by Jo Goodman
Katy glanced back in the mirror and fixed the ribbon at the side of her bonnet. Even to her own eyes her smile was hopelessly giddy. "I am going to marry that man," she told her reflection.
She told Logan a week later when she realized that nothing was going to change how she felt this time. He had left Victoria with Mrs. Castle and gone to walk her home after the play. It was such a lovely evening that they took an open carriage to Stohlman's Confectionary Shop in Georgetown for ice cream. Right there in Stohlman's, at their little marble-topped table, amid potted palms and rows of candy jars, Katy said she would marry him.
Logan swallowed his ice cream so quickly that he got an ache behind his right eye. He pressed the heel of his hand to the spot. "You will?" he asked.
She nodded. Then she laughed because he looked so odd sitting on the edge of his cane chair and staring at her with one wide, astonished eye.
It had been far too long since Logan had heard that sweet sound. The giddy grin he gave her was one Katy recognized. It was the mirror image of hers earlier that week.
"What made you decide to tell me then and there?" he asked her much later. They were sitting up in bed, Logan at the foot, Katy at the head. Her feet were in his lap, and he was massaging her arches.
She wiggled her toes and sighed with pleasure as his thumbs pressed her sole. "I don't know. You were just asking me this and that about the play and frankly, I could not remember much of what I'd done or said because all day long I had been thinking of how to tell you. I did not mean to blurt it out in quite that manner." She smiled. "How is your eye?"
"Fine, since you kissed it and made it better."
"In that case, all of you should be feeling very, very good."
He raised her foot, tugged on her big toe with his teeth, and then kissed the mark away.
"You have not asked me about my plans concerning the theatre. What will you want me to do?" she asked.
"What I want you to do is make your own decision."
Katy regarded Logan suspiciously. "Next you will be telling me women should have the vote."
"Oh, no. I have very strong opinions about that."
She gave him a look that said they could argue women's suffrage later.
"Do you think I am a good actress?"
There was no hesitation on Logan's part. "I think that you could easily be the premiere actress on the New York stage. You are already a good actress, Katy, but I believe you could be great." He cupped her heels and his thumbs passed back and forth across her ankle. His pewter eyes were warm now, and earnest, "If you leave the stage because of our marriage, only a handful of people will ever know what might have been. Could that be enough for you, or will there always be regrets?"
Katy did not think there would be regrets. "If it were not enough," she said, "then I could be your mistress. I would have the stage, and I would have part of you. But that would not be enough. I would rather have all of you and none of the stage."
Logan searched her face. "Are you certain, Katy? I would not ask you—"
"I know." Her smile was faint. "But you would rather I did not go back after we are married."
"Was I so obvious?" he asked. "I did not want to influence you. God, Katy, I swear to you that if you want to return to the stage, I will not stop you."
"It's all right, Logan," she said softly, sincerely. "I understand what society accepts and what it rejects. Marriage to Victor gave me a taste of that—and I was not acting then. You would be held up to a great deal of ridicule if I stayed on stage. Victor was, and he never offended a soul in his life. You offend people all the time with that paper of yours. Wouldn't they just love to get some of their own back by going after you through me."
"I could stand it," he said. "For myself I could take it. But for—"
"Victoria," she said. "Yes, Victoria would eventually suffer for it. I had thought of that as well." She sighed. "Some day things may be different."
"And some day women will have the vote." His tone said, and pigs will fly.
Katy smiled and withdrew her feet from his lap. She edged down the bed until she was close enough to kiss him on the cheek. "You skeptical man. I had no idea you felt that way."
"And I had no idea you were a secret suffragette."
"Hmm. It was a character I played in Hampstead Heath that started me thinking." She cuddled against him. "Do you want to take back your proposal?"
"I think I can accept a wife with her own opinions."
"As long as she cannot vote on them."
"Something like that."
She punched him lightly in the stomach. "This discussion is not over."
He gave her a meaningful glance. "It is for now."
"Whatever you say... master."
