His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) (18 page)

"Are you feeling quite yourself this evening?" Jane asked as she helped Katy out of her gown. "Here, let me undo these corset strings. Might be that I pulled them too tight. Heaven knows, I shouldn't. It is reed-thin you are now. I thought you were going to faint just as the last curtain came down. Remarked on it to Billy Batton, I did. He agreed with me—for once. Can't say that this is a matter where I wanted his agreement."

Katy murmured occasionally as Jane chattered on. She held a cold compress over her eyes and prayed that the throbbing in her temples would go away. The fragrances in the room were overpowering. Baskets of flowers dominated every available space. Roses were very popular—red, white, and yellow—it did not matter. Men from the audience sent them to express everything from passionate devotion to admiration for her performance. Scattered among the bouquets were notes begging for Katy's company at dinner. Those invitations generally meant there would be a later one begging for her company in bed. Katy never responded to them anymore.

Tension eased slightly when Jane plucked the pins from her hair, brushed it out, and redid it in a braid that was soft and loose and fell over Katy's left shoulder.

"Do you want help with your greasepaint?" asked Jane. Her dimpled hands moved swiftly over the surface of Katy's vanity, organizing the bottles and tins and vials with the sure command of a general. Everything stood at attention. Without waiting for Katy's answer, Jane began applying untinted grease to Katy's face, rubbing it in gently to remove her face paint.

Katy dropped her compress on the vanity, but she kept her eyes closed and her head tilted back against Jane's supporting forearm. "How do you think it went tonight?" she asked. "I was concerned about the new blocking. I missed a cue in the second act. I should have gone to the sofa when Anthony began his speech."

"No one noticed. I'm sure I didn't. Don't you listen to the audience?" Jane was watching her employer consideringly as she wiped away the paint. "They loved the play this evening, and they especially loved you. Can't you feel their approval when everything goes well?"

"I do not want them to love me, and I don't act for their approval."

Jane's hand stilled momentarily, caught off guard by the intensity with which Katy spoke. "Then why?"

"I do it for me," she said, pushing Jane's hand away and sitting up. She finished removing the greasepaint herself. "For a few hours each night I get to become someone else, wear another person's skin, and feel and think things that are so different, and sometimes not so different, from the things I think and feel. And when I do it, I want to do it well. Not for them, but for me. You cannot imagine how important it is to be someone else."

Jane was thoughtful as she began putting away Katy's gowns, but she said nothing. It was a fanciful notion, she decided, that Katy Dakota acted because she wanted to escape. Escape what? As near as Jane could tell the actress had everything a woman could possibly desire. Why should she want to be someone else? "Will you want to wear the wine-colored gown home?" she asked. "I can lay it out for you."

"Yes, that will be fine." She sighed her annoyance when someone knocked at the door. "See who that is, Jane. Please, no visitors. I do not want to see anyone." Katy went behind the dressing screen so she would be out of view while Jane made excuses for her.

Jane closed the door with the toe of her shoe. Her arms were full with a large bouquet of daisies. She held them up for Katy to see. "Lovely, aren't they? Don't bother yourself; I'll get a vase. I know there's one around here somewhere. There's a card. Shall I read it?"

Without hesitation Katy said, "They're from Victor." Victor would send daisies, she thought, smiling to herself. They were spring-fresh, clean and bright. Better, they had none of the cloying perfume fragrance of the roses. "He knows I like daisies."

"Maybe he does," said Jane. "But so does someone named Logan. That's who sent these daisies. That wouldn't be Mr. Logan Marshall, would it?"

"What?"

Before Jane could respond, there was another knock at the door. "No peace tonight," the dresser said, cradling the bouquet.

Katy went back to dressing and paid little attention to Jane's conversation at the door. She did not know Jane had lost the battle for her privacy until she heard an unfamiliar woman's voice apologize for the intrusion. Standing on tiptoe, Katy looked over the top of the dressing screen. Her mouth went dry when she saw Jenny Marshall standing in the open threshold. "It's all right, Jane. You can leave for the night. I would like to talk to Mrs. Marshall alone."

Jane's eyes darted between the two women. The reassuring glance she got from Katy decided her. She slipped past Jenny Marshall and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"Please," said Katy, "make yourself comfortable. There is a pot of tea on the stand over there. It is probably still warm. I will be done in a moment."

Jenny was surprised, and her eyes widened in reaction. After dealing with the dragon guarding Katy's privacy, Jenny had not expected to be warmly received by the actress herself. "I admit I am curious," said Jenny. "How is it that you know me?"

"I noticed you last evening in Delmonico's. I asked my escort who you were."

"Yes, I noticed you there also. Victor Donovan is a friend of the family." Jenny dropped her beaded bag on the chaise and poured a cup of tea.

"I promise I won't take much of your time, Miss Dakota. I came because I want to know if you would permit me to make some photographic studies of you?"

There was no response from behind the screen for a few moments. When Katy finished buttoning her gown, she stepped out into view. "Mr. Marshall put you up to this, didn't he?" she asked coldly. "It is some sort of test."

"Why, no, my husband does not know I've come."

"I meant Logan."

"Heavens, no. Logan was against this from the beginning. That's why
I'm
here."

"I don't think I understand," Katy said slowly. She admitted to herself that Jenny Marshall appeared very innocent, but it was a look that Katy herself had perfected on stage. "Logan did not send you here to see if I would throw you out?"

Jenny's soft doe eyes widened. "Why would he do that?"

"You tell me."

