by Jo Goodman
Logan realized she would follow him. He saw it in the set of her mouth, in the way she held herself so stiffly when all she wanted to do was crumple at his feet. "Very well," he said finally. He quickly straightened her torn collar as best he could and picked up her bonnet, shoving it into her hands. "Liam's waiting for us."
The interior of the hansom cab was quiet. Outside street noises did not penetrate the individual thoughts of the four occupants. Michael spit on his handkerchief and raised one corner of it to his mouth. He scrubbed at his bloodied lip while staring resentfully at Logan in the opposite seat.
"Do not think I am going to let what you did to me pass," he said. "I will own that damn paper of yours by the time my lawyers are finished."
"Really?" Logan asked softly, raising one eyebrow. "Then you had better hope we find my daughter quickly, because I am not going to consult any lawyers. I will own your hide without anyone's help."
The force of Logan's implacable stare pushed Michael back in his seat. "For God's sake," he complained sulkily. "You're making too much of this. Ria's probably taken the baby out for a walk."
"Let's hope that's the case."
But it wasn't. When they arrived at Michael's house, Duncan reported Ria had not returned. He knew nothing about Victoria. Liam kept Michael in tow as they searched the rooms for the baby. None of the servants interfered or took any opportunities to summon the police. Michael's humiliation in front of his staff was complete.
Back inside the cab, Logan clenched his fists to keep from going for Michael's throat. "You'd better start thinking, Donovan," he said, snapping off the words. "You have to know something about where your wife's gone." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Katy turn away and stare blankly out the carriage window. He reached for her hand and slipped his fingers between hers, squeezing gently. His other hand was still locked in a white-knuckled fist. "Think, Donovan."
"How the hell should I know? She's been flitting here and there for years now. I don't keep track of her social calendar. She is gone most every afternoon. Maybe she's with Mrs. Franklin. They're planning some sort of—"
"No, she's not," Katy said quietly. "She is not with Mrs. Franklin or any other of her friends right now. It's Wednesday. She has gone to Madame Restell's."
"Restell's?" Michael was incredulous.
"Katy, are you sure?" asked Logan.
She shook her head. "I cannot be certain."
Liam called out new directions to the hack driver while Katy explained to Michael where she'd chanced upon Ria. When Liam confirmed the story, Katy realized for the first time that she had been followed that day and probably every day since then. She glanced sharply at her husband.
"You said he was not in your employ any longer."
"I lied."
There was nothing Katy could say to that. She was not even certain she was angry with him. How could she be, when he was only trying to protect her? "It was Michael who came to my suite at the Chesterfield," she said.
"I realize that now."
"I was afraid to tell you."
"Because of the photographs."
She nodded. "He would have used them to hurt Victor back then. Later he would have hurt you." Katy stopped, seeing the muscle working in Logan's cheek. This time it was she who squeezed his hand gently. No one said anything during the remainder of the ride to Madame Restell's.
The notorious abortionist's brownstone resembled nothing so much as a fortress. It was a large, rectangular residence, solidly built and uniformly dull. The windows were evenly spaced on each floor, the drapes closed for privacy. An occasional balcony broke the home's monotonous facade.
It surprised all four of the visitors that the front door opened readily to them. They were shown to a richly appointed parlor, furnished in royal purple and gold, where Madame Restell joined them almost immediately. She was a slender woman who carried herself with a stately air that lent her height and consequence. The pale skin of her face was engraved with fine lines, especially around her mouth, where they underscored an unfaltering and sour expression. The clear, sharp eyes were frankly assessing, wise, and shrewd.
"Which of you is Mr. Donovan?" she asked, going right to the heart of the matter.
Michael stepped forward. "I am. I've come about my wife."
"I know why you've come," she said, cutting him off. Madame Restell fingered the jet beads at her neck. "And you are not any too soon. I was prepared to send for the police. I wasn't certain if you knew your wife was coming here or what she wanted." Michael's confused expression confirmed her suspicions. "I thought as much."
