His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) Read online

  Interviewing prospective nannies took most of the morning. None of them satisfied Katy, although all of them were satisfactory. At the end of the third interview she realized the problem was that she wanted Mrs. Castle back. She suspected that Victoria felt the same way, although Logan's housekeeper was making herself very important in the little girl's life.

  Katy responded to invitations until luncheon was served. Afterward, aware that the sky was clearing and the sun was actually threatening to shine, Katy dressed Victoria in her most becoming bonnet and gown, put her in the white wicker carriage that Logan had recently purchased, and took her daughter for a leisurely walk along the avenue.

  It seemed a great many of her neighbors were coaxed out of doors by the promise of sunshine. Katy made it a point to look even the most disapproving, stern-faced society matrons in the eye and bid them good day. Victoria, without exerting herself, seemed to win them over. If anyone noticed the baby bore a strong resemblance to Logan Marshall and virtually none at all to Victor Donovan, there were no raised eyebrows in Katy's presence.

  Enjoying herself, her daughter, and the unexpected loveliness of the day, Katy was unaware of how far she walked until she stood on the southeast corner of Fifty-second Street, directly across from the large brownstone residence of Madame Restell. Katy was struck again by the irony of the city's most expensive abortionist enjoying such a choice location along Fifth Avenue. Reportedly Madame Restell had received a number of generous offers for her property—all of which she turned down. No one dared push too hard, for fear she would reveal the skeletons everyone was so eager to keep closeted.

  Katy began to turn Victoria's carriage around. She stopped. A side gate entrance to Madame Restell's home opened and a familiar figure stepped onto the sidewalk. For a moment Katy thought she must be mistaken. It was broad daylight. That fact alone made Katy doubt her eyes. Women of wealth and status came and went from Madame Restell's all the time, but always at night. It was easier for Katy to believe she was seeing things than to admit it was Ria Donovan leaving the brownstone.

  To her credit, Ria kept her eyes lowered and her face averted from passersby. No one seemed to pay much attention to her. She was dressed plainly in a simple black day gown, and a black straw bonnet mostly covered her striking red hair. She could have been in mourning, or she could have been a servant.

  "Ria?" Katy said her name gently.

  Ria's head jerked up. She blinked, not quite believing the evidence of her eyes anymore than Katy had earlier. "Katy! It is you!" She held out both hands, which Katy took immediately and squeezed gently. "Oh, Katy," she said softly. "How good it is to see you." Then, as if suddenly aware of where they were, she pulled free of Katy's light grasp and turned. "Please," she said. "Walk with me."

  Katy wheeled the carriage around and began walking south along the avenue again. "What were you doing there?" she asked.

  Ria did not answer immediately. Instead she placed one hand on the carriage handle and cast a pleading look at Katy. "May I?"

  "Certainly," said Katy, stepping aside to let Ria push.

  "You know about my baby?" asked Ria.

  Katy nodded. "Logan told me. I am so sorry, Ria."

  "Do not be sorry." She reached into the carriage and traced the lace edging of Victoria's bonnet. "I often wondered if you fared better than I. She is beautiful. I understand you named her after Victor."

  "I wanted to write," said Katy. "So many times I started a letter to you and each time I put it away again."

  "Why? Why did you leave without a word? Michael was frantic with worry. He said I must have done something to offend you." She glanced at Katy again. "Is that true? Did I offend you in some way?"

  "No! You must never think that. Michael is wrong. Quite wrong." Katy had to rein in her anger. How dare Michael lay the blame for her disappearance at Ria's feet. He was perfectly aware that his ultimatums were the catalyst for her departure. "I left because everything I saw was a painful reminder of Victor. I just couldn't stay at the house any longer. I should have talked to you first, told you what I was going to do, but I was not thinking clearly then."

  "And later?" asked Ria. "You said you wanted to write. What stopped you?"

  "I cannot explain it," Katy said, shaking her head. "I wish I could, but I cannot."

  "And neither can I," Ria said.

  "What?"

  "About Madame Restell's. I cannot explain. Can you accept that?"

  "Yes. Of course I can."

  Ria nodded, satisfied with Katy's answer. "I named my little girl Victoria," she said softly.

