His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) (39 page)

His features were still quite ordinary, neither particularly blunt nor sharp. Allen displayed a few threads of gray in his side-whiskers and neatly trimmed beard and mustache, but he still parted his hair on the left, and his bald spot was only marginally more noticeable than it had been a decade earlier. He carried himself rather stiffly, with his shoulders thrown slightly back, giving the impression of authority and command. His eyes, more gold than green, reminded Katy that he had been called Cougar.

Allen shifted his silk top hat from under one arm to the other. Even before he cleared his throat to speak, Katy realized he was uncharacteristically nervous.

"Thank you for seeing me," he said.

Katy's chin raised a notch. "I am not certain why I did," she said honestly. "Perhaps it is only that I am surprised that you would come here at all. I had to see you to believe it."

"I saw this play for the first time two weeks ago, and I've seen it three times since. I was never completely sure that it was you behind the footlights." His voice dropped to a whisper, and he shook his head slowly from side to side in the manner of a man drawing on memories. "Mary Catherine McCleary—an actress. You always were something of an odd child."

Allen's faint smile chilled Katy to the bone. She spoke sharply, "I am not a child any longer, Colonel Allen."

"No, you are not, are you?" He had seen that for himself during each performance. She was as tall as he now, slender and gracefully curved as a saber.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I came to inquire after Rose and your sister."

"Both dead."

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry. I never heard..."

"It's been a long time. They died before the end of the war."

After a moment, the colonel said, "You were on your own then."

"I managed." She paused. "I understand you are a congressman now."

"Yes. I'm going to run for the Senate. After that... who knows?"

"I see."

Allen cleared his throat again, and his eyes could not quite meet Katy's. "Do you plan to make trouble for me?" he asked.

So that was why he came, Katy thought. "I have lived here for almost a year, and I've made no attempt to sully your reputation during that time. I am really no threat to you, Colonel. I have always kept our dirty little secret, haven't I? Logan Marshall is the one who betrayed—" Katy stopped, her expression very still with thought. She had been about to say that Logan Marshall had betrayed them both, and now it was borne home to her that she had been wrong, horribly, dreadfully wrong. The guilty light in Allen's eyes, his suspicion that she would cause trouble for him, reached Katy as nothing else ever could. For years she had lived with the thought that she was responsible for the things her stepfather did to her. And for all those long years she had blamed Logan for revealing it. "I think you should go—"

"No!" Allen held up his hand, cutting her off. "No, you said something about Logan Marshall. You seemed to be saying he was a threat."

"As long as you do not amuse yourself with little girls, you will not have to worry about Logan," she said coldly.

"But Marshall's dead," Allen said. "I saw the records myself. He died in Libby Prison. He was picked up by a rebel patrol and taken to Libby after the battle at Chancellorsville. It was all arranged; everything was arranged."

"Pardon me?" Katy's arms crossed in front of her chest. She hugged herself. "Do you mean Logan was picked up by rebel scouts—at your request?" It was not necessary for the colonel to answer because Katy saw it in his eyes before the shutter closed on his expression. "My God, you did, didn't you? You betrayed him because he knew what you were doing to me. All this time I thought that somehow I had been responsible for his capture."

"You?" asked Allen. "How could you have—"

Katy took a pin from her hair and dangled it between her thumb and forefinger. "Remember this? I used one just like it to unlock your desk. I copied all the plans Logan brought to the house that day, and Mama and Megan made certain the right people got them."

He was stunned. "You mean General Lee's men."

"Of course I mean his men. Unlike you, I never betrayed one of my own. You were the enemy, Colonel Allen. So was Logan. I can live with what I did for my country, but how do you live with what you did to Logan? He was one of yours."

"Apparently I did not do anything to him," he said. "It seems he's alive."

"He survived Libby and Andersonville."

"Where is he now? In New York?"

She nodded. "Publishing the
Chronicle
."

"You've talked to him?"

"He is the one who told me you had a seat in Congress. I think he takes note of what you do. That's why you should not have troubled yourself with me. If I were you, I would be very careful not to upset Logan Marshall. You have no idea how devastating his revenge can be." Katy brushed past the colonel, careful to keep anything but her skirts from touching him. She opened the door. In the hallway, Donna Mae was cooing to Victoria. "I cannot say that it's been a pleasure, but it has been interesting. I think you will agree there is no reason for us to see each other again."

Donna Mae came into the room slowly, looking over her shoulder as Richard Allen made his stiff exit. "My," she said on a puff of air. "What was that all about?"

Katy took her daughter from Donna and hugged Victoria, raining tiny kisses on the baby's head and brow. "None of it is worth repeating," she said softly.

* * *

"Ria! Open this door! I only want to talk to you!" Michael kicked the bottom of the door again. It was a useless gesture because the lock held.

Ria flinched when the door shuddered, but she didn't move from her place in the corner of her bedroom. She huddled deeper into the blanket she had dragged from the bed when Michael first started pounding. "Go to your whores," she whispered, pressing her knuckles to her mouth. She ground them so hard against her lips that she tasted blood. Her eyes were wild with fear.

"This cannot go on, Ria," Michael said. Trying another tact, he softened his voice. "I was patient in the beginning. You know I was."

"You did not talk to me for three weeks," she said under her breath.

"It has been almost five months. How long do you think you can remain here at the house without going out or inviting anyone to see you? People are asking about you, Ria. Your friends want to know when you will join them again. They miss you, darling... I miss you."

