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

by Jo Goodman

  This peace was all she had wanted since finishing her performance. After the intrusion of Michael, Logan, and finally Victor, Katy felt as if she were one exposed nerve. And on lengthy reflection, which she could afford now that she was alone and safe from public eyes, it was Logan Marshall whose presence disturbed her the most. "Why shouldn't it?" she asked herself softy. "He looked furious enough to kill me."

  That thought was so unsettling that Katy found herself suddenly cold in the warm water. The smile on her face changed from weary to nervous and finally faded altogether. The more she tried not to think of the way Logan had looked right through her, the sharper his image appeared in her mind. "Damn him," she whispered, angry with him, angry with herself. "I should have—"

  She cut herself off, sitting up and turning her head to one side as a sound came from the sitting room. Alert, she waited quietly for some repetition of the sound. Nothing. Shaking her head slowly, amused by her own imagination, Katy picked up a bar of lavender soap and trailed it across her arm and shoulder. It slipped out of her hand, dropped like a stone, and water sloshed over the edge of the tub as Katy searched for it.

  "I could help you find that," Logan said matter-of-factly. He was leaning against the door to Katy's bathing room, his arms crossed casually in front of him and a smile on his lips that did not quite reach his eyes. He was still in his evening clothes, and rather than appearing overdressed, he managed to make Katy feel underdressed in her own bathtub. "The soap," he said, pointing to where her hand had stilled beneath the water. "Do you require some assistance?"

  "I certainly do," she said calmly, and then she opened her mouth to scream.

  Just like that, Logan was kneeling beside the tub, his hand over her mouth, smothering her cry to a lamb's bleat. Above his hand, her eyes were wide and frightened. Logan saw it and was not moved to loosen his grip. When she began to struggle, he pressed tightly on the back of her neck. Her hands came up to claw at him, but he averted his face, protecting it from her tapered nails. She pried at his arms. Water splashed everywhere until Logan was kneeling in a puddle and his coat was soaked. "Have a care for your modesty," he said. His warning was dry and composed. "You are losing all your bubbles."

  His laconic, caustic observation jangled that exposed nerve. Katy bit him. Hard.

  Logan swore, yanked his injured hand away, and increased the pressure of his other hand on her neck. Katy was forced forward until her face hovered just above the surface of the water. She gasped for air, certain that Logan was going to push her under. She was surprised when she heard him speaking as calmly as he had a moment before.

  "You have choices, Katy. You can settle down or you can scream all you want—under the water. You have five seconds."

  "Bastard," she gritted.

  "Two."

  "Son of a—"

  "Three."

  "I should—"

  "Four."

  "What happened to one?"

  "Five."

  Katy sputtered as her face skimmed the water. "All right! Let me up! I won't scream again."

  The words were garbled, but Logan had no trouble making them out. He eased up. "I'll hold you to that promise. Break it, and I'll put you under."

  "Six feet?"

  "What?"

  She jerked her head away from him, and this time Logan let her go. Glaring at him as he sat back on his haunches, Katy repeated herself. "Six feet under. As in dead and buried."

  "The idea has merit."

  Katy jerked in reaction to his quiet, thoughtful answer.

  She looked at him sharply, trying to assess how serious he was. He was giving nothing away. "You mean... you would actually..."

  "I haven't decided."

  So he had been considering it. Or was he still toying with her? Katy drew her knees up to her chest, conscious that all around her bubbles were evaporating. Thinking he was going to touch her, she pushed herself against one corner of the tub when Logan's fingers dipped into the water.

  With a faint, cynical smile, he said, "Your bath's getting cold. You should get out of there."

  "Go to hell."

  Logan stood, chuckling under his breath. He stripped off his wet swallow-tailed coat, tossed it at a hook on the wall near the sink, and sat on the edge of the tub. He looked supremely confident, very relaxed. It was a pose guaranteed to raise Katy's ire and Logan was well aware of it. "Swear at me one more time," he said, "and I'll find that soap. You know where I'll use it."

  Katy believed him. "Get out of here."

