His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) (33 page)

He nodded. "I wasn't sure you would know me. We met under less than pleasant—"

"I remember," she said quickly. "You were very kind."

O'Shea wanted to apologize for mentioning the circumstances of their meeting. He did not because it would have only made things worse. It should have been clear to the meanest intelligence that Katy Donovan was grieving from her heart, yet O'Shea had been watching most of the day and had seen only a few people offer her comfort. He recognized them as theatre people, Katy's friends before she married Victor Donovan. None of Victor's friends gave Katy more than a brief word.

O'Shea was not generally at a loss for words. His glib tongue and easy manner made him a comfortable companion. He felt anything but comfortable now. Standing beside the grave, he was recalling everything associated with Victor's horrible accident. He could not imagine that it was any different for Victor's widow.

Liam had been following Katy that day, just as he did every time she left the house. He knew what purchases she had made, knew that she had been to see Victor, and knew that she had gone to Crestmore's for refreshment. He had watched her leave alone and seen Michael Donovan give chase. He had been on the point of interfering when Michael released her. Moments later Katy's attention was focused across the street, and Liam glanced that way once to see what she saw.

There was nothing he could have done to save Victor. His warning shout could not be heard above all the other noises on Broadway that afternoon. Victor was knocked down by the lead horse and trampled by the pair behind. He was dead before the driver was able to pull up his team some fifty feet down the boulevard.

Katy's first instinct had been to run into the street, but it was Liam, sprinting through the suddenly immobile crowd of onlookers, who held her back. Michael stood beside them, unable or unwilling to help, until Katy collapsed in Liam's arms, whimpering Victor's name over and over in a grief-stricken litany of loss.

"Mr. Marshall's carriage is waiting over there to take you home," Liam told her, pointing to the gravel drive that circled its way up the knoll. "He saw you refuse to go with young Mr. Donovan earlier and thought you would need some help getting home."

"I can walk."

O'Shea's mustache lifted at one end as he gave her a lopsided smile. "He told me you'd say that." Liam offered Katy his arm. "Please, Mrs. Donovan, Victor asked me to look after you. He would want me to do this, and even if he didn't, I would still want to. Won't you come with me?" When she still did not move, Liam played his last card. "I can't leave until I've put you in that carriage. Not that I mind stayin' for myself, you understand, but my wife, well, she's not always so agreeable when I come home late."

"Very well, Mr. O'Shea," Katy said, taking his arm. She cast a last look over her shoulder at her husband's grave before allowing the detective to lead her away. At least Victor wasn't alone, she thought, still seeing the twin stone markers in her mind's eye. He was with his beloved Annie now, and Katy was able to find some small comfort in that.

Liam knew the exact moment when Katy realized the carriage was already occupied. He felt her stiffen and hesitate before she finally made her decision to join Logan in the carriage. He realized that Logan had been right to do it this way, that Katy would not have gone with Logan if he had approached her first. Feeling the full force of Katy's cold stare, O'Shea ducked his head in an embarrassed apology, shut the carriage door, and told the driver he could leave. He waited until the carriage was out of sight before he left the cemetery on his own mount.

Katy was so furious that she could not look at Logan for fear of striking him. She clutched the prayer book and stared out the window.

"I'm sor—"

Logan got no farther than that. The sound of his voice tipped Katy's emotional scales. She rounded on him, her eyes burning with gold fire and her voice shaking with the force of her anger. "How dare you do this to me! Will you never leave me alone? My God, Logan, Victor is not cold in his grave, and you are sniffing after my skirts again. I have just spent three days ignoring snickers and innuendoes of people who think I married my husband for his wealth and position. They think Victor's death is what I've been waiting for. They think I am mourning for show, that widow's weeds and weeping are for effect. I am sick to death of all of them. All of them! And none more than you! You are the only person save myself who knows why I married Victor Donovan, and God damn you for making me hurt like this now. I came to love my husband. I I-loved him! H-He was w-wonderful and gentle and k-kind and—"

Katy did not know when it had happened, but sometime during her heartfelt speech Logan had moved from his side of the carriage to hers. He had taken the prayer book from her gloved hands and encircled her with his arms. He gave up his shoulder to her, and she leaned against him, clinging even while she cursed him. She hated him for witnessing her pain; hated him for opening his arms to her.

"Th-they're all wrong about me," she whispered. "Everyone. I cared for Victor. I wanted to b-be his wife for a long, long time."

"I know," Logan said softly. He was crushing her bonnet, so he loosened the ribbons and tossed it on the opposite bench seat. He gave Katy a handkerchief. She did not use it and he did not care. He let her cry until she was spent and even then made no move to release her. Through the carriage window he recognized landmarks that signaled the near end of their journey. "We are getting close to your home, Katy. What do you want to do?" When she did not answer immediately, he repeated her name, thinking she had fallen asleep.

"I do not want to go home," she said at last, her voice barely audible. "They are reading Victor's will tonight, and I do not want to be there."

Logan understood that he had won her company by default, not because she was choosing him. "Is there somewhere I can take you?"

Sitting up, Katy impatiently brushed away tearstains with her fingertips. She was surprised to find she held a handkerchief. She blew her nose. "I suppose you could take me to Wallack's," she said. "Jane was at the funeral today. She said if I needed anything I should—"

Logan held up his hand, interrupting her. "I have a better idea," he said. "Will you let me decide?"

He was asking her to trust him, and Katy could not think of one reason why she should. In spite of all good common sense, she felt her head bob once in assent.

"Good," he said. He opened a panel in the carriage and told his driver to take them to Marshall House. He saw the objection rising in Katy's throat before he heard it. "You said I could decide. You were very clear earlier about what you thought of me being here, but you were also very wrong. I purposely only spoke briefly with you when I came to pay my respects, and I avoided you today at the funeral. I thought it was what you would want."