Logan attacked her then, pinning Katy's wrists to the mattress. He followed with his body and attempted a wicked, leering look when his face was close to hers that only made her laugh. He made short work of his blanket and her sheet. Her laughter changed to a girlish giggle when he began teasing her with light kisses.
After that, they abandoned playfulness and their pleasure took on a sense of urgency.
* * *
Michael Donovan tilted on the back legs of his chair. His feet rested on the corner of his desk. He was oblivious to the precariousness of his position; his concentration was on the photographs in his hand. He thumbed through them quickly at first, shuffling them from top to bottom as he went. When he had seen all eight, he started again, studying each one carefully this time.
It had been quite awhile since he had looked at them, and he had almost forgotten the impact they made. The twisting in his gut was a familiar reaction. So was the blood pooling in his cock.
It was impossible to catch Katy's eye in any of the photographs. She always appeared to be looking slightly askance. It made her expression sly and knowing. Michael wanted Katy to look at him in just that manner, beckon him to her bed as she did in each photograph.
He damned his father for having had the pleasure of Katy Dakota, yet it was not only Victor he despised. Michael knew he would damn any man for having what Katy repeatedly denied him.
Michael ran his finger along the naked curve of Katy's body. She was reclining on the divan in Victor's studio, one knee drawn up modestly in a classic pose that was both demure and provocative. Her fingertips were lightly touching the upper curve of her left breast. Her hand drew the eye, and Michael had no difficulty imagining he was stroking her skin there. She wanted to be touched, he thought. She wanted men to react to her in exactly the manner he was reacting now.
Sifting through the rest of the photographs only convinced Michael that Katy had played him for a fool all along. It was inconceivable that she had chosen the father when she could have had the son. Marriage had to have been the key. Victor was willing to offer what Michael could not.
Michael opened a desk drawer and angrily tossed the photographs inside. Pushing the drawer shut with the heel of his hand, his thoughts turned to Ria. As a bed partner she was useless to him now. He could not remember the last time he had even attempted to seek his husbandly rights. He let her come and go as she pleased, uncaring and uninterested in what kept her busy outside his home. It was enough that she no longer confined herself to her room and the glazed, frightened look had vanished from her eyes. Recently she had spoken of hosting a dinner party for some friends as soon as the anniversary of Victor's death passed. Michael had been pleasantly surprised by her suggestion. He had given Dr. Turner's diagnosis more credence than it deserved. Ria's state of mind was no more fragile than it had ever been. It seemed as long as he did not press his rights in her bed, Ria could fulfill all other wifely duties.
There was no longer any talk of children. With Katy gone there was no reason to trouble Ria with the necessity of bearing him a child. Since procreation was the primary reason for wanting intimacy with Ria, Michael was mostly satisfied with the current arrangement. Complete satisfaction would have required Katy as his mistress instead
of the succession of whores he enjoyed now.
Michael sighed, pushing away from the desk. It was an imperfect world.
* * *
The marriage of Katy Dakota and Logan Garret Marshall took place in a small white frame church in Georgetown. Donna Mae wept throughout the ceremony, while Victoria was uncharacteristically quiet. Friends of the bride filled the church pews, many still in greasepaint and costume, since the wedding fell between the Saturday matinee and evening performances of Seven Deadly Sins. If the minister found the assortment of well-wishers odd, he kept his own counsel and presided over the exchange of sacred vows with solemn authority.
A few hours after the wedding, Katy was on stage again, giving her last performance as Pride.
Logan was in the audience. Once more the breadth of Katy's talent struck him as she subtly commanded each scene merely with her presence. Her fluid grace on stage, the artfulness of her gestures, drew his eyes and his admiration. Katy's voice, cool and haughty for this role, brought a smile to his lips. How often he had heard those practiced tones when she was feeling most vulnerable, and how little he had heard them of late. It was a good omen, he thought, and flooded her dressing room with violets and daisies and orange blossoms after the performance.
