His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) by Jo Goodman Page B

come, Michael Donovan and Logan Marshall scrapping over Katy Dakota. It would also reach his wife's ears, and Michael did not want that. Ria had no choice but to accept his affairs with other women, but she asked for, and received, Michael's promise of discretion. He pulled on his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. "Odd, isn't it, that as often as you and I meet, we have never shown the slightest interest in the same woman."
    "It's still true," said Logan. "As I said, I merely dropped by to tell Miss Dakota how much I enjoyed her performance. That said, I will take my leave. Perhaps you would join me for a drink at Georgia's?"
    Michael cast a brief look in Katy's direction. She was watching him anxiously, afraid he wouldn't take Logan's offer. He hesitated, letting her worry a moment longer. "Of course I'll join you. I would like to hear how things are over at the Chronicle . My father and I think you should put some stock on the market." He turned to Katy. "Another time then, Miss Dakota. I will be sure to mention to Father that I saw you this evening." He turned on his heel and left, waiting just outside the door for Logan.
    "My congratulations again," said Logan. His voice was soft, dangerously soft, and his eyes were as frigid as arctic air. "I would not be at all surprised if I decide to see Manners a few more times. It was an enlightening experience." His smile was chilly. He took Katy's hand in his and raised it to his lips. "Your hand is quite cold, but then I suppose you are the exception to the rule."
    Her voice sounded odd to her, forced as it was past the aching lump in her throat. "What rule?"
    "Why, the one that says cold hands, warm heart." Logan Marshall dropped her hand and walked away.
    Once the footsteps had faded in the hallway, Katy sank slowly onto her vanity stool. She stared sightlessly in the mirror. In her mind's eye she saw Logan, the cruelty in his gray eyes, the rigid thrust of his jaw, the taut length of him that tailored evening clothes emphasized rather than hid. The veneer of civility was thin indeed.
    The lines that life experience had cut in his face were a bit deeper now, but his features were remarkably the same. He would never be handsome in the mold of Michael Donovan. Logan's features were not cast for perfection. His beauty was ruggedly sculpted; his body was whipcord lean and hard-edged. Logan Marshall had grown into himself. And when he looked at her with those winter gray eyes of his, Katy knew a terrible emptiness in her soul. The only thing she had to fill it was fear.
    The gentle tapping at her door interrupted the tenor of Katy's thoughts. This time it was not unwelcome. "What is it, Mr. Grant?"
    "Mr. Donovan's here to see you," he called through the door.
    "Show him out!" What was Michael doing back already? She could not have been woolgathering that long. "I don't want to be disturbed." Katy sighed heavily as the door opened anyway. Obviously Michael was right, she thought unhappily. She was puffed with her own consequence, expecting people to heed her wishes just as if she mattered. "What do you wa—"
    The head that poked through the door this time was neither Michael's nor Mr. Grant's. It was a graying head, thick and lustrous with no signs of thinning. Iron gray sideburns framed lean cheeks. A mustache, blackened with Mr. Church's Blacking Powder, curled stiffly above a cautious, tentative smile. The eyes were sky blue, warm and friendly. The dear face belonged to Victor Donovan, father to the man Katy had come to loathe.
    "Victor!" Katy stood and held out her hands, welcoming him into her room.
    "Oh, good," he said, relieved. "I was afraid I was persona non grata around here. You were absolutely frigid with that little man who guards your door." He took Katy's hands and kissed each in turn.
    "I'm glad it didn't stop you. You are the last person I would want to throw out." She withdrew her hands from his light grasp and gestured toward the chaise longue. "Please, make