  "In a minute." He looked around the bathing room. The floor was laid with white and black diamond-cut tiles. The fixtures were porcelain and brass. The towels, of course, were blue. "This suite reminds me of one of Maggie Bryant's parlor rooms. She runs one of the most exclusive bordellos in the city," he explained when he saw Katy didn't realize he was insulting her. The rosy flush that covered her chest, throat, and face assured him he had hit his mark. "She has a gold parlor, a red one, blue naturally, and, if memory serves me, I think one is emerald. Her place is almost as fancy as this. It seems Victor Donovan is doing well by you... or is it Michael?" He paused a beat. "Or both?"

  Katy wanted to kick him off the edge of the tub or drown him in her bath water or choke him with one of the midnight blue towels.

  As if reading her mind, he picked up one of the towels and drew it around his neck. He wiped at the dampness on his cheek and forehead. "No comment, is that it?" he asked.

  "How did you get in here? I know I locked the door."

  "You did. I got the extra key from the main desk."

  "They would not have just given it to you."

  "They didn't. I stole it while the clerk was otherwise occupied."

  No doubt Logan had also provided the clerk's diversion. What had he done? she wondered. Started a fire in the lobby? Paraded whores in front of the main desk? "Will you leave now? I'm cold."

  "And the bubbles are gone."

  "That, too."

  One of Logan's eyebrows inched upward. He scanned Katy's face, her hunched shoulders, the smooth tops of her knees. Below the water he could only make out the whiteness of her skin and the suggestion of her feet. "This water could be boiling and you'd still be too cool by half." He took the towel from around his neck and held it out for her. When she took it, he left, closing the door behind him.

  Katy was almost as stunned by Logan's quick exit as she had been by his entrance. Shivering, she stood and stepped out of the tub. The tile floor was like ice on her bare feet. She dried hurriedly and slipped into a plain cotton nightshift and the green flannel robe that had been hanging on the back of the door. Afterward, she made straight for the parlor, intent on jamming a chair under the door handle so Logan could not possibly disturb her again.

  She stopped short when she saw that he was sitting in the very chair she had planned to use. His wet trousers and shirt were making a water stain on the brocade fabric, but he looked comfortable, stretched out as he was, thumbing through a stack of newspapers on the table beside him. He glanced at her when she came into the room and smiled slowly as he took in her sleeping attire.

  "Quite a change from that scarlet thing you were wearing earlier," he said. "You look almost virginal."

  Her hand itched to slap his contemptuous smile.

  Seeing her fingers twitch, Logan had no difficulty divining the thought that accompanied the movement. "Try it," he said.

  Katy blinked, reined herself in. "You would like that. It would give you an excuse to slap me, something you've been itching to do all evening."

  "Listening to you, I have to admire my restraint."

  "Why are you doing this, Mr. Marshall?"

  "Logan."

  "Oh, for God's sake." Katy almost stamped one foot in frustration. Instead she shoved her hands into her pockets. He was not the only one who could practice restraint. "Why are you here at all? What purpose did it serve coming backstage this evening, and why follow me here from Delmonico's? I have been in New York for tw
o years and you never bothered me. Why now?"

  Logan's attention shifted to the stack of newspapers again. "I see you read the Chronicle."

  "What does that have to do with anything?" But she knew, she knew. He was reminding her that she had always known he was here, while he had had no knowledge of her presence.

  "You are a remarkable actress, Katy, quite remarkable, but you do not play stupid very well. There is simply too much intelligence in your eyes. Do not play stupid now; it is not your forte."

  She breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. "There is no talking to you. You do not answer my questions; you do not even make any sense. Get out of here, Mr. Mar—Logan."

  "Sit down, Katy," he directed gently. "You're riled, although you are doing a rather admirable imitation of containing it. Do you have a pair of dry trousers I could wear? Another shirt?"

  Katy's hands came out of her pockets as she threw them up in the air. "Why would I have men's clothing here?"

  "I thought perhaps Victor or Michael might have left something behind. I think Michael's would better suit."