They took a suite of rooms at the Arborfield Hotel in Washington for their wedding night, while Mrs. Castle and Donna Mae took responsibility for Victoria. The parting was more difficult for Katy and Logan than it was for their daughter.
Stepping behind her, Logan joined Katy on the balcony outside their bedchamber. The evening was cool, and except for the steady rustling of a row of black locust trees, the street below them was quiet. Logan's arms circled Katy just below her breasts and drew her back so that she leaned against him. His chin brushed her unbound hair, and his touch seemed to release the fragrance that Logan found so powerfully compelling. He breathed deeply.
"What are you thinking?" he asked in a low voice, reluctant to break the silence.
Katy's arms covered Logan's, keeping them just where they were. She did not answer right away, absorbing his closeness, his strength. "I did not become an actress because I wanted to be on stage. I did it because I wanted to be someone else. Tonight, in the middle of my performance, I realized that was not true anymore." She turned slightly in his arms, tilting her face toward him. "Here, with you, I am finally who I want to be."
* * *
They had the luxury of time, the heady thought of a shared future. For once the urgency they felt was solely their creation, unhindered by pressures beyond their control. Logan raised Katy's hand to his mouth and placed a kiss over her wedding band, reaffirming the ancient rite of ownership. It made him smile, the thought of owning Katy. It simply was not possible. More likely she owned him. Her mouth was reclaiming territory along his collarbone, his throat, and the underside of his jaw. Her hands ran up and down the length of his arms. Her breasts sheltered his heartbeat.
He kissed her on the mouth. Paused. Kissed her again. Katy turned her head sideways, and he caught the corner of her mouth. The tip of her tongue peeped out to touch her upper lip and he caught that, too, drawing her tongue into his mouth and giving her the intimate taste of him. Between kisses there was the sound of Katy trying to catch her breath and Logan's murmurs of approval at her growing excitement.
Logan's thumb passed back and forth across her nipple, raising the sensitive tip to a pearl-like hardness. She arched beneath him, offering her breast to the hand that cupped its smooth underside. His mouth slipped to her chin, along her jaw, and then moved carefully down her slender neck. His final destination was never in doubt, but Katy had little appreciation for the detours he took. Her frustration mounted steadily until Logan's mouth closed over her aching and swollen breast. He suckled her gently, rolling the tip between his lips, wetting the nipple with his tongue. When he moved to her other breast, his hand slid down her ribcage and between their bodies to rest at Katy's thighs. He stroked her skin, teasing her with touching that came ever closer to the very core of her pleasure.
Katy raised one knee. She pressed Logan's hip and felt the taut, warm skin of his buttocks. One hand cupped the back of his head and her fingers threaded in his hair. Her other hand moved restlessly across his shoulder and arm. Without conscious thought she arched toward Logan as his fingers probed her readiness to take him. There was no denying that she wanted him. She felt herself being lifted and then his rough command to watch their joining. Her eyes lowered and, helpless to look away now, she watched him enter her, surging upward to take him fully when his control proved greater than her own. She was unashamed by her eagerness, even when Logan's low, husky laughter confirmed he was aware of it, too.
They moved together then, sharing the sensation of pleasure rising. They were of a single mind, giving and taking excitement in a touch, in a word, in a movement. Katy's throat arched and there was the whisper of Logan's name on her lips. He watched, fascinated by the rising tide of sweet desire that brought her body so close to his. Her legs tangled with his, rubbing. Her hands were a constant caress.
The release of tension, pleasure, and love caused them each to cry out in turn. Caught up in the moment, they were hardly aware they had spoken aloud. Replete, heavy of limb and light of spirit, they lay side by side with Katy's head resting in the crook of Logan's arm. Beneath the sheet her toes nudged his ankle. Her knee bumped his. They made slight adjustments, and, still holding each other, slept.
* * *
The bedchamber was dark when Katy woke. She realized that Logan must have roused himself enough to turn back all the gas lamps. She blinked sleepily, her eyes adjusting with the help of streetlight filtering through the balcony doors. After a moment she turned on her side and faced Logan. His eyes were closed, weighted down by the heavy fringe of his dark lashes. His breathing was even and light.