Ria leaned her head against the wall and shut her eyes. He would tire of standing there in a little while. He would tire of talking with no one talking back. In a few more minutes he would go back to his own bed and forget about wanting to get into hers. It was a pattern that was repeated several times each month when Michael stayed too long at the Union Club. His whores would not have him then, and he'd come after her.

Ria pushed the blanket away when she heard Michael move from the connecting door. At her feet was a photograph. She picked it up and placed it in the cradle of her arms, staring blankly at the stark image of her tiny baby lying in a white pine casket. Victoria's eyes were closed. She could have been sleeping. Ria spoke softly to the photograph. "I will find you, darling. Mama will find you. Everything will be fine then, you'll see. Once you are with me, he will have his heir. He will never want to touch me again, and I will make certain nothing happens to you. We will protect each other." Ria smiled faintly. "Yes, Victoria, we will protect each other. You'll see how much Mama loves you." Then she crooned a lullaby and fell asleep still cradling the photograph as if it were her child.

* * *

"Make a wish," Susan Turner directed, touching Logan on the shoulder to stop him from blowing out the thirty-one candles prematurely. "And do not tell anyone what it is."

Logan wickedly raised one eyebrow. "Even you? You figure largely in this wish."

Scott tapped his fork against the edge of the table. "I wish you would get married and stop flirting with my wife."

"You have absolutely no sense of humor," said Susan.

Logan blew out the candles quickly, and Scott humbly waited for his piece of cake until Susan and Logan were served.

"Make sure you leave something for your daughter," Susan said when Scott kept widening the angle of his slice. "Beth likes my chocolate cake as much as you do."

"Where is she?" asked Logan.

Susan pointed to the grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room.

"You keep her in the clock?"

"I wanted you to take note of the time," she said. "Beth goes to bed at eight. You were supposed to be here at six. It is now ten. Two more hours and you would have missed your birthday altogether. Do you really have to spend every waking hour at the
Chronicle
? Haven't you ever heard of delegating work?"

Logan's mouth quirked to one side. "So much for that birthday wish coming true. You are not supposed to nag me for twenty-four hours."

"I promised Jenny and Christian I would make your life miserable," she said primly.

"Oh, good. They will be so pleased to hear you are making such a fine job of it."

"Truce," Scott interjected. "Please?" Just to make certain the subject stayed away from Logan's endless hours at the paper, Scott asked him what he'd heard lately from his brother.

"They promise me they're getting on a ship in September. That should put them in New York sometime late in October or early November. They are talking about building a home farther uptown when they get back."

"Goodness," said Susan. "What will you do in that big house all by yourself?"

"I am going to open a brothel," Logan said.

Susan rapped his knuckles with her fork and tried unsuccessfully to be severe. "Beast," she said, her green eyes bright with amusement. She raised the coffeepot and offered some to her husband and guest. "Perhaps you'd be better off making Marshall House a museum. In the last letter I received, Jenny wrote that Christian has sent you a number of paintings."

"Eight."

"Really?" asked Scott. "What has inspired him?"

"A Parisian market. Fishermen on the Seine. Paris at night. I have sold everything he's sent."

"You have?" Susan asked. "But I thought he wanted to have a show when he returned."

Logan spoke around a mouthful of cake. "He does. But word got out about the paintings—Mrs. Brandywine, I think—and there were a lot of inquiries. Christian's show is going to be sold out before it opens. I would not allow the collectors to take any of the pieces. Everything is still at the house."

Susan saw her husband was casting a greedy eye on the cake. "Here, Scott, you can finish mine." She pushed her plate in his direction. "Jenny wrote that there was a very fine portrait of that actress—what was her name?—you know, the one who married Victor Donovan."

Logan and Scott both spoke at once. "Katy Dakota."

Susan's eyes darted from her husband to her guest. "Yes," she said slowly. "That's it. Who bought that piece, Logan?"

"I can't remember," he lied without remorse. "Is it important?"

"No, I was just curious. She was a patient of Scott's, wasn't she, Scott?"

He nodded. "That was some time ago. Before Victor died. I tried to find out what happened to her, but Victor's son swore he didn't know. Ria Donovan could not tell me anything either."

"She lives in Washington," Logan told them. "From time to time something about her comes across my desk at the paper." Which was true, he thought, but not the way Scott and Susan would think it was. "She is still involved in theatre." He hesitated a moment and asked casually, "Is it true that Victor was dying of cancer?"

Scott's fair eyebrows rose a notch. "How could you possibly know that?"

Logan shrugged. "I don't remember where I heard it," he said, not wanting to reveal that Katy was his source. "It's not for publication, Scott. Victor's been dead almost a year. It's very old news."

"I suppose. It's not the sort of thing that deserves a public hearing. There was a lot of speculation about Victor's marriage to Miss Dakota anyway, and word of his cancer would have only fanned the flames."

"How do you mean?"

"Aside from the fact that people might think she married him because she knew he was dying—which is absolutely untrue—and would stand to inherit a great deal of money, there would be lots of questions about Victor's particular cancer."

"His particular cancer?" asked Logan.

"Tumors can appear in different parts of the body. How or why, I don't know. In Victor's case the tumors were in his prostate, making him impotent."

Logan set down his fork slowly. "Impotent? But surely... Katy's pregnancy..."

"Victor's wife was pregnant?" asked Susan. "You never told me that, Scott."

"I never told anyone but Mrs. Donovan," he said, looking sharply at Logan. "Victor knew, of course. And I imagine Michael and Ria were told as well. How the hell did you know?"

The lies were mounting, but Logan did not want to tell his friend he had looked at private files. "Victor told me himself," he said. "I told you once before that the Donovans and Marshalls go back a few years. I didn't know there was anything secretive about it."