"Dammit, woman," he snapped. "Don't talk in riddles. Is my wife here or not?"
Madame Restell did not blink at Michael's tone. She stared him down and then calmly went to the side table where several liquor decanters rested and poured herself a drink. She did not offer one to anyone else. "Mrs. Donovan has locked herself in one of the bedrooms upstairs. She did it when I tried to take the baby from her."
Katy sagged against Logan. Victoria was here! "Please, Madame Restell, the little girl is ours. I don't think Ria means her any harm. Surely you have a key for the room. Let us get Victoria now."
"Wait." Madame Restell held up one hand. An emerald flashed on her ring finger. "I do not pretend to know all that's going on, but I suspect I know more than any of you. I do not believe Mrs. Donovan means to harm the baby, but she does not want to give her up either. She's been coming here for several months now—" she looked pointedly at Michael, "—to arrange for the purchase of a child." Ignoring Katy's soft gasp, she continued. "It is not such an unusual request, but I am able to discourage most women from coming here for that purpose. I have the privacy of my patients to consider."
"We all know the nature of your business," Logan said. "And I don't give a damn about that now. I want my daughter. Are you going to give me a key, or do O'Shea and I have to break in our second door of the day?"
"Hear me out," she said. "You cannot conceive of Mrs. Donovan's attachment to that child. A few weeks ago I thought I had a baby for her. When the mother delivered, it was a boy. She was not interested. It had to be a girl, she told me. She had a name already picked out—Victoria. Is that really the child's name?"
Logan and Katy nodded. Katy's arms covered Logan's as they slipped around her from behind.
"My wife's last baby died shortly after the birthing," said Michael. "She was named Victoria Anne after my parents."
Madame Restell finished her drink and set the glass aside. "I thought it might be something like that. Your wife came here to show me the child, Mr. Donovan, to tell me that she found a baby without my help. This was none of my doing and quite frankly I will be happy to have her gone. This is not the sort of practice I engage in. Now, knowing that she will not give up the child easily, you have my blessing to take her and the baby from my house. I do not need my home to be mired in this sort of scandal." She turned then and led them up the stairs to the second floor. "She has the only key, I'm afraid. I will send you a bill for the door."
With that, Madame Restell retired to her own rooms.
Michael twisted the door handle first. "It's no good," he told Katy and Logan. "I could call Ria from now until next year and she wouldn't come out for me."
Logan swore under his breath. "God, man, she's your wife!"
"Let me try," said Katy. "Ria! Ria, it's me—Katy. Will you let me in?" There was no answer from Ria, but Victoria, recognizing her mother's voice, began to cry. Tears sprang to Katy's eyes. She swiped at them impatiently. "Please, Ria, let me in."
"Whore!"
The voice on the other side of the door bore little resemblance to Ria's soft, melodious tone. The word was hurled into the air and repeated in a staccato rhythm. Katy recoiled and raised helpless eyes to Logan.
"Step aside, Katy," Logan said. As soon as she did, he put his shoulder to the door. The door held, but Logan's shoulder did not. It hung at an odd angle, dislocated at the joint. "Don't look." He jammed i
t back into place on his second lunge at the door, swearing forcefully to take his mind off the pain. He stood back then and let Liam try the door.
It took more than a minute, an eternity to those in the hallway, before the lock gave way under the force of Liam's repeated kicking. The door flew open, banged against the wall, and started to close again. Liam caught it and led the way into the room. When he saw where Ria was standing with the baby, he caught Logan's eye, indicated his intention silently, and backed out of the bedchamber.
Cradling Victoria in her arms, Ria continued her retreat onto the balcony just beyond the widely arched bedroom window. A breeze blew at the ivory drapes, causing them to billow into the room and cover Ria's escape for a moment. When their view was clear again, she was pressed against the balcony's stone balustrade. The scene paralyzed Katy so that she could barely draw a breath.
"Don't come any closer," Ria warned them. "No one is going to take my baby away from me."
