His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) (50 page)

"Then it's reasonable to assume she's not in any particular hurry to be back."

Logan was not in a mood to be reasonable any longer. "Do you know which way she walks, where she might go?"

"She usually just walks the avenue, although judging by the lateness of the hour, she may well have accepted an invitation to lunch. I do recall her saying something about Mrs. Donovan. Perhaps she's gone there."

Logan wished he had had that information an hour ago. "If my wife comes home, please tell her I was here."

"You're going back to the paper?"

"Yes," he lied. "Good day, Mrs. B." He bent and bussed her on the cheek and then he was gone.

From the parlor window, Mrs. Brandywine watched Logan mount his horse and head north along the avenue. Printing House Square was south. Just who did he think he was fooling?

As a courtesy, Logan asked to see Ria Donovan when he arrived at her home. Duncan ushered him inside but told Logan that Mrs. Donovan had gone out a short time earlier. "I will check to be sure, of course," Duncan said, "but Mrs. Donovan is generally out of the house every Wednesday afternoon."

"Don't trouble yourself." Inside his pocket, Logan's fingers played with the torn photograph. "Has Mrs. Marshall been here today?"

Duncan was nervous. At the corner of his right eye a muscle twitched. He wondered what Logan Marshall knew about Katy's meeting with Michael a week ago. He regretted following Michael's directions then. Facing Logan now, he more than regretted locking Katy in the front parlor. "Yes, but Mrs. Marshall left some time ago."

"Do you happen to know where my wife went after she left here?"

The butler's long face was nearly colorless with the strength of his anxiety. How much allegiance did he owe Michael Donovan? "As a matter of fact," he said, "I hailed a cab for Mrs. Marshall. I believe she intended to go to Donovan's."

"Shopping?" asked Logan, surprised. He had never known Katy to express the least interest in shopping at Donovan's, certainly not with Victoria in tow.

"I could not say, sir." Duncan's fear of Logan Marshall was once again tempered by his fear of Michael Donovan.

"Very well." He paused while the butler opened the door for him. "Thank you for your help." Logan's long stride carried him quickly down the walk.

* * *

Michael Donovan occupied a large office on the fourth and highest floor of the store. Secluded from the smaller offices of the clerks and accountants, he had always thought of it as his father's lair. It had taken some getting used to, this position of authority and power, but Michael knew he was equal to the task—had always known it—even when he thought Victor hadn't.

Donovan's was flourishing. True, it did not serve the general populace as well as it had when Victor had been in charge, but it did count many of New York's best families among its clientele. Michael imported the finest crystal and china, gowns from Paris, rugs from the Orient. If it was rare, if it had something unique to recommend it, it generally could be found at Donovan's. All prices were a touch above the common man's reach, but Donovan's had become dear to the hearts of those who wanted expensive and exclusive items for their homes or for themselves.

Michael had succeeded in making the store something associated with him, not his father. The same was true of the office. No longer the sparsely furnished, utilitarian workspace that Victor had enjoyed, Michael's office was elegantly appointed, crowded with the luxuries that were now a hallmark of the store itself. The divan, the tables, and vases all bore a Chinese influence. The chairs in front of the desk were Chippendales. Between the two chairs was a butler's table. A gold and blue enamel card case rested beside the crystal liquor decanters. The crystal was from Italy, the bourbon from Kentucky. Only Victor's enormous cherry wood desk and leather chair remained as symbols of inherited authority.

When Katy entered the office, she half-expected it would be Victor who swiveled in his chair to face her. It was not, of course. At the quiet click of the door, Michael turned from the window.

He was quiet for a few moments, studying Katy as she stood with her back to the door. He noted that she was fidgeting with her hands at her back. As if sensing that this put her at a disadvantage, she removed her bonnet and held it in both hands in front of her. The defiance inherent in the gesture made Michael smile. Her honey-colored hair was a perfect frame for her face, warm and full and soft. The line of her mouth was damp, as if she had run her tongue across it before coming in the room. It was a heady thought.

