found Jenny's knee. Her gown proved to be more like a suit of armor, but his caressing fingers made their point nonetheless.

  Jenny's eyes widened, though she managed to smile at Mrs. Abbot when that worthy matron looked in her direction. "Christian!" she admonished softly, trying to maintain her composure as his caress became more intimate. "I thought you'd wait until we're alone."

  "I lied." He grinned as a blush stole across Jenny's cheeks. "You are going to give me away if you keep blushing, dearest." When Jenny's flush deepened, Christian took pity on her. He slowly brought his hand back to the tabletop and wrapped it around his glass of ice water. "Here, drink this. You look as if you could use a bit of cooling off." He held the glass to her lips and let her sip. "Better?" She nodded. "Good. You know it's hard to believe that we have a son at home. When you look at me that way I would swear no one's ever touched you. How you can still appear the blushing innocent is beyond me."

  Jenny pushed away the glass. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said primly, refusing to look at him. Her eye caught a movement at the door. She looked up and saw Logan standing on the threshold. He saw her almost immediately, and waving off an escort, joined Jenny and Christian at their table.

  "I'm sorry I'm so late," he said, taking his seat. He unbuttoned his black jacket and straightened his gray silk waistcoat. Without asking, he helped himself to his brother's Madeira. "I met someone, shared a drink with him at Georgia's, and forgot the time." He looked over their plates as he unfolded a linen napkin on his lap. "Recommend anything?"

  Victor noticed the instantaneous change in Katy's demeanor, although he did not know what prompted it. "What is it?" he asked, leaning across the table and taking her hand. "Katy? You're pale. Are you feeling ill?"

  She couldn't answer for a moment, but she tried to relieve him with a wan smile. "I'm fine," she assured him. "Really I am. It was just a little chill. So many people in and out of here, bringing in the night air with them."

  "Perhaps I should ask for something more private than this table. Something less out in the open. Would that help?"

  "No, please don't bother." The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. Logan's back was to her. With a little luck, she and Victor c
ould finish their meal and leave—all without being noticed by Logan. "Do not look now, Victor, but could you tell me who that couple is just beyond your left shoulder? I think I've seen them at the theatre before."

  A moment later Victor casually turned in his chair. A glimpse was enough. "I could make introductions if you like," he said. "I've known the Marshalls for years."

  So it was Logan's brother and sister-in-law. She should have known just by the look of the brother. He and Logan were cut from the same cloth; the resemblance was striking. "Introductions aren't necessary. I was just curious. Mrs. Marshall was looking this way a while ago. I'm certain she was asking her husband about me." She laughed lightly. "Probably wondering how she could get a gown like mine." Katy took a bite of her stuffed crepes. "How is it that you know the Marshalls?"

  "I knew their father first," explained Victor. "You can see for yourself that the boys are more of an age with my son and daughter-in-law. Christian—he's the one sitting beside his wife—is Michael's age. Logan—with his back to you—is just a year or so older than Ria. Sorry. I suppose I am showing my age now, talking about them like that. Sometimes it's hard for me to accept how far they've come on their own... I wish Michael..." His voice trailed off and with it the dreams he had for his son. He shook off the mood quickly and went on, "They own and publish the New York Chronicle."

  "Yes," she said, as if in revelation. "I thought I'd heard the name before."

  "Christian turned most of the responsibility for the paper over to Logan several years ago."

  "Christian's an artist, isn't he? Like you," she added graciously.

  "Thank you for that comparison." He realized he was still holding her hand and withdrew it now. "No, my dear, nothing like me. I'm a dabbler, and as you well know, I cannot do justice to a beautiful subject such as you. Christian, on the other hand, is an exceptional talent. It is quite an honor to be singled out as the subject of one of his paintings." Victor regarded Katy's fine-boned features thoughtfully. "You know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if after seeing you here tonight, he decided to—"

  "Paint her," Jenny said, stabbing a cherry tomato on Christian's plate and bringing it to her lips.

  "Who?" asked Christian.

  She plopped the tomato in her mouth and waved her fork in Katy's general direction. "Miss Dakota, of course. You should paint her. Her face is really quite striking. And her hands are lovely. I noticed them on stage this evening. She uses them very well. Her gestures aren't overdone or expansive, but she manages to convey feeling with them just the same. I thought it was amazing then. I still think so. Logan, why ever are you looking at me that way? Do I have spinach between my teeth?"

  "No, Jenny," said Logan. "No spinach. Tell me, are you speaking of Miss Dakota's face from memory, or is she here now?"

  "Behind you," said Christian. "She came in on Victor Donovan's arm shortly before you arrived. Did you miss her backstage?"

  "I never said that's who I wanted to see, did I? You both assumed that."

  "Were we wrong?" Christian asked.

  "Can't a man have his secrets?"

  "Of course you can," said Jenny. "Don't badger him, Christian. And think about painting her, will you?"

  "We're leaving for Paris in a week, or had you forgotten?"

  "No, I hadn't forgotten. But if you think you're interested, send Logan round to take a few photographs of her. You could work from the stills on the voyage. It would give you something to do while I'm occupied with Holland."

  "Holland's nanny will be occupied with Holland. At least she'd better be. As for me, I've given a great deal of thought as to how I want to occupy my time on the voyage."

  Logan shook his head, leaned forward, poked his fork at each of them in turn, and whispered, "Try not to leer at your wife, Christian. And, Jenny, if you wouldn't look so patently pleased at the idea of four weeks of complete ravishment on the high seas, people wouldn't be staring at us right now. A little decorum, please." That said, Logan went back to his dinner. "Your idea's not a bad one, Jenny, about photographing Miss Dakota. Perhaps a series of pictures while she puts on her greasepaint and becomes her character. That could be interesting."