The drapes billowed again, and this time Michael grabbed them, yanking them down. The crash frightened Victoria, and her plaintive crying became a scream. Ria rested one hip against the stone railing and turned as if to begin her jump.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Logan asked Michael under his breath. "Don't say or do anything! Not a thing! Do you understand, Donovan?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Michael nod. "Ria?" he asked softly, his voice nearly carried away by the wind. "We have come to see your baby, not to take her away."
"You're lying." She mouthed the words over Victoria's head. Her bright green eyes narrowed as they rested on Katy. She raised her voice. "I know you are lying to me. I thought you were so gentle and kind when you came to live with us as Victor's wife. Well, I was wrong about you, and he was wrong about you. Michael always knew what a whore you were. He told me, and I didn't believe him. But then I didn't know you were his whore! Did Victor know, Katy? Did Victor know you were his son's mistress?"
"It's not true, Ria," said Katy. Her voice trembled. The ache she felt to hold Victoria in her arms was a physical pain. "I was never Michael's mistress."
"I saw a photograph that says differently. That's why you came to the house today; that's what you were looking for. There are more of them, aren't there? And you wanted them so I would not suspect what a deceitful bitch you are." Her chin jerked in Michael's direction. "He made me have a baby because you were pregnant! I had to suffer his rutting when all he wanted was a legitimate heir. That was your fault! It's only right that I should have Victoria now. She's mine! You owe me that!"
"Ria." Michael spoke her name impatiently, as though she could still respond to reason—or anger.
Her upper lip curled as her fever-bright eyes rested on her husband. "It was all for nothing! You were such a fool. Look at her!" She raised Victoria up, supporting the baby's head with her palm. "She is not Victor's daughter. Katy was playing you for a fool even as she was cuckolding your father. This is Logan's child! She has his hair, his eyes. Can't you see?" She held Victoria out, which made her own balance precarious.
Logan felt his heart simply stop beating in that moment. He expected Ria to reel over backward and take his daughter with him. "I received the photograph this morning, Ria," Logan said, drawing her attention back to him. "You were right to send it to me. There were so many things I would not have known if you hadn't sent it." He inched forward, his palms lifted upward in a gesture of appeal and helplessness. He gauged the distance to Ria as too far to lunge and bring back Victoria safely.
Michael's blue eyes darted between the baby and Logan. "It's true," he said suddenly. "She is not my father's child." He turned on Katy and caught her by the wrist, yanking her toward him. "You bitch! You let me think—all this time you let me think she was Victor's child!"
"Take your hands off her," Logan said quietly, carefully enunciating each word so that his meaning could not be missed.
"My pleasure." Without any sign of his intention he pushed Katy hard in Ria's direction. She stumbled on the hem of her gown and was propelled forward even as she tried to catch herself. Ria screamed and lifted Victoria out of the way, dangling the baby over the balustrade so Katy could not reach her daughter. Victoria's slight weight, levered outward at an unmanageable angle, was enough to tip Ria's small frame over the stone rail. Katy's arms flailed, her fingers grasped Ria's skirt, then one ankle. She held on with a strength she had no idea she could summon.
Logan leaped forward to help Katy hold Ria. Panicked, Ria fought them and her grip on Victoria began to weaken. "Let her go, Katy," he ordered tightly. "I'll hold her. Try to reach Victoria." Ria's knees were hinged over the wide railing and Logan sat on the balcony floor, holding her by the calves and ankles. The heels of her shoes pressed hard against Logan's injured shoulder as she tried to raise her torso. He groaned and rapped out the order to Katy again.
Katy leaned over the balcony and extended her arms as far as she could. "I can't reach her, Logan! Oh, God, I can't reach her!"
Chapter 15
I can't reach her! Katy's impassioned cry for help hung in the air for several seconds before it was obliterated by Ria's agonized scream. Katy saw Victoria slip from Ria's nerveless fingers, then the baby was falling... falling.
