His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) (47 page)

She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Her lion's mane of hair was swept up and back and coiled loosely at the back of her head. The honey color was a gilt frame for her face. Her dark brown eyes were defiant, the splinters of gold clearly evident. She held her head stiffly, chin raised slightly, and his gaze was drawn to the slenderness of her neck and the cameo brooch pinned to her high collar and nestled at the base of her throat. Katy's shoulders were set back militantly, but her posture merely pulled Michael's eyes to her breasts. At his sides, his hands folded into loose fists.

Aware of what he wanted to do with his hands, Michael pointed to the forest green settee, touching the curved back with his fingertips. "Please, Katy, won't you sit down?"

Just as if nothing were wrong, she thought. He could never fail to astonish her with his incredible gall. "I prefer things as they are—more or less."

"Very well," he said. "A drink then?" When she merely glared at him, Michael shrugged. He made no move to fix himself anything. "I imagine you are wondering about Ria. Most every afternoon for the past six weeks she has had a meeting with her friends. Something to do with planning a charity ball, I think. She spares me the details, thank God."

Katy continued to stare at him stonily.

"I realized it was only a matter of time before Ria would invite you here herself, so I took the initiative. You obviously did not suspect a thing."

Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did Katy betray her surprise. He did not know that she had already seen Ria or that she had been expecting Ria's invitation. The realization lightened Katy's heart. Ever since she had walked into the room she had been entertaining the niggling doubt that Ria had somehow been involved in setting this trap. She was relieved to put that doubt to rest.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "I applaud your patience. You have yet to ask what it is I want."

"I knew you would arrive at the point eventually." He had not changed. Clever, spoiled Michael Donovan. As far as Katy knew, where she was concerned, he only ever had one thing on his mind.

"You should never have come back to New York," he said.

Letting her breath out slowly, Katy said, "I have told you before, Michael, I do not want anything from Victor's estate. Nothing for me, nothing for Victoria. I will sign anything you want to that effect."

Michael's upper lip curled derisively. "Feeling differently, are you, now that you have all of Logan Marshall's money at your fingertips." He did not wait for Katy to deny it. "Hell, yes, I want your signature. I had the papers prepared the moment I read about your marriage to Marshall." Now Michael left his place by the settee and went to the walnut escritoire. To take advantage of the sunlight, it was placed at an angle by the room's large, arched windows. He nudged the paper lying on top toward Katy. "You will have to sign this over here."

Katy hesitated. Her reluctance to be within an arm's length of Michael was evident in every tense line of her body. She took a step forward, then stopped. "I would like my husband to read it over before I sign."

Michael shook his head. "Believe me," he said flatly, as if his credibility had never been questioned, "it is not necessary. The language is simple enough. You will be able to understand it. There is nothing complicated about refusing my father's bequest. You should have done this before you disappeared. I have had a hell of a time with the estate. Half of it was tied up, waiting for you to claim it. I considered having you declared dead."

"That would have proved awkward for you," she said. "Since I am very much alive."

"Where did you go?" he asked. "Washington? That's where the
Chronicle
said you were married."

"That's where I was."

"Logan knew?"

"He found me," she said. She did not like the way Michael seemed to smirk each time he mentioned Logan's name. She approached the escritoire and picked up the contract. "Give me a moment to study this." Katy found it difficult to read, not because of the language, but because she could feel Michael's eyes wandering over her again. Without even touching her, he had the ability to make her feel dirty. She fought the feeling and forced herself to concentrate. "It says here that I acknowledge that Victor's will was written when he was under duress and that his suicide invalidates the terms he set down."

"So?"

"But that is not true. Not completely. Victor did not commit suicide, and I won't sign anything that says he did. Victor was troubled before he died, but he was not incompetent—and I will not say he was."

"Katy, do not make this difficult. That passage is necessary in order to invalidate his last will. You can either sign it privately or I make the matter public. You cannot refuse my father's bequest otherwise."

"I don't like it."

"Dammit! Do you think I do? He was my father far longer than he was your husband! I have no desire to drag the Donovan name through the courts, but, by God, I will do what I have to, to keep what is rightfully mine. Do not underestimate me, Katy. I am damned if a Marshall is going to have access to Donovan money."

Katy put down the paper and did not pick up the pen. "I don't know, Michael. Let me think about it, talk to Logan, and then meet with you again. Perhaps there is something you have not thought of, a way for me to refuse my share without making it seem as if Victor was not of sound mind."

The lines of Michael's beautifully chiseled face became sharp and angular with anger. His lips thinned and his nostrils flared. He grabbed Katy's right wrist, picked up the pen, and thrust it into her hand. "There are no alternatives," he said tightly. He crushed Katy's inadequate resistance and forced her hand toward the desktop.

The pressure of Michael's fingers on her wrist was so great that Katy lost her grip on the pen. She winced, tears of pain gathering in her eyes. "You are going to break my wrist," she said tautly, hating the note of pleading she heard in her voice.

"Sign it," he repeated. He released her wrist and handed her the pen. "Now."

"No one will know what this says?" she asked.

"No one."

"Very well. If it is the only way." Katy put her name to the document.

Michael slid the paper from beneath her nerveless fingers and examined it. "Katy Dakota Marshall? Is that your legal name?"

"Yes."

He put the contract in a desk drawer. "Could not wait to rid yourself of the Donovan name, could you?"

Katy did not think his comment was worth a reply. "Will you please open the door now? I would like to leave."

"You heard Duncan lock it."