  "I like it," said Jenny.

  Christian agreed with his wife. He looked past Logan to where Katy Dakota was sitting. Jenny was right. The actress was striking, and Christian felt strongly that he could paint her vibrant, exotic features. "If you get some good shots, I'd like to see them. I could work up some sketches on our trip." He glanced sideways at Jenny. "Stop gloating. I have no trouble admitting when you're right, so there's no need to look so satisfied."

  Jenny simply pretended Christian hadn't spoken. "Are you going to ask her before she leaves, Logan?"

  He shook his head. "No. I'd rather wait. I can catch her some evening at Wallack's."

  "After a performance? I don't think so. She's probably exhausted then. I doubt she'd be very receptive. Why don't you go to her hotel suite some afternoon? The Chronicle article said she has a suite of rooms at the Chesterfield."

  "You're a fount of information," Christian said dryly. "You don't happen to know the room number, do you?"

  "Really, Christian, she would never have any peace. Do you think the Chronicle gives out that sort of information?"

  "I was beginning to wonder."

  "I'm sure that Logan can inquire at the hotel."

  Logan's lip curled derisively. "Perhaps I'll just ask Victor Donovan. I'm certain he knows."

  "Careful, brother. You don't want Jenny and me to think you have a real interest in Miss Dakota, do you? There are your secrets to consider."

  Across the room Katy set down her fork. It was useless to continue the pretense of eating. Ever since Logan had entered the restaurant the joy had gone out of her evening. The weariness she had experienced earlier returned with a vengeance. Another night she would have enjoyed being seen with Victor, even in the red gown. Logan's presence made her feel tawdry in her finery, like the charlatan he thought she was. It was an ugly feeling and before long she began to feel ugly. "I'd like to leave, Victor. Would you mind terribly, taking me to the hotel?"

  "I don't mind at all, but what is it? Should I send a doctor?"

  "Oh, no. I am a trifle tired, that's all. It came on suddenly. I do not think I have not truly had a moment to myself since Manners opened. This success is just as tiring as rehearsals. There has been no time to rest on my laurels."

  Victor was immediately apologetic. "I shouldn't have pressed you into coming here this evening." He motioned to a waiter that they were leaving, and then he helped Katy to her feet. Her red dress was brilliant against his dark evening clothes.

  Logan turned in his chair when he saw Jenny's attention drift to another part of the dining room. Katy fairly shimmered as she glided between the tables, her head high, regal as a queen. Logan stared hard, willing her to look just once in his direction. Just once, he thought, and she would be reminded of the past; she would remember the cruel trick she had played him. Logan intended that she should be reminded at every turn.

  "Scarlet," he said, under his breath. "The only color more appropriate would be jade."

  "What's that?" Jenny asked.

  "Nothing. I was just thinking aloud."

  But Christian had heard and his glance darted between his brother and Katy before it finally rested on Logan. There was anger in Logan's eyes, cold, terrible fury, and there was no doubt as to the target of it. Christian actually toyed with the idea of changing his traveling plans, then thought better of it. It had been a long time since he thought of Logan as his little brother, in need of help or protection. Nothing good would come of thinking that way now. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked.

  Logan's gaze shifted from Katy to Christian. Clearly his brother had caught his mood. "No, but I know what I'm going to do."

  Chapter 4

  The Chesterfield Hotel, frequently referred to as the Palace because of its white marble facade, was one of the finest boar
ding hotels in the city. Located near the Rialto, as the theatre district was known, it was especially popular with actors and actresses who had reached celebrity status with the public. The Palace would not have been particularly welcoming to bit players, the itinerant crowd, or chorines even if they could have afforded the rent. It was a respectable hotel where a man could keep his mistress in luxury and never concern himself with scandal. The Chesterfield's employees were very much aware of the men who lined their pockets and they practiced discretion above all else.

  In spite of a plethora of actors and mistresses, the Chesterfield was first and foremost a place for families. The growing middle class, excluded by exorbitant real estate prices from private ownership in Manhattan, had found boarding hotels to be a satisfactory answer. The suites were generally spacious, attractively furnished, and the atmosphere, even in the enormous second floor dining room and the lobby reading room, was one of closeness, of family.

  Katy's rooms were on the eighth floor. They were alternately known as the Blue Suite by the predominance of French blue, marine blue, cobalt and cerulean blue, cadet blue, midnight blue, periwinkle, and lapis lazuli. There were warm blues and cold blues, textured, shiny, and smooth blues, and they were offset perfectly by dark walnut wainscoting and cream-colored walls. The drapes were velvet, the seat covers satin brocade, and the fringed canopy above Katy's bed was silk.

  Katy flicked at the surface of her bath water with her forefinger. Bubbles scattered. She reached over the side of the claw-footed tub, found the jar of bathing powder, and added a generous amount. Summing up enough energy to swish her hand back and forth, Katy made a thick mound of airy bubbles appear. The tops of her knees disappeared as well as the curves of her breasts. She dropped the jar on the floor, didn't even care that it tipped and spilled, and slipped a little lower in the water. The back of her neck rested against a folded towel on the tub's rim. Katy closed her eyes and a weary smile touched her lips. Wisps of hair that had fallen free of her pins lay damply against her cheeks and forehead. One tickled her throat and she let it be.