Jo Goodman (37 page)

He glanced down at the crown of her gold-and-platinum hair.

He wasn't entirely certain of her, especially since she'd made noises about leaving him. "What about Nat?"

"He'll be there, but you'll have to talk to him before then. He needs to understand you don't blame him for what he's done."

Grey was very clear on his need to talk to Nat. "I'm not convinced that he's done anything. At least not with the Thornes."

Berkeley's eyes lost their sleepy appeal. "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't have it all worked out yet," he told her. "There are some things that don't make sense to me." His fingers trailed lightly across her naked shoulder. "Why would these men not confront you themselves? Why use Nat?"

"I don't know."

"And if I bear some resemblance to this Graham Denison, as you say I do, then wouldn't Decker Thorne be curious about me? You said I was his friend."

"Perhaps the resemblance is only in my eye. Captain Thorne might see none at all. I've only seen a newspaper sketch."

"Possibly. It's not so important as the earring itself. If it's really a replica, why would they want it back so badly?"

At first Berkeley thought he was doubting her. She closed her fist around the earring. "It
is
the replica."

"I believe you," Grey said gently.

It took Berkeley a moment to hear what he was saying, to hear the absolute conviction in his quietly spoken words. "I'm sorry. I wasn't sure you..." She raised her head and looked at him. It was there in his eyes, his frank acceptance and his willingness to wait her out until she was satisfied. "Captain Thorne almost dared me to choose one of the others," she said at last. "I knew what Anderson wanted me to do, and I chose this one anyway."

"Did you ever tell him?"

"No. I wasn't that foolish. He thought it was the one that should have been Greydon's."

Grey considered that. "Do you think he might have told anyone about it?"

Berkeley understood immediately where Grey's thoughts were headed. "Like one of the Sydney Ducks, you mean? Perhaps even the man who killed him?"

Grey nodded. "We don't know much about the fight that ended in his death. It's not beyond all possibility that your father talked about the earring. He may have promised it as collateral against a gambling debt."

"And when he couldn't produce it..." It wasn't necessary to finish. It was all too much like Anderson Shaw to have engaged in a game where he couldn't match the stakes. He had paid with his life. "There may be other reasons he told someone."

"Dozens probably. It doesn't matter why, only that he might have."

"You think the men who threatened Nat are Ducks?"

He nodded. "I told you once they could come after me... they just never figured how. Now there's Nat and there's you. They must know they can hurt me through both of you."

Berkeley didn't say anything. She had come to a similar conclusion.

Grey felt her stillness. She might as well have telegraphed her thoughts to him. "Stop it," he said. "You're not responsible for what they do. Neither is Nat. The last thing I want either of you to do is think you're protecting me by disappearing. Do I have to ask you again if you'll be at my wedding tomorrow?"

She turned her head to look at him. "Perhaps we should consider putting the wedding off a few weeks. Nat and I could go somewhere, and you could settle this with the Ducks. You wouldn't be vulnerable because of us."

"Not vulnerable at all," he said dryly. "I would be out of my head wondering if the two of you were safe."

"Nat and I could manage."

"Listen to me, Berkeley:
I couldn't."

Berkeley sat up. She touched the side of Grey's beautifully angled face with her fingertips. Her voice was slightly awed. "You mean that, don't you? We've become necessary."

"How can you not have known?"

"Because I was afraid," she said softly. "It's not so easy to look into someone else's heart when you're afraid of what's in your own."

"I know." He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "And now? Are you still afraid?"

"A little."

"So am I."

Berkeley blinked. She hadn't expected that.

Grey's hands closed over hers. "Loving you is outside my experience, Berkeley. It's like diving into a breaking wave. I don't know if I'm going to be crushed or carried. I don't know if I've waited too long or jumped too soon. I don't know until I'm in it." The planes and angles of his face softened as he watched Berkeley's shy glance evade him. "You might want to say something here," he prompted gently.

Berkeley stared at Grey's large hand enclosing hers. "Everything about you is beyond my experience," she said at last. "Not just loving you. Your kindness. Your decency. Your strength. I'm afraid I'll be a poor sort of partner for someone like you. I can be petty, you know. Perfectly jealous. And I'm not decent. You know I'm not. The games here at the Phoenix are more honest than anything Anderson and I have ever done. I've lied to you and I've been unfair, but mostly I've been an irritant. I came with a cat and found a boy and nearly got one of your men killed. I've brought the Ducks to your door and I don't—"

He kissed her. Thoroughly.

Berkeley found her hands resting on his shoulders when he drew back. She stared at him through eyes that were slightly dazed. "And I don't know that I could ever leave you," she whispered.

"Good." He paused a beat. "I did hear you say you loved me, didn't I?"

"With all my heart." Berkeley smiled when she saw both relief and satisfaction expressed in his features. She leaned into him and laid her mouth across his. He offered no resistance to her overture. His arms slipped around her back, and he drew her closer.

They dived headlong into the breaking wave.

* * *

Nat spit on his fingers, then used them to flatten the stubborn cowlick at the crown of his hair. He grimaced when the effect was less than he hoped for.

"Try this," Grey said. He handed the boy a small jