His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) (22 page)

The intensity of Katy's pleasure rocked her awake. Sparks of heat skittered along her arms and legs just beneath her skin, tingling and tickling. A wonderful sense of well-being enfolded her. She stretched languidly, smiling, and opened her eyes—and came face to face with Logan's coolly implacable gaze.

The enormity of what had just taken place was borne home to Katy in a flash of insight. It was accompanied by searing humiliation. Logan's hand still rested between her thighs and the heat and weight of him was like a branding iron. It was too discomforting to tell him to remove his hand. Katy jerked away instead.

"Katy?" Logan watched her sit up on the edge of the bed, her back to him. Her hair fell across her shoulders, a silky shield that his fingers itched to touch. There was a ripple in it as a shudder shimmied down Katy's spine. She looked around for her robe, and Logan pushed it toward her with the toe of his foot. She put it on without looking at him or thanking him. "I didn't like it that you had no pleasure before," he said, sitting up. He leaned against the headboard and covered himself with a sheet.

Outside, the day was gray. Droplets of rain spattered the widow, pinging out a flat, one-note staccato beat. Katy thought it was fitting that nature was shedding tears for her. She had none for herself. "Don't expect that I should be grateful for what you did to me."

"Katy..."

"I am only interested in one thing, Logan. Does this mean that you are finally out of my life?"

"I don't think so. I've thought of little else all night long. I want to make you my mistress."

Katy stood up. She took several steps away from the bed before she turned on him. Now that her anger had reached its zenith, Katy's eyes were more gold than brown. "I wish I had let them hang you at King's Creek," she said quietly.

* * *

Later the same day, between the Saturday matinee and the evening performance of Manners, Katy went to the offices of V. I. Donovan's and asked Victor if he still wanted to marry her. He did. The wedding took place that night in front of a judge that Victor knew, and Katy missed both Sunday performances. She did not return to her suite at the Chesterfield.

Logan and the rest of the city read about the marriage in the Monday afternoon edition of the
Chronicle
.

Chapter 6

"It's all right, Victor. It's not your fault." Katy's head rested on her husband's shoulder as she fit her body along the length of his. In spite of what had just happened between them, it was still a comfort to be close to him. The bedroom was chilled, but Victor's cotton nightshirt was warm beneath her cheek. She laid one hand on his chest and rested her palm over the spot where his heart beat so heavily. "I am not very experienced at this. I am certain I will do better the next time. Please, Vic—"

"Katy dear, shut up," Victor said, not unkindly. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed gently. His eyes were focused on a watermark on the ceiling. He had not noticed it before. It was definitely something that would have to be repaired. "I will speak to the groundskeeper about it," he murmured.

"The groundskeeper? What does he have to do with us?"

"Shh, darling," Victor said soothingly as he chuckled deeply. "I was speaking of the watermark." One finger lifted to indicate the ceiling. "I have been contemplating it these past minutes."

Katy sat up in bed, her legs curled to one side. The neckline of her nightgown gaped, and she quickly fastened the top three buttons. Victor had not even glanced in her direction. "Is it because of Annie?" she asked in a low voice, uncertain. "Is that why I cannot please you?"

"Annie? What nonsense is this? My wife's been dead more than twenty years."

At least she had his attention, Katy thought. "Help me understand, Victor. I don't know what I've done."

Victor studied Katy's face. Her eyes were troubled and there was the suggestion of a frown marring the beautiful line of her mouth. Still, she was lovely. And young. Impossibly young for him. Even now she was holding the end of her braid to her mouth, sucking on it much the way she would have done as a child. The act was so unselfconscious that Victor doubted she was aware of it. "It is nothing you've done," he said finally.

"Then why..."

"It's me, Katy darling. I am too old for you. My body is too old." He tried a smile to make light of it and failed. He could only imagine that she had compared him to Logan Marshall and found him wanting. Hell, he had found himself wanting.

"That is not true," she said sharply. "It's not. I do not believe it and you should not either. Can't we try again? I know I can do better this time. Perhaps if you instructed me it would help and—"

Victor found Katy's wrist and drew her hand toward his lips. "Come, Katy. Lie beside me."

Katy abandoned her braid and slid under the covers. The soles of her feet rubbed Victor's ankles as she snuggled against him. "I do not want you to regret marrying me, Victor. I know I can be a good wife for you."

"I will never regret it," he told her softly. He turned his head so that his mouth brushed Katy's temple. "You have not failed me. If you were not such an innocent, you would understand that I've failed you."

"I am not innocent," she objected. "I told you—"

"I know," said Victor. "Logan Marshall."

Katy simply nodded. There was nothing to be gained by discussing Logan. She told Victor everything before they were married, and he said it made no difference.

"Still," Victor went on, "you are an innocent. One night of passion does not mean you are—"

"Please... don't..." Katy's face flamed, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the humiliating images that came almost immediately to mind. "I do not want to think about it. Please don't make me."

Victor slipped an arm around Katy's shoulders and drew her close. He liked the fullness of her breasts against his chest. He could feel her nipples hardening through the material of her nightgown. Her eyes dropped away from his, and he understood that she was embarrassed by her own response to him. There was so much she did not understand; so much that he could still teach her. "I have an idea," he said. "We will leave the city in the morning. I have a summer home north of here along the Hudson. We can stay there for a few weeks—a real honeymoon, spending time in each other's pockets. That is, if you don't mind leaving the theatre for a while."