"It was. So why did you stay after everyone else had gone?"

"Precisely because everyone else had gone. I didn't want to leave you alone. In spite of what you think, Katy it's clear to me that you're grieving. I am not—what did you call it?—sniffing after your skirts."

Her face colored as he repeated her words. "I should have found another way to say what I meant."

"I've heard worse." He raised his hand and briefly touched her cheek. "The color is good for you. You were as pale as salt before." The carriage stopped, and Logan did not wait for the driver to open the door for them. He leaned across Katy and flicked the handle with his fingertips. "This is where I am getting out, Katy. You don't have to. Say the word and I will have Joe drive you home."

In answer, Katy gave Logan her hand and let him help her down from the carriage.

The front parlor was crowded with furniture, figurines, and photographs. It was a homey room, filled with family treasures, and Katy would have liked to explore. Instead she sat on the edge of one of the settees and tried not to show how tired she was.

"You can relax, you know," Logan said, turning from the doorway with the tray the housekeeper had just handed him. He blocked Katy from Mrs. Brandywine's curious glance, tempering his rudeness with an-over-the-shoulder smile. Mrs. Brandywine backed away quietly. "You look like a fledgling bird, perched that way."

"One cannot truly relax in a dress like this," Katy said, indicating the bustle behind her. Her black train was made of yards of satin that she had swept to one side. The wire crinoline, which kept the bustle in place, remained exactly where it was meant to. "It is deuced uncomfortable."

"So take it off."

Katy blinked, her mouth parting slightly. "You are not serious."

Logan set down the tray and began pouring tea. "I am," he said, adding a generous finger of whiskey to Katy's glass. "Not the dress. Just that contraption attached to your backside. It fastens around your waist, doesn't it?"

"You know very well how it fastens," she said, bristling. "I am certain you have released a fair number of women from them."

"Flatterer," he said. "I'll turn my back and you can untie it, and it will be our secret. Then you can sit back and curl up in the corner of that couch. Who knows, you may even be able to sleep for a few hours. I am supposing you have not slept more than an hour here and there since Victor's accident."

"Well, I certainly cannot fall asleep here."

He ignored her objection. "I am turning my back."

Katy hesitated for all of five seconds. She wondered what it was about Logan Marshall that made her fall in with his most outrageous suggestions. Maybe he understood her too well, she thought unhappily. Perhaps he only suggested things she was halfway to thinking herself. The idea did not bear scrutiny.

The furtive rustling of all that fabric made Logan smile. He stirred Katy's tea and waited for her all-clear signal. "Much better," he told her when she finally let him turn around. She had drawn up her legs to one side and her head and shoulder rested against the back of the settee. "Would you like a blanket?"

"No. I told you I am not going to fall asleep here. How would I explain that to Michael?"

Logan gave Katy her tea. "Drink this." He sat down at the other end of the settee, turning slightly in her direction. "Why do you have to explain anything to Michael?"

"Because he is going to want to know why I wasn't there for the will reading."

"So tell him you were with—what was her name?"

"Jane. She was my dresser at the theatre."

"So tell him you were with Jane."

"Lies usually have a way of getting found out," she said. "Never mind. It's my problem, not yours. I don't know why I care about lying to Michael anyway. He is a—"

"Yes?"

"Nothing." Her weariness was going to make her say something she would regret. Katy vowed to be more cautious. She sipped her tea. "What did you put in this?" she asked, coming to attention.

Logan reached across the couch to steady Katy's saucer before she spilled her tea. His hand brushed hers. The contact was brief and light and powerful enough for Logan to feel the wanting as a burning just under the surface of his skin. He withdrew his hand more quickly than he meant to. "What does it taste like?" he asked, striving for lightness.

"Whiskey."

"That's what it is."

Katy set her saucer down and wrapped her hands around the dainty, gold-rimmed cup. The warmth of the cup did nothing to lessen the tingling in her fingers. She told herself it was the whiskey. Any other explanation was unacceptable. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked, eyeing Logan suspiciously.

"No." He raked his dark hair and loosened a few buttons on his black swallow-tailed coat. It parted, revealing a black sateen vest and pristine white shirtfront. "I was hoping it would help you relax," he said, picking up a snifter of brandy. "I am not trying to seduce you, Katy. I respect your loss. Victor was a friend of this family, remember?"

She nodded, raising her cup. "I'm sorry. I hardly know what I am doing or saying these days. The accident was such a shock, and then Dr. Turner told me..." Not realizing she had Logan's absolute attention, she let her voice drift off and drank more tea.

He waited as long as he could to hear the rest of her sentence. "You were saying?" he asked casually.

"Oh... I don't know if I should." Katy shrugged, her eyes filled with misery. "I don't suppose it matters anymore. Dr. Turner was Victor's doctor, you see, and he came to see me after he heard about Victor's accident... well, actually he came to see Michael and me together and told us,"—she took a steadying breath—"told us that Victor was dying of cancer."

"Oh, Katy." Logan did not know what else to say. Her pain was very real to him.

"He says Victor would have been fortunate to live a full year. I think Victor was in some pain, but he would never talk to me about it. He never said a word that there was anything seriously wrong with him, never hinted at it. I cannot help but think that I failed him, that I should have somehow known. He gave me so much, Logan. I never gave enough back."

Tears dripped silently from her dark, luminous eyes. Logan did not dare touch her for fear of betraying some emotion other than sympathy. "Your handkerchief," he said, pointing to where she had tucked it in the tight sleeve of her black mourning gown.

Katy looked away, withdrew the fine linen square, and pressed one corner to her eyes to stem the flow. "I don't know why I am telling you any of this," she said brokenly. "Victor should be here listening to me. He is the one I want here now, not you."