  Katy decided to show Logan the definition of 'riled.' Uncaring of the consequences, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. Her adversary was expecting a slap. Katy delivered a roundhouse punch that would have blackened his eye if he hadn't blocked it.

  Grabbing Katy's wrist as he jerked his head out of the way, Logan pulled hard enough to force her off balance. She fell toward him. The chair rocked unsteadily as Katy collided with his chest, and Logan had to catch his breath before he could grapple with her again. Katy's arms and legs flailed, but she was unable to make any blows count. She was so intent on hurting him that it did not occur to her to scream. The sash to her robe loosened, the material parted, and his hand closed over her breast in the struggle. Her thin cotton nightshift was no barrier to the warmth, softness, or shape of her.

  Logan's light touch stilled Katy as his strength never could. Afraid of what she might see, she would not meet his eyes. Sitting as she was now, on Logan's lap in her nightgown, his hand on her breast, brought back the clear memory of another time and another man's hand. It was not acting when Katy spoke in a voice that sounded much younger than her own. "Let me go, please."

  Logan recognized the young girl speaking to him. He heard the strain and the scare. He released her.

  Katy scrambled away and stood. She was trembling and pale, and she still could not look Logan in the eye. "I want you to leave," she said.

  "No, that I won't do. Not yet."

  Tears sprang to Katy's eyes. She turned around quickly so he wouldn't see and walked to the window. From eight floors up Katy's view of Manhattan was mostly unobstructed. There were lights in hundreds of windows, and they flickered like the stars she couldn't see. Below her, all along Broadway, gas lamps illuminated passersby as they hurried to their next destination. Even from this vantage point, Katy thought she saw purpose and direction in their movements. Why couldn't she divine Logan's?

  Her composure gathered, she let the velvet drape fall back in place and turned away from the window. "Why did you come to Wallack's this evening?"

  "Why does anyone go to Wallack's?" he asked rhetorically. "My sister-in-law enjoys the theatre, and she's been after Christian to take her since she read about Manners. Jenny and Christian are leaving for Europe soon and tickets to the play were in the way of a farewell gift from me to them. I had not planned to attend, but Jenny insisted I come along. I am afraid Jenny is extremely persuasive. I have no more luck refusing her than my brother."

  "Perhaps I should send someone for her, and she can persuade you to leave." Katy had not meant or even said it seriously, and Logan's reaction was unexpected.

  "You will stay away from my family," he said in way of a warning. "Do you understand? I do not want you near them. Not Jenny. Not Christian. Not their boy. They will be gone in a week, but they'll be back in six months. And six months or six years won't change my mind. Have I made myself clear?"

  Bewildered and not a little afraid, Katy nodded slowly.

  "That's why I came here tonight," Logan said. "That—" he got to his feet and went to her side, "—and this." His hand snaked around Katy's neck and pulled her flush to his chest. She was too startled to fight at first, and in the next second, she recognized the futility of it. As Logan's mouth closed over hers Katy gave up without giving in.

  His lips ground against her lips. His tongue speared her, seeking entrance that she wouldn't allow. Logan changed tactics. His hold loosened, his mouth gentled. His fingertips stroked the sensitive nape of her neck and threaded through her hair. His lips moved to the corner of her mouth. He kissed her chin and trailed along her jaw until his teeth could catch her earlobe. He tugged lightly, felt the warmth of her sigh against his skin, and returned to her mouth. He plundered, stealing the very breath from her lungs, crushing her to him so that he knew the shape of her intimately.

  He understood that she returned none of his passion and echoed none of his desire. That she was shaking and off balance when he let her go was enough for him now.

  "Will you leave?" she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Logan's eyes narrowed. For a moment he said nothing. Slowly an amused half-smile appeared on his lips. "Careful, Katy, you do not want me to think you're afraid, do you?" He reached behind her as if to tug on a braid, and she gave credence to his words by flinching from his touch. His fingers only flicked at the light, loose strands of her hair before he drew his hand forward, caressing her skin. "What happened to Mary Catherine McCleary?"

  "She died a long time ago. A casualty of the war, if you will."

