His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) (15 page)

"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."

"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."

Dumbfounded, Katy listened to Logan's light tread as he retreated into the bathing room. His mistress! The scandal would lay waste to her career... to her life. Logan would not settle for the proper, circumspect relationship she enjoyed with Victor, and a public affair would make every role she earned by virtue of her talent subject to speculation that she had earned it on her back. Katy felt helpless to act, afraid of Logan's response if she went to the police. And what if he were only bluffing? She did not want to raise the alarm if Logan only wanted to torment her tonight. That she could stand. He would soon grow tired of poking at her the way a small boy grew bored with a caterpillar in a jar. By morning it could very well all be over... couldn't it?

Katy thought she would never sleep, but in truth she never heard Logan when he returned and stood over her, studying her face in a pale wash of moonshine. She never saw that his hands held a black lacquered box.

Logan knew there would be no music when he opened the lid. He ticked off the contents on mental fingers before looking. It was all there. She had saved everything: one kerchief, a spool of blue thread, two needles, a lice comb, chalk, six marbles, including four prized aggies, a watch fob, a deck of cards, and one spoon honed to a razor's edge.

* * *

The sweet aroma of hot chocolate teased Katy's senses. She wrinkled her nose, mouth watering as she caught the fragrances of bacon and cinnamon rolls. She wished she could command this sort of dream more often, for certainly it was the most vivid in recent memory. Stretching her legs, Katy rolled on her back, carrying her pillow with her. She hugged it and snuggled deeper under the covers.

"Wake up, Katy. I can see you licking your lips."

Katy's eyes opened abruptly. She saw Logan standing over her and groaned softly. "It's true," she said, her voice still husky with sleep.

"Apparently."

"Oh, God."

"I've set up a table for breakfast," he said, pointing to the foot of the bed. "Unless you'd prefer eating where you are?"

"No," she said firmly. As far as Katy was concerned, the sooner she was out of bed, the better. She sat up, pushing away the pillow and throwing back the covers. "Where's my robe?" she asked, noting for the first time that she was no longer wearing it.

"I took it off you after you were sleeping. You looked uncomfortable. It was twisted all around you." He grinned, sitting down at the table and snapping open a linen napkin. "Don't worry. I won't hold my breath waiting for you to thank me." Logan pointed to the wardrobe. "I put it in there."

Katy found it, slipped it on, and stalked into the bathing room. She counted to ten, washed her face, cleaned her teeth, brushed and braided her hair, and counted to ten again. "I want you out of here this morning, Logan," she said, standing in the doorway.

He did not look up from eating. "Your breakfast is getting cold."

"I mean it," she said.

"So do I. Your bacon is going to taste like month-old jerky if you don't eat it now." He bit off the end of one strip and chewed slowly, savoring it. "Be sensible, Katy. Do not deny yourself something to eat just because you don't like the company."

She sat down across from him. Believing a correction was in order, she said, "I despise the company."

Now he looked at her. His eyes were hard and a muscle worked in his cheek. "The feeling's mutual."

Katy was taken aback. She stared at Logan blankly for a moment before she ducked her head and applied herself to her meal. "Where did you get those clothes?" she asked when she could no longer stand the silence. Logan was not wearing his evening clothes any longer. His brown wool frock coat was loosely cut, and he wore it over a brown silk waistcoat, white shirt, and fawn trousers. They were his clothes; Katy had no doubt of that. The fit was exactly right, and Logan not only looked comfortable but pleased with himself as well.

"I sent someone from the hotel around to my house this morning. I imagine it raised quite a fuss with Mrs. Brandywine—she's the housekeeper—but she's been through worse with Christian. My peccadilloes must seem mild by comparison."

"Don't apply for sainthood yet."

One half of Logan's mouth lifted in an appreciative, though mocking, grin. "By the way, I repaired the bell pull. I mention it in the event you were wondering how I managed to order breakfast. I would not suggest using it in order to evict me, however. It's quite possible the hotel staff will think we've had a tiff."

"I don't care what they think. They've seen it all before, and they don't talk. That is what makes the Palace so popular with men like you and their mistresses. And since I am not your mistress, and I pay my own way, I can have you thrown out of here on your Yankee ass if I've a mind to."

"You used to pay your own way. I confess, that surprised me. I am afraid I assumed it was Victor or Michael who saw to all your needs."

The slight emphasis that Logan placed on the word 'all' did not go unnoticed. "You have a filthy mind," she said, "and it shouldn't... What do you mean I
used
to pay my own way? What have you done?"

Logan swallowed his bite of cinnamon roll and took a sip of chocolate. He made a face. It was too sweet. He should never have refused the coffee. Setting down his cup, he said, "I made a few inquiries. You were behind two weeks and I—"

"The management knows I will pay!" she said, jabbing her fork at him. "Manners is certain to have a lengthy—"

"As I was beginning to say, I wrote a draft for the two weeks you owe as well as for the next six months." He took a pocket watch out of his waistcoat, flipped it open, and glanced at the time. "Mr. Carstairs has already deposited the draft. It's quite official by this time. You are a kept woman, Katy Dakota."

Katy pushed her plate away and threw down her fork. "I don't have to stay here," she said. "You've bought yourself six months at the Chesterfield, Mr. Marshall. Alone!"

Logan did not comment, but he looked at Katy with new interest. Anger did not make Katy beautiful, but it did make her arresting. The air fairly hummed with the resonance of her outrage. Splinters of gold shimmered in her dark brown eyes, and the tips of her fingers were white where they were pressed to the tabletop. Her jaw was set firmly, her shoulders braced, and she looked quite capable of leaping across the table and clawing his face.

Logan wiped his mouth and then tossed the napkin on his plate. "If you will excuse me," he said politely, pushing away from the table. "I have to be at the paper this morning. I'm already late."

He ducked in time to miss the plate Katy flung at his head. In fact, he managed to dodge all the missiles she fired in his direction on his way out. In the hallway, he laughed, shaking his head as she fired another volley at the closed door. Walking away, past the wide-eyed stares of two maids polishing the hardwood floor, Logan credited himself with accomplishing everything he had set out to do. He had warned her away from Christian and Jenny, kissed her within an inch of her life, and begun the ruination of her career. All in all, it was a satisfactory exercise.