Katy came awake abruptly. In real time, Victoria's descent took a mere heartbeat. In Katy's dream the fall was agonizingly slow, pulling Katy into the same vortex that imprisoned her daughter. She always woke before she hit bottom, always woke before she saw Liam O'Shea step out from beneath the balcony and catch Victoria in his outstretched arms.
Sitting up on the settee, Katy pulled a few pins from her hair and let it fall freely about her shoulders. She massaged her temples with her fingertips. A few moments passed before she realized she was not alone in the dimly lit front parlor. Logan was standing just inside the room, leaning against the closed door, a folded newspaper under his arm.
"I did not hear you come in," she said. Raising the back of her hand to her mouth, she stifled a yawn. "What time is it?"
Logan glanced at the clock on the mantel. "A few minutes after midnight." He pushed away from the door and went to the settee, dropping the newspaper on an end table. "Don't bother with the lamp," he said when she reached to turn up the wick. He took Katy's hands in his. "Are you all right?"
"Mmm," she murmured, nodding. "Fine. A bad dream."
"Victoria's sleeping soundly," he said. "I just looked in on her. You are the one I was worried about. Why aren't you in bed?"
"I was waiting for you. I didn't think I would fall asleep."
Logan slipped one of his hands free of hers and cupped the side of her face. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek as he studied her. There were pale violet shadows beneath her eyes that spoke of too many restless nights. Only a week had passed since Ria dangled their child over the stone balustrade at Madame Restell's. Waking or sleeping, the memories were always there. Pain lingered in Katy's brown-gold eyes. Logan bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips. "Thank you for waiting," he said. "I had not meant to be so late, but,"—he reached behind him and picked up the newspaper—"this story broke. I wanted to see it in print before I left the building." He handed her the first copy of the morning edition of the Chronicle.
Puzzled, Katy accepted the paper and opened it up. The headline drew her attention just as Logan meant it to: FRAUD IN THE HOUSE. Katy raised her head sharply and looked at Logan. "The colonel?" she asked.
"The congressman" he corrected. "The last damning piece of evidence came to our attention today. I decided it was time to let the rest of the country know about Richard Allen."
"He is aware of this?" she asked, lifting the paper.
"Not yet. He will have an opportunity to deny his involvement soon enough. I have little doubt he will do just that. Allen's not the only one named in this corruption scandal, but I think he could have the most to lose. He had set his political goals quite high."
"He might sue the paper, especially when he realizes you're behind this
."
"Let him try. There is nothing in there that isn't true." Logan stood and went to the sideboard. "Would you like a drink? I believe I owe myself some small celebration. This day's been a long time coming."
"Nothing for me."
"Jenny and Christian already retired?" Logan splashed a crystal tumbler with whiskey. The house was quiet. After the noise and excitement of the pressroom, the silence was welcome.
"Just a little while ago. They are probably still awake if you want to show them this."
"God, no. They have had more than enough to take in since their return. Christian still cannot believe Katy Dakota is Mary Catherine McCleary and that I am married to both of them. This business with Richard Allen can definitely wait until morning."
"Your brother has been very understanding," she said. "And Jenny's right, you know, you could have cabled them some news. They arrived home to find you have married and fathered a child and done none of it in the acceptable order."
Logan laughed softly. "Christian was more disturbed by the fact that he had painted your eyes the wrong color." He shook his head, smiling ruefully at the memory of Katy's formal introduction to his brother. Christian did not say hello or even extend his hand. He simply stared at Katy's face, studying her eyes as though nature had made the mistake, and said, "They are supposed to be green."
"Yes, well, Christian's agreed to change the portrait and leave my own eyes alone," she said dryly. Katy smoothed the newspaper in her lap. "Now, if you would allow me..."
"You do not have to read it this minute."
"I want to." She adjusted the oil lamp so she could see better and curled into one corner of the settee.
Logan sat beside Katy again, sipped his drink slowly and watched her read the three-column piece, gauging her reaction by the sighs, frowns, and soft, incredulous ahs. When she was finished, he removed the paper from her lap and dropped it on the floor. He offered her his drink.
