by Jo Goodman
"Well," said Logan, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "you are finally going."
Christian grinned. "So far only our son, his nanny, and a half-dozen trunks are making this voyage. Jenny seems oddly reluctant to leave."
Under cover of her long skirt, Jenny tread lightly on her husband's toes. "Pay no attention to him," she told Logan. "You know I've been planning this trip for months. Nothing could keep me here."
"You are a sweet liar, Jenny Marshall," said Logan. He bent his head and kissed his sister-in-law on the cheek. He knew too well what would keep her at Marshall House, and he was having none of it. "There is nothing wrong with me that a little work won't cure. It won't be any comfort knowing that you're worrying about me—so don't do it. That's an order." He glanced at his brother. "Does she take orders?"
"Not without considerable persuasion."
"Persuade her, then."
"I will do my best." Christian clasped his brother's hand, then abandoned the pose and hugged Logan heartily. "Don't spend all of your time at the paper," he said quickly, hoping Logan heard all the things he was leaving unsaid: don't have a bottle as your only company; don't make the Chronicle your lover; and don't dwell on Katy Dakota. He released Logan and took his wife's arm. "There is transatlantic cable now, Logan," he said in his best older-brother voice. "Jenny and I expect to hear from you."
Logan thrust his hands in his pockets and nodded once. "Go on," he said, pushing his chin forward to indicate the ship. "Your son is hanging over the rail."
Minutes later Christian rescued his son, holding him up for Logan to see. Jenny stood beside her husband and waved to her brother-in-law.
"I don't know if we should be going," she said, worrying the inside of her cheek.
"Jenny," Christian said.
"I'm sorry, but he is so miserable."
"Does he look miserable?"
"That smile is for our benefit," she said.
"Then accept it graciously. Logan is a grown man. If he made a mistake by not asking Miss Dakota to marry him, then he is the one who has to live with it."
"Marry him!" Jenny's dark brows lifted in astonishment. "Do you mean he considered—"
"I will tell you about it later," Christian said calmly. "Smile, Jenny."
* * *
Ria brushed out her hair. It crackled from the hard strokes. She could feel her husband's eyes boring into the back of her head, but she never lifted her face to catch his attention in the mirror.
"Come, Ria," said Michael, patting the empty space beside him. "Have done with your hair. You are merely delaying the inevitable."
"Not tonight, please," she said in a low voice, still not looking at him. According to the information Dr. Turner had given her when she was trying to have children, today was one of her most fertile days. She wondered if Michael knew. It would explain his insistence. In the past she had been able to use illness as an excuse not to lie with him. Now he would not accept it. He had come to her room seven times since the first night and each objection she raised was summarily dismissed. On two occasions he spent the night with her, using her at his leisure until her maid came with breakfast in the morning. "I might already be pregnant," she told him. "It couldn't hurt to wait and see."
"And you might not be pregnant." Her constant refusals bored him. In the end she understood she had no choice and gave him whatever he wanted. He saw her objections as mere token protests. Like everything about Ria, there was no real heart in them. "I think we should take every opportunity to see that it happens, don't you? Put down the brush, Ria, and come here. You can turn back the lamps tonight. Do you know that last time I heard you make the smallest mewling sound at the back of your throat? It seemed to me that perhaps you are coming to enjoying this after all. Do you think that's possible, darling?"
It wasn't possible. What he had mistaken for a sound of pleasure was the sound of her revulsion. When he was inside her, she knew only pain, and she felt only terror. Ria dropped the brush and approached her bed. She turned back the lamp and let her robe fall to the floor.
"Take off the nightgown," directed Michael.
Closing her eyes, making herself invisible in her own mind, if not in Michael's, Ria did as she was instructed. She was chilled. To her great shame she felt the tips of her breasts harden. Michael's low, wicked laughter made her wish the ground would open and swallow her whole.
"Come, m'dear," he said, trailing his hand from her nipple to her waist. "Let's see if we can't warm that cold, beautiful body of yours."
* * *
"I am sorry we are going back tomorrow," Katy said. Her skirt was hitched up to her knees and her bare legs dangled over the dock. Occasionally there would be a splash as her toes broke the surface of the water. She held a fishing rod in her hands, and though she had had several bites, she was never energetic enough to reel them in. Consequently, every fish got away.
"You don't have to, you know," Victor said. He was no longer making a pretense of fishing. His rod lay beside him. He was leaning back on the dock, resting on his elbows. A butterfly had come to rest on Katy's shoulder. He watched that. "You could stay here at the Willows. I would come up every Saturday and Sunday. I think there would be times I could get away on Fridays. All things considered, it would be a very pleasant summer."
Katy stared at the water. "Why do you think I would want to stay here without you?" she asked.
"Katy dear, it would be perfectly understandable if you were not ready to go back to the city. We both know you married me for protection. I can offer it to you here at the Willows. There is the business at the theatre for me to straighten out as well. I am certain no one at Wallack's is happy with you. You did drop out of sight during the middle of a run. The Rialto's probably still buzzing with the news."
"You overestimate my importance."
"I don't think so."