  Katy's heart went out to her friend. "Logan did not tell me that," she said after a moment. "I don't think he knew."

  Ria was very careful not to jostle Victoria as she tilted the carriage over the curb. "He may not have," Ria said. "I confess I was surprised to read that you married him. I had not realized you were acquainted."

  "We knew each other many years ago."

  "I told Michael it would be something like that."

  "Michael spoke of my marriage?"

  "Several times since it first appeared in the papers." She cast Katy a sidelong look. "You and Michael never really got on, did you?"

  "No, we never did."

  "He was so jealous of your place in Victor's life."

  That was true, Katy almost said, but not in quite the manner Ria thought. "He should be pleased that I have remarried. I have no claim to the terms of Victor's will now."

  "Is that what you think?"

  "Of course. It's true, isn't it?"

  Ria shook her head. "Victor's will provided for you regardless of whether you remarried. And there is still the matter of Victoria's claim."

  "Oh dear. I thought all of that was in the past. Believe me, Ria, I do not want anything from Victor's estate."

  "I believe you. It is Michael who is so unreasonable about the entire matter. He really does believe he is entitled to every part of Victor's fortune."

  Katy did not want to hear about Michael or even think of him. She changed the subject. "Tell me about you, Ria. You are looking well." It was not idle flattery that prompted Katy to speak. Ria's mourning clothes did not detract from her appearance. Her green eyes were bright, her complexion smooth and fair, and her hair, even tucked and coiled as it was, had a thick, lustrous sheen to it. Her petite figure had returned to its previous hourglass shape, so envied by society mavens. "Are you happy?"

  "Happy?" Ria smiled faintly. "Trust you to ask that. Do you know, I have never even thought about it." Ria nodded politely to the mother and daughter who strolled past them on the walk. "Good day, Mrs. McKitrick. Lynne." When they were out of earshot, she confided, "Yes, I think I am happy." She smiled as Victoria laughed for no apparent reason. "Truly happy. Children are good for one's spirits, aren't they?"

  Katy nodded. "Oh, yes. Victoria lifts mine."

  They walked on in companionable silence. At the corner of Forty-third and Fifth, Ria stopped and gave the carriage over to Katy. "You will come to afternoon tea sometime, won't you?"

  "I would like that, but—"

  Ria read Katy's mind and stopped her objection. "Don't worry about Michael. I shall plan it for a day when he is not home until late. There is no reason you have to see him at all."

  "Then I would like to come."

  "Good. It's settled. I will send around a note for you." She raised two fingers to her lips, kissed them, and then laid them lightly on Victoria's cheek. "You are a darling," she said softly. "So much like my—" She stopped herself and looked at Katy. "You have been blessed. I wish—" Ria turned then, her emerald eyes feverishly bright, and before Katy could reply, she hurried off in the direction of the Donovan mansion.

  Katy stood on the corner for several long seconds, watching Ria's retreating back, wondering at what she had only glimpsed in Ria's expression. Just below the level of her awareness some of the joy of her encounter with Ria faded, leaving Katy with an oddly chilled feeling that she could not put her fing
er on.

  * * *

  The invitation to afternoon tea came several days later. Katy, still without a nanny, left Victoria with Mrs. Brandywine and had Joe Means drive her to the Donovan's. "You needn't wait, Joe," she told him as she alighted from the carriage. "Come back in an hour or so. I cannot imagine I will stay much beyond that."

  "Very good, ma'am." He tipped his hat and climbed back into the carriage but did not move from curbside until he saw that Katy was welcomed into the home.

  "Thank you, Duncan," Katy said as the butler showed her into the front parlor. He held her light summer cape and feathered bonnet in the crook of his arm. The train of her rose silk gown brushed the side of the door as Duncan closed it behind her.

  She saw him too late. There was an ominous click from the other side as Duncan turned a key in the door from the hallway. Katy stood perfectly still in the threshold of the room and willed herself to keep a level head. It was not as if no one knew where she was. Joe Means was coming back for her, Mrs. Brandywine was expecting her for dinner, and she told Logan only this morning that she planned to visit Ria in the afternoon. Reminding herself of these things calmed Katy. She met Michael Donovan's sharp gaze with cool disinterest.

  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 sum
mon 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."