"I told you I was not going back on the stage if you married me."

"You will change your mind again. I am not asking that of you."

"It's what I want to do," she reminded him. The summer home sounded wonderful to her and she told him so. Weeks away from the city and the theatre would help her adjust to the idea that she was not going to return to acting. It would help her relegate Logan Marshall to the back of her mind, and she could concentrate on the person dearest to her in all the world. "I do love you, Victor," she said quietly. "You believe me, don't you?"

"I believe you." And he did. Victor was certain that in Katy's own way she loved him. He certainly loved her. It was a bitter irony that he had not been able to consummate their marriage. "I am sorry about this evening," he said gruffly. And the two others before it, he added silently.

"Oh, God, don't apologize. It is not your fault. I am so nervous about all of it, and you have been so patient, so understanding. This is not easy for me. I cannot be a very good partner for you."

But that was not it at all, or at least not all of it. Certainly Katy was nervous, but Victor had found her shyness endearing. It had excited him, made him eager to have her in his bed. That she should want to honor the vows of their marriage was more than Victor had hoped for when he had first proposed. Up until the moment they were in bed together, Victor thought Katy would change her mind. Yet she had not. She followed his lead with sweet passion, letting him touch her, explore her. There were moments when he saw the fear in her deep brown eyes and his caresses gentled. Her fear was a challenge, something that could be turned aside because he loved her so much he ached with it. When he touched her he was erasing Logan Marshall. It troubled him that he was unable to wipe away the most intimate mark Logan had made on Katy.

"We will go to the country," he said again. "It will be wonderful there, you'll see."

"It is wonderful wherever you are."

The most amazing thing to Victor was that she meant it. She truly meant it.

* * *

"Is he here?" Christian asked the steward at the Union Club.

There was no need to ask who 'he' was. The steward pointed to the wing-backed leather chair in one corner of the reading room. Logan was seated there, a leg propped negligently over one arm of the chair. His foot dangled, occasionally bumping the dark maroon leather. Even from the archway across the room the arrhythmic sound was distracting. Apparently other members had thought so, too. Logan was alone.

"Jenny is worried about you," Christian said when he reached his brother's side. "I promised her I'd bring you home."

Logan smiled crookedly, scooped up the bottle of whiskey at his side, and drank directly from the open neck. He held it out to Christian when he was done. "No? Oh, well. I would appreciate the company though. Don't feel much like going home."

"Jenny showed me the evening paper," he said patiently. "She is concerned that you might be taking Miss Dakota's marriage badly. It would seem that she's right."

"Not taking it badly, brother dear," Logan denied, lifting the bottle as if in a toast. "Celebrating a narrow escape. Almost offered the bitch marriage myself. God, what a mistake that would have been. I let myself forget, just for a moment, what she was... who she was." He laughed without any joy in the sound. The bottle slipped a little in his gasp. "You cannot imagine how good I am feeling now, Christian. I am the luckiest man alive."

Christian relieved his brother of the bottle, grabbed Logan's wrist and pulled him to his feet. "You can tell me about it on the way home," he said, supporting Logan carefully. He motioned to the steward and between them they got Logan out of the Union Club and into the waiting carriage.

Somewhere between Seventeenth Street and Worth Square the luckiest man alive passed out.

* * *

Ria Donovan heard door that connected her bedroom with her husband's open slowly.

Tucked under her pillow, her small, porcelain-white hands turned cold and clammy. She closed her eyes, hoping that Michael would think she was asleep and decide against bothering her. It had never stopped him before, but perhaps this time...

Michael stubbed his toe on a three-legged table. He swore softly but vigorously. She had done it on purpose, he suspected. Ria was always rearranging the furniture in her room so that when he came to her at night he was forever stumbling into something. It never thwarted him; it only made him angry. It made him angry now.

Lighting the oil lamp at Ria's bedside, Michael held it so a circle of yellow light fell on his wife's face. The light did unflattering things to Ria's pale skin, making it appear sallow. Michael held it there for a few moments, watching her carefully before he set the lamp down again. "I know you're awake, Ria. It's no good trying to fool me. I think you know that if I want you, I will take you in your sleep. Hell, the way you respond to me, I probably would not know the difference. It might be more enjoyable."

Michael waited, hoping for a flash of temper, something that would spark Ria's green eyes or make her thick head of red hair suit the mood. Nothing. In spite of her coloring, there was no fire in Ria Monroe Donovan. That knowledge further angered Michael. She was a sham, he thought. Just as their entire marriage was a sham. In the west wing his father was making love to the woman Michael wanted in his bed. He damned Ria for not being that woman.

"What do you want?" Ria asked tiredly, proud of herself for the convincing calm in her voice. "It is very late."

"It is very early," he said, pointing to the gold leaf clock on Ria's chiffonier. "Just past five. I couldn't sleep so I went to the library to get some papers I have been working on. Imagine my surprise when I almost bumped into Father in the hallway. He was carrying a middle-of-the-night feast for him and his bride. I think they both worked up an appetite."

Ria sat up, moving away from Michael as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Her back was flush to the headboard and her eyes darted over him warily. "Do not be crude, Michael."