"It doesn't matter." She shrugged and the movement startled the butterfly. It stretched its yellow and black wings and drifted away on the back of the wind. "I will take care of whatever trouble I've caused at Wallack's. As for staying here without you, I won't do it. I love it here, Victor, but I like being with you more. There is no need for me to hide away. I think we both know that Logan Marshall is not going to bother me now. You told me some time ago that he doesn't trifle with married women. That's what I am. A married woman. I never wanted to marry; never even imagined that I would." She glanced at her husband over her shoulder. "It is almost sinful to enjoy it so desperately."
Her smile warmed him from the inside out. He wished he could... he wished... Victor returned her smile because he did not want Katy to sense his despair. She did not seem to care that their marriage was not complete. Not for herself, she didn't care. She minded because he wanted something more, and he knew her well enough now to know that she would honor all the vows of their marriage. "Come here, Katy love," he said quietly, beckoning her with his sky blue eyes.
Katy dropped her rod beside her as Victor sat up and extended one of his hands in her direction. She went willingly into the circle of his arms, laying her cheek against his shoulder. They held each other for a long time, watching the colors of sunset wash the sky, feeling life's splendor in the moment.
* * *
Logan's head snapped up as one of the paper's reporters burst into his office. "It cannot be so important," he said brusquely, "that you can't knock."
Knocking had never been a policy, not when the door was open. Ross Hutchinson faltered a moment, unsure of himself. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and ducked his head to examine the papers in his hands. It was being bandied about lately by the men who had known Logan's father that working for the old man had been a pleasure compared to working for Logan of late. This was the first time Hutch had crossed the publisher's path in weeks, and now he found himself on the wrong side of good judgment just because he had not knocked.
"Well? What is it?" demanded Logan, spearing the hapless young man with his frigid gray eyes.
"I've heard from a friend at Wallack's Theater, sir," he began diffidently.
"And...?"
"Rumor has it that Miss Dakota's going to attend the play this evening."
"We do not print rumor," Logan said darkly. "Do you want to go to Wallack's yourself?"
"Yes, that was the idea. If it turns out to be true, we will have the edge. It's the first time she's gone anywhere in public with Mr. Donovan since their marriage. And to see the play... well, you can see for yourself that it would make a good story. I know exactly the angle I want to use."
"It is not a front page story," Logan reminded him.
"No, sir, but that doesn't matter," he said with brash confidence. "Everyone will read it. The city's dying to know everything about Katy Dakota."
"Katy Donovan," said Logan.
"Right, sir. I forget sometimes."
Logan wished he could.
* * *
Michael adjusted the starched white tips of his collar, and then held out his arm so Ria could fasten his cuff links. It was not a service she performed often for him, and her fingers fumbled at the unfamiliarity of the task. "You cannot do anything right, can you?" he said, tearing his wrist away from Ria's light grasp.
Turning away, Ria examined her coiffure in the mirror. Her flame red hair was swept up and back, giving her the illusion of height and adding a regal touch to her bearing. There was not a strand out of place, but Ria smoothed a spot near her temple anyway. "You should not have dismissed your valet," she said in cool, quiet tones.
Her assertion was not lost on her husband. Michael's lip curled. "You sound almost shrewish, Ria. Have a care that you do not display your resentment in public. I won't have it."
Ria kept her silence. She had never created a scene, and in public she always demurred to Michael. They were often held up as a model couple. Michael's dalliances were invariably discreet and not many people knew that he had interests outside his marriage. Even had it been known, it would not have caused much of a stir. Ria accepted it as well. He had never humiliated her publicly. That he humiliated her in the privacy of their bedroom seemed a small price to pay for the prestige of being Mrs. Michael Donovan.
"Damn," he swore softly, fumbling with the same link that had given Ria trouble. When she came to his rescue, he accepted her help without comment. "Why did she have to insist on going to the theatre tonight?" he demanded sourly. "They've only just returned from the Willows. It is in the worst possible taste."
"People will be taking their cue from us," Ria reminded him. "You mustn't show that you find their decision unpalatable."
"Why do you think we're accompanying them? Our public face will be one of complete approval." Above Ria's head he stared grimly at his reflection in the mirror. Privately there was no doubt as to his opinion.
"I think Katy wants to show support of the new actress in her role. She means to attend Manners as a kindness. Anyway, is it not better that they go out right away? It's bound to elicit comment. Why not put it behind them as quickly as possible? I think they are trying to be very sensible about it." She finished fastening the cuff link and returned to her own bedroom to get her shawl.
Michael put on his black cutaway jacket in the doorway between the rooms. "I can see that it does no good talking to you. You are determined to take her side."
"I am on your side, Michael. I just happen to understand hers."
"Since when do you understand a whore's point of view?"
It was on the tip of Ria's tongue to say, "Since I became your whore," but she swallowed the words whole. She opened her jewelry box and found an emerald and gold necklace that suited her off-the-shoulder gown. Laying it against her throat, she waited patiently for Michael to come up behind her and fasten it.
"I can't understand," Michael continued in the same vein, "what possessed Father to marry her after all this time. He has known her for two years. Why now? Why marriage? What in God's name could he have been thinking?"