Katy stretched, moving nearer but not touching. There was a lock of hair slanting across his forehead. She looked at it for a long time before lifting her hand to brush it back. His hair was thick and soft, and she liked the texture of it between her fingers. Her nails flicked lightly across his temple. She could feel the steady beating of his pulse.
Her forefinger traced the curve of Logan's ear, then followed the line of his jaw. There was a trace of stubble on his face and her gentle caress made a rasping sound. It seemed very loud to her in the stillness of the room. She paused, waiting to see if it would wake Logan. When it did not, Katy continued her loving exploration, running her thumb across Logan's lower lip. His breath was warm. She knew his mouth was warmer.
Katy's palm slid down his throat. She leaned over and kissed him at the base of his neck. Her tongue darted out to taste his smooth and faintly salty skin. The musky male scent of him was an erotic fragrance. Katy laid her cheek against him. Her hair fell forward and brushed his chest. She picked up a lock of it and used it to caress his nipple. Moving lower, she kissed him on the spot and felt the involuntary arousal her touch had caused. Pressing a wicked, sultry smile against his flesh, Katy pushed the sheet down to Logan's hips and followed with her hands and mouth.
The backs of her fingers slid carefully and lightly across his abdomen. A knuckle found his navel. She circled it with her thumb and then kissed him there. One palm moved back and forth along his thigh. Katy did not notice that his breathing had changed.
"Touch me there," he said, his voice thick with sleep and desire.
"There?"
"Hmm... with your mouth."
She did.
* * *
"God, Katy," he said much later. "Will you always surprise me?"
She smiled. "Perhaps."
"I have so much to learn about you." He felt her stiffen. Teasing, he asked, "Secrets, Katy?"
She thought about Michael, his ugly threats, her fears of returning to New York, and spoke of none of it. "You know me better than anyone," she said. "What secrets could I possibly have from you?"
Chapter 13
September 1873—New Y
ork City
It seemed all it had done since returning to the city was rain. Anticipating another day of the same made Katy pull a pillow over her head when Logan nudged her awake.
"What are your plans for today?" he asked, straightening the cuffs and collar of his shirt. "More nanny interviews?"
It was no use, she thought, trying to sleep a few minutes longer when Logan wanted conversation. She turned on her back and threw her pillow at him. It missed him by a yard. "I am seeing three applicants this morning," she said, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. "Then I am going to answer invitations. A dozen more must have arrived yesterday."
Logan caught the hint of surprise in her voice. Katy still had not been able to accept that she was going to be received. Their marriage caused a stir, of course, just as Logan had known it would, but there was never any question in his mind of being a pariah in society—unless he chose to make himself one. He reasoned the invitations for dining and dancing were more often extended out of curiosity than courtesy, but that was no reason not to accept them. People would see for themselves that the fabric of high society was not completely rent by the inclusion of one former actress.
"It is because of the Chronicle, isn't it?" said Katy.
Logan paused in buttoning his vest. "In part."
She sighed. "I never appreciated what a powerful man you are in this city." For all of Victor's money, she realized, he had still only been a merchant in the eyes of many. Logan commanded another position entirely, where wealth and influence were irrevocably intertwined.
"Don't think about it," he said. "I know I don't. Power is a highly overrated acquisition. The paper is an enormous responsibility—one that I don't take lightly. If people really think I would use the Chronicle to make certain my wife is not snubbed, let them think it. They are fools anyway." He finished fastening his vest, shrugged into his jacket, and kissed Katy lightly on the forehead. "I will be home for dinner if you tell Mrs. Morrisey to serve at six."
Katy automatically added ninety minutes. She was beginning to understand Logan's hours at the paper. The Chronicle might be put to bed on time, but Logan Marshall rarely was. "All right," she said, giving an abrupt little yawn that made Logan smile. Her eyes followed him out of the room.