Jenny set her cup down and brought her chin up. She spoke quickly and evenly, proving that she was not intimidated by Katy's frosty accents. "I believe we are at cross purposes, Miss Dakota. Let me explain more clearly why I have come." Jenny briefly described the conversation she had shared with Logan and Christian at Delmonico's. "I thought the matter was settled," she said, "when we left the restaurant. Logan was going to ask you to pose for the photographs so my husband could work on some sketches and preliminary paintings during our voyage. Apparently Logan never mentioned any of this to you. I assumed that he had because he told me that you had refused to pose. I came to ask you to reconsider."

"Logan lied to you."

"I am understanding that. I suppose he has his reasons."

"You are quick to defend him."

"He is family," Jenny said without apology. "Whatever I think of Logan's actions, I will tell him myself—in private. I take it that he did come to see you yesterday. When he sent someone to the house to get clothes for him I assumed that he was—"

"You assume too much, perhaps." Katy sat down at the vanity and fastened pearl drop earrings on her lobes. "But yes, he was with me. All night. Does that shock you, Mrs. Marshall?"

A tiny smile played at the edges of Jenny's beautiful mouth. "I am not Logan's keeper," she said. "If you did not object to his company, then why on earth would I?"

"Why do you want your husband to paint me?" Katy asked. "Aren't you afraid I will find Logan's brother equally attractive? Aren't you afraid I might seduce him?"

Jenny sighed, disappointed. "It is obvious that you are spoiling for a fight, Miss Dakota, and have been since I first made my request. Allow me to say this before I leave: I would be very surprised if you did not find Christian attractive, and I would scratch out your eyes if you did anything to compromise him or my marriage." Jenny picked up her purse and turned to go.

"Wait!" Katy called after her, then added more softly, "Please, wait. I have been unconscionably rude to you. You were right, I'm afraid. I have been spoiling for a fight. Won't you sit down? I would like to start over."

Jenny hesitated while she took measure of the actress's sincerity. It was Katy's uncertainty, her sudden insecurity, that decided Jenny. "All right," she said.

Katy cleared the edge of the chaise longue of scripts and clothes to make room for her guest. Once she assured herself that Jenny was comfortable, Katy took some tea for herself. "Since Logan did not ask me to sit for the photographs, it seems obvious that he does not want me to do them. I don't think he would approve of you being here."

"Approve? Perhaps not. But neither would he stop me. Logan does not have those kind of rights with me."

Why did he think he had them with her? Katy wondered unhappily. But she knew that he held everything she valued hostage. A few words from Logan and the entire city would know that she had been responsible for his imprisonment. The Yankees had forgiven much since the end of the war, but Katy doubted they would be so generous in her case. Not with Logan Marshall, their favorite son, as her victim. "Who would take the photographs?" she asked.

"I would. As you say, it is rather obvious that Logan is against the pictures, although I don't know why. I see no reason for him to know about it, do you? My husband has a studio on the third floor of our home. There is a darkroom there that Logan and I both use for developing pictures. None of the staff would comment on you visiting the studio with me." Jenny glanced around Katy's dressing room and paid particular attention to the vanity. "I could duplicate this setting fairly easily in the studio. You would have to bring your pots of rouge and powder, whatever you use to paint your face. That is the type of photographs I have in mind, something of a study while you begin to grow into your character."

"My character is not particularly likeable."

"Not in the beginning, she's not. But the way you play her she has a certain vulnerability. You've fleshed out the character, made her a real person. She is wicked, yes. Wonderfully wicked, in fact. She is also very, very human." Jenny laughed at herself. "Why am I telling you this? You must have realized it. After all, you practically created her."

"The playwright would not want to hear that," Katy said, smiling. "But I thank you. So... we do these photographs in your husband's studio. He won't mind?"

"I'll present him with a fait accompli. He will see the photographs after we've started our voyage. Both he and Logan will be at the paper tomorrow; there is no possibility that either will find out."

"Will I be paid for the sittings?" asked Katy.

Jenny successfully hid her surprise. She had not thought money would be an issue. "Of course." She named a generous figure. "That is just for the sittings. When Christian needs you for the actual painting there will be another payment. Naturally that will not be until we return from Europe. You also should know that he might not choose to paint you at all. He has been known to change his mind about models."

"I understand," she said slowly, wondering if Logan could influence his brother against doing the paintings. "You say we would do the sittings tomorrow?"

"Yes. Come round to the house at ten. We are on the northwest corner of Thirty-eighth and Fifth. It has an iron fence circling the property and—"

"I am certain I can find it."

"You will come, then?"

Logan be damned. "Yes," she said.

Jenny nodded. She stood, paused while she considered her question, and then asked in a rush, "Do you know why Logan does not want my husband to paint you?"

"Yes."

Jenny waited for more information but Katy offered none. She pressed on. "Will you tell me?"

"It is well known that your husband's subjects are particularly beautiful," she said.

"So?" Jenny was bewildered.

"So? Don't you understand? Your brother-in-law knows how ugly I am."

Jenny's frown deepened. Clearly Katy believed what she said and that struck Jenny as powerfully sad. Jenny excused herself quietly as Katy turned back to her mirror. All the way home she mulled over the puzzle of Katy Dakota.

* * *

Logan was having much the same thoughts as his sister-in-law. He was lounging on the sofa in Katy's sitting room, waiting for her to return from the theatre. Occasionally his eyes would shift to the cobalt blue ashtray and the cigar butt that rested there. The faint odor of cigar smoke still permeated the room.

In his hands he held one of her delicate music boxes. He opened the lid, listened to the music for a moment, and then closed it again. It played "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." A strange tune for someone who had no love for Yankees. Almost as strange as the fact that she had kept his black lacquered box all these years.

Logan put the music box down when he heard the key turn in the lock. His casual, proprietary posture was for Katy's benefit as she entered her suite. His half-smile and coolly colored eyes mocked her surprise and frustration.