"Perhaps he loves her. Had you thought of that?"
"Love her? My father love that harlot bitch? I don't think so."
"You seem willing to think the worst of her," said Ria. She was very aware of Michael's hands on the curve of her neck and shoulders. The pads of his fingers were pressing against her skin with just enough force to let her know that pain could be in the offing. She did not think he would really bruise her minutes before they were expected downstairs. Ria decided to risk his anger. "You talk as if you know she's a prostitute."
"What are you trying to say?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
"Nothing. It was merely an observation."
"She has never been a mistress of mine."
Ria's eyes widened. "I never thought she had been. I thought... that is, it seemed..."
"For God's sake, say what's on your mind."
"I thought perhaps you had seen her somewhere before. You know, one of those houses you sometimes frequent."
"If I had that kind of proof I would have never let Father marry her. But it doesn't matter that I don't have it. I know her kind. I would have thought that Father would have known it, too." He picked up Ria's shawl and placed it over her shoulders. "They are waiting for us downstairs. God, that the Donovans should have come to this."
Ria laid her hand lightly over Michael's forearm. In the past it had never occurred to her to doubt her husband's word about the actress. Now she wondered. The lady was not the only one who could protest too much.
* * *
There was a stir in the audience as word spread that Victor Donovan and his bride were being escorted to their seats. From the vantage point of his box, Logan watched heads turn and bend. Whisper fed rumor with as much subtlety as a bellows fanned fire. The hum of low voices roared in his ears like the drone of bees. The queen seemed oblivious to it.
Katy was oblivious to none of it. She was certain Victor felt her nails digging into his skin through the sleeve of his evening coat. It seemed as though they would never reach their orchestra seats. It was odd, she thought, that the people who whispered about her now were less judgmental when they thought she was merely Victor Donovan's mistress. They could accept that more easily. She had crashed through some previously inviolate social barrier when she married the man. As she listened to the audience buzzing with awe and indignation, Katy realized that perhaps she was not to be forgiven for her breech of conduct. Certainly Michael was never going to forgive her.
Michael's smile was faint but perfectly visible. He nodded occasionally in the direction of a friend or acquaintance as he and Ria were shown to their seats. There was nothing in his expression that indicated frustration, embarrassment, or rage—all of which he was feeling. How dare she, he thought. How dare Katy marry his father when she knew that he wanted her? Still wanted her. His eyes strayed away from the people in their seats and focused on the line of Katy's back. So stiff, so proud. But he had seen her in other circumstances, when she had been neither stiff nor proud. He'd find a way to use what he had. Marriage or no, she would come to him. He would give her no choice.
Watching the play from the perspective of the audience was an odd experience for Katy. She murmured lines until Victor's gentle nudge made her aware of what she was doing. Manners was a good play, she realized. Better than she had really understood when she was part of it. She had known she would miss the theatre, but she had not known that she would feel such an ache. Coming to Wallack's this evening to face the crowd and say a symbolic farewell to the stage had been a better idea when she and Victor discussed it at the Willows. She leaned a little closer to Victor, slipping her hand over his forearm. He seemed to understand what she was feeling because he lifted her hand and softly pressed his mouth to her knuckles. The gesture was so sweet and gentle that Katy found herself blinking back tears.
At the intermission between the first and second acts Katy felt the full censure of Victor's peers. Ostensibly in search of refreshment, Michael took Ria by the elbow and led her away fr
om his father and Katy.
"No one knows quite what to say to us," Katy whispered to her husband. Diamond and gold filigree earrings danced as she bent her head toward him.
"Do not let on that it bothers you. That would give them too great a pleasure."
"Acting is always harder in real life than it is on the stage. I never do well in situations like this."
It was hard to believe that she was uncomfortable. The rose gown alone should have given her confidence. The bodice was tight-fitting, accentuating Katy's regal carriage and the flowing lines of her slender figure. It closed with tiny mother of pearl buttons and the high collar was edged with ivory lace. The fabric of the skirt was draped at the sides and lifted to form a bustle. It was decorated with fringe and large ribbon bows in a deeper shade of mauve than the gown. When she walked, her train swept the floor with a flourish. "You are doing just fine. Would you like some refreshment?"
Panic flared in her brown and gold eyes. "Don't leave me."
Victor was prepared to reassure her when he became aware of a stirring in the crowd. He saw that Katy's eyes were fastened at a point beyond him. Glancing over his shoulder, Victor saw Logan Marshall coming toward them. He stiffened and turned to face Logan.
Logan stopped a few feet in front of Victor and held out his hand. In a voice just loud enough to be heard by others, he said, "Victor, my heartfelt congratulations on your marriage." He made a slight bow toward Katy as he dropped Victor's hand. "Mrs. Donovan, my best wishes. Your husband has dealt a terrible blow to this city by stealing you away from the Rialto. Manners goes on without you, of course, but I cannot help but think that it just misses the mark."
Katy was too stunned to do anything when Logan raised her hand to his lips and kissed her in just the spot that Victor had earlier. Her eyes made a silent plea to Victor to come to her rescue.