  He understood that. "And Katy Dakota? How did you come by that?"

  "The first actors' troupe I joined gave it to me, and I liked the sound of it. It is my legal name now, not just something for the stage."

  Logan's hand dropped away, and he began walking around Katy's sitting room, exploring the knickknacks and personal objects that were her own. He picked up a crystal horse from the mantel and admired the workmanship. She had a collection of music boxes, and Logan opened each in turn, listening a moment to the tinny melody. Had she always liked music boxes? he wondered. "But why use Katy?" he asked. "I thought you didn't like the name. Or was that a lie, too?"

  "Not a lie exactly. I didn't like it when you called me Katy."

  "I see. And now?"

  She shrugged. "It's my name. But I suppose you can call me whatever you like. You will anyway." Katy died a little inside each time Logan picked up something in the room that was hers. He was making his mark everywhere. She would not be able to be in this room without remembering his presence. Closing her eyes briefly, Katy rubbed her temples with her fingertips. The first symptoms of a raging headache were beginning just beneath her scalp. When she opened her eyes she found Logan was watching her. Katy's hands dropped slowly to her sides. "Please, Logan, I'm so tired. I just want to sleep. Won't you leave now?"

  Logan pointed to the bell pull, a cerulean blue striped satin sash with a large tassel on the end. It was hanging at one end of the fireplace, its tassel at the same level as the mantel. "Why didn't you pull that?" he asked. "I assume it rings somewhere in the hotel. You could have had someone come to your door."

  "It doesn't work. And yes, I've complained already. Believe me, tomorrow morning it is at the top of my list of things to do."

  "Tell me about Michael Donovan. What is he to you?"

  Katy thought she might begin to weep with frustration. "He is no one," she said tiredly.

  "You know he's married."

  "I know that very well."

  "I wasn't certain. But perhaps it doesn't matter to you. After all, you were entertaining him in your dressing room."

  "I was trying to throw him out. Your intervention was... oh, never mind." She was going to drop with exhaustion if he didn't let her go. "I cannot play your game any longer, Logan. I need sleep. I am going to bed."

  "All right."

&nbs
p; "All right? Just like that?"

  "Don't get your hopes up, Katy. I'm coming with you."

  She laughed nervously. "You are not serious."

  "I'm afraid I am."

  Looking for something to throw at him, Katy's eyes darted to objects at hand. A brass candlestick looked particularly inviting.

  "I don't think you really want to do that," said Logan, once again divining her thoughts. "You wouldn't like the consequences."

  Tears shimmered in Katy's eyes, and this time she made no effort to hide them. "Damn you," she said quietly, her lower lip trembling. "Damn you to hell."

  Without waiting for Logan's response, Katy went to her bedroom. She did not bother trying to shut him out. When Logan came in behind her, she ignored him. He astonished her by doing the same. He crossed her bedroom and headed for the bathing room, shutting the door behind him. Katy wasted no time trying to leave her suite. She ran back into the sitting room and pulled hard on the front door. The knob twisted, but the door did not open. She yanked harder, her palm slippery on the knob. The lock was jammed. Logan had done something to the lock. Katy collapsed against the door, sliding down it slowly until she sat curled at its base. She didn't know Logan had returned to the sitting room until she felt one of his arms circle her shoulders and the other slip under the backs of her knees.

  "Put your arms around my neck, Katy," he said. His voice was gentle. "I am only going to put you to bed."

  "I don't want... I don't..."

  "I know." He waited patiently. When Katy's arms finally eased around him, Logan stood and carried her into the bedroom. He put her down on the edge, pulled back the covers, and Katy crawled between them. "Do you always sleep in your robe?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I want to now."

  "All right." He took a handkerchief from a pocket in his trousers and gave it to her. "But you don't have to use the sleeve to wipe your eyes. Go to sleep, Katy. We'll talk in the morning."

  "Do you have to spend the night?"

  "I think so. You see, I am considering the merits of making you my mistress." He turned back the lamps in her bedroom. "Good night, Katy. Pleasant dreams."