"Yes, I know. I presume you have a key."

He shook his head.

Katy believed he was lying, but she did not press the issue. "I would like to leave," she repeated.

Michael moved away from the escritoire, but instead of reaching for the bell pull to summon Duncan, he approached the fireplace. Resting his shoulder blades against the high mantel, he faced Katy. His arms were crossed in front of his chest; his chin was lifted and cocked to one side. He watched Katy eye the green brocade sash, and he knew what she was thinking. "It requires a special ring to bring Duncan in this case," he said. "I doubt you could stumble on it easily. Just put it out of your mind, Katy, and talk to me. The difficult part is over now. We only have to finalize arrangements between you and me."

Katy looked past Michael's shoulder to the clock on the mantel. She only had to keep him at bay for forty minutes or so. Joe Means would be coming to collect her at the end of that time. Michael could hardly keep her against her will after he arrived. "What arrangements?" she asked.

Michael's eyes studied Katy with insolent familiarity. "The last time you were here I believe I outlined your alternatives. Your signature on that document was only part of what I wanted and you knew it. I was quite clear before, that if you chose to live in the city it would be as my mistress."

"You are clearly troubled, Michael. We've been over this ground before, and my feelings haven't changed. I am also married now. I know you have not forgotten that fact, which makes your proposal all the more insulting."

"I should think you would be flattered," he said with a half-grin. "I cannot recall that I've ever pursued a woman with such single-mindedness."

"You do not want me," she said. "Not really. For some reason that I cannot fathom, you enjoy the pursuit. If I surrendered, you would throw me over in a week."

"An interesting theory. Shall we test it?"

Katy's voice was stiff as she ground out the words. "I do not think so. Being alone with you now is almost more than I can bear."

"I still have the photographs, Katy. There is nothing to keep me from using them now. No one will ever believe that my father took them because he wanted to paint you. They will expose you for the slut you are." He pushed away from the mantel, thrusting his hands in his pockets. His posture was casual, thoughtful, and meant to provoke his guest. "I cannot help but wonder what Logan would have to say about them."

Katy's mouth was dry as sand. Her mind was a blank. She could only stare at Michael's handsomely cut features with loathing. The ugliness that was at his core seemed to reach out to her. Involuntarily she found herself taking a step back.

"But then perhaps Logan understands the kind of woman you are. You were seeing him while still married to my father. Can he really expect that you would be any more faithful to him? He might be convinced those photographs were taken after your marriage to him. I doubt that would set well."

"I will tell him all about the photographs myself, Michael, and he will believe me. My portrait hangs in our home." In the bedroom she shared with Logan, she nearly added, thinking back to her surprise when she had first seen it. Nothing she said could persuade Logan to move it to another location. She gave up when she realized that he treasured the portrait in a way she never could. "Christian Marshall painted it, working from a photograph his wife took. Logan once returned such a photograph to me. You are wrong if you think he would believe you over me."

"Really? Then we will just have to see about that, won't we? I'll send one photograph to Logan and one to the city editor of the
Chronicle
. That should be an interesting dilemma for Logan. And if he cannot rise to the challenge, I'll send a photograph—anonymously, of course—to the
Times
and another to the
Herald
. We will see what his competitors do with the information. If the news does not circulate in the morning editions, it is certain to circulate the city by word of mouth. You will make Logan a laughingstock."

Katy felt the blood draining from her face. "Why are you doing this, Michael? I cannot believe it is all in aid of getting me. There is something you are not telling me."

"No, Katy, I've told you everything. You have never fully appreciated what you are to me. It is rare that a day goes by that I do not think of you, think of touching you. You owe me peace of mind, if nothing else. Allow me to get you out of my blood, out of my thoughts, and perhaps then I will be able to let you go." His smile held a trace of self-mockery, "Although I doubt a week will be long enough. Come, sit down. You do not look as if your legs will support you much longer."

This time Katy obeyed Michael, accepting a seat on the settee. Had her mind been clearer, she would have taken a chair so that there would be no chance of him sitting beside her.

"Your alternative is to leave the city again. Leave Logan Marshall."

Katy suddenly understood something she had been blind to in the past. "This is not only about me," she said, conviction in her voice. "This is about hurting Logan. It was about hurting your father. You will take what belongs to another man just to prove you can do it."

"I can hardly believe you would admit to belonging to any man." He slipped over the arm of the settee, folding one leg under him as he sat down. Leaning toward Katy, he took her hand and brought it toward his lap. "Besides, you are quite wrong. I am willing to share you with Logan... for a time."

Katy tried to pull her hand back and found it caught securely. "I cannot, Michael. Please... I cannot. You don't know what you are asking of me. Logan will kill you when I tell him."

"You won't tell him."

She hated the confidence in his voice, yet she knew he was right. She would do anything to spare Logan the public humiliation of those photographs. "If I become your mistress, I will want the pictures."

"Of course—after an agreed upon period of time. Shall we say one year?"

"No. I will not agree to those terms."

"Not so long ago you said you would never agree to be my mistress," he reminded her. "Things have a way of changing upon a little reflection."

"Three months," she said.

"One year. The only way it will be less is if I decide to end the relationship." Katy was silent so long Michael thought he had pushed her too far. He meant what he had said about using the photographs, but he hoped she would not push him. They had value only once. Made public, they could never be used against Katy again. He was giving up all hope of having her if he showed those pictures to anyone.

"All right," she said finally. She closed her eyes briefly against the pain of her decision. "Whatever you want."