The gown she wore was lilac, a pale, cool color that flowed like a waterfall around her. She swept the train of her dress to one side and approached his desk. He marveled at the way she moved, fluid and graceful. It was not calculated to catch his eye, yet he could not look away.

Dropping the papers he held in his hands, Michael pushed away from his desk and leaned back in his chair. Light from the window behind him placed his features in shadow and made his expression difficult to read.

"I believe you are early," he said. "The invitation I sent you was for tomorrow."

Katy placed her bonnet on top of Michael's desk. Her fingertips absently smoothed one of the ribbons. She watched Michael's eyes drop to her hand, and she quickly stilled the movement.

With some difficulty Michael lifted his eyes back to Katy's face. "So why are you here?"

"I have changed my mind."

Michael sat forward. His eyes flashed with anger, but his voice was quiet and low, carefully controlled. "Think again, Katy. I still have these." He reached into the middle drawer of his desk and pulled out the photographs. He fanned them open in front of her, watched her blanch, and then shoved them back into the drawer.

"I don't think you understand, Michael. I have not changed my mind about the bargain we struck. I have changed my mind about not wanting you."

One of Michael's brows arched. "Oh, really?"

"Really."

"I would like to believe you, Katy, but it's been less than a week since we talked, and at that time you swore you could not tolerate my touch. Are you telling me that after six days you've had a change of heart?"

"Something like that."

"Do not play me for a fool, Katy. I have warned you. You will not like the consequences."

Katy parted Michael's desk and came to stand in front of him. "I see I will have to work very hard to convince you." She paused. "Shall I lock the door or shall you?"

Michael stood slowly. He crossed the office and turned the key, leaving it dangle in the lock. "All right," he said, returning to her side. "Show me this change of heart."

Placing her hands on his shoulders, Katy raised herself on tiptoe just enough to reach Michael's mouth with her own. Closing her eyes, she kissed him. He did not respond at first, forcing Katy to take all the initiative. She teased Michael's lower lip with the tip of her tongue before she drew it into her mouth. She nibbled on his mouth while her hands slipped beneath his jacket and stroked his chest. Her fingers played with the buttons of his vest and shirt. She tugged on the material so it came out of the waistband of his trousers. Katy's fingers curled around one strap of Michael's suspenders, snapping it lightly against his chest.

The kiss deepened as she engaged Michael's response. She pressed herself against him, forcing him to feel the shape of her body in contrast to his.

Michael's hands lifted from his sides and traveled slowly across Katy's arms. They rested lightly on her shoulders and then moved along her collarbones until they circled her neck. He pressed the hollow of her throat with his thumbs until she whimpered and broke the kiss. Even as she raised darkening eyes to his he did not lessen his grip.

"I have not forgotten you're an actress," he said, his voice soft with menace.

"I am not acting."

"So help me—"

Katy raised one hand, placing a finger to Michael's lips. "Do not misunderstand, Michael, I still want the photographs, but I could not let you name all the terms. It is not my way to wait at home for your summons. You cannot have everything your way. I wanted to name the place and the time." She could feel the tip of his tongue against her finger. His hands on her throat were making it difficult to breathe.

It was Katy's honest admission that she still wanted the pictures that encouraged Michael to lower his guard. That, and the fact he had always found it hard to believe Katy did not want him. He lightened the pressure on her throat. "I will only give you one photograph today," he said. "You cannot expect more than that."

"I don't."

"I, on the other hand, expect a great deal." Michael pulled Katy toward him. This time it was his mouth that descended hungrily on hers. He kissed her hard, making her taste him. His tongue swept along the ridge of her teeth, sought entrance, and found it. He cupped her breasts. Through the cool silk of Katy's gown he could feel the heat of her skin. Her sensitive breasts swelled faintly at the steady insistence of his caress. The tips of her nipples pressed like small pearls at the center of his palms. She made a sound at the back of her throat that made Michael's heart race. He leaned back against the edge of the desk. Half-sitting, he opened his legs and drew her between them, holding her so closely she couldn't fail to know the effect she had on him.

He murmured something under his breath.

"What is it?" asked Katy.

Michael reached beneath him and pulled out the letter opener he accidentally sat on. "This." He dropped it on a pile of papers behind him, then circled Katy's wrists with his hands and brought them back to his chest. "Keep touching me, darling. I want to know precisely where your hands are."

But it was not Katy's hand that he needed to fear. It was her knee. She brought it up hard against Michael's groin when he pressed himself against her. His scream of pain was muffled as Katy pulled his jacket up over his head and pushed him away. She grabbed the letter opener in one hand and yanked open Michael's desk drawer with the other. Scooping up the photographs, Katy ran for the door.

She was proud of her foresight. When she first came into the office, knowing Michael's preference for locked doors, her fingers had brushed the skeleton key. She turned it then, locking herself in the room with him. When she encouraged Michael to see to their privacy she knew what would happen. Instead of locking the door, he had unlocked it.

Now Katy twisted the handle, fumbling with the letter opener and the photographs. Behind her she heard Michael swear, his voice close. He knocked something over in his frantic attempt to reach her. Katy had the door opened three inches before it was roughly slammed back into place. She felt Michael's hot breath on the back of her neck. Turning, her eyes wild with fear now that all of Michael's earlier suspicions had been confirmed, Katy thrust the pointed end of the letter opener at his abdomen.

Michael dodged, catching only the blunt edge of the opener. The graze was not enough to hurt Michael, but it made Katy recoil. Michael wrested the weapon from her without difficulty and shoved her away from the door. This time, when he turned the key, he made certain the door was locked. It only took a few seconds. At his back he heard the sound of the photographs being torn apart.

When Michael turned on Katy, his face was taut with rage. She backed away even as she realized there was no place for her to go; her fingers were frozen on the halved pieces of the photographs.

"Give them to me," demanded Michael. He held up the letter opener when she hesitated. "So help me God, Katy, I will use this on your face, and no man will ever want you."

The backs of Katy's knees collided with a chair. Her legs buckled momentarily, and Michael stepped closer. Before she could think better of it, she tore the photographs again and threw the pieces at Michael.

"Damn you! You'll pay for that!"

Reaching behind her, Katy grabbed the chair and shoved it at Michael, striking him in the knees. He winced, kicked the chair out of his way so that it toppled on the floor, and lunged at Katy. The force of his weight drove the air from Katy's lungs. The cry for help that had hovered on her lips remained unheard.

* * *

Liam O'Shea spotted Logan first. Excusing himself, he stepped away from the counter where a clerk was demonstrating a sewing machine, and raised his hand to catch Logan's eye.

Logan took the hand that Liam extended and shook it briefly. "I take it my wife is here," he said.

"Upstairs. What's happened?"

Taking the photograph out of his pocket, Logan showed the detective a piece that was not too revealing. He also showed Liam the note. "I received it this morning. Anonymously." He glanced around, dropping the note and picture back in his pocket. "Can we talk on our way upstairs?"

Liam nodded. He led Logan to the staircase at the rear of the store. It was separated from the shopping area by a pair of doors. Liam pushed through. "Your wife always uses the employees' stairs when she is here. Old habit, I suppose, from when she used to work here."

"Where is she shopping?" The stairwell was empty, and his voice echoed eerily.

"I don't think she is. I wasn't far behind her when she walked into the store. She didn't look at anything on the main floor. She went straight through the store and up these stairs. I watched her from down here. She walked to the fourth floor before she opened any doors. I gave her a minute or so, then I went up. Mrs. Marshall was not anywhere in sight." He held up his hand, stopping Logan's imminent interruption. "It's all right. I found out that she had gone back to the offices. She's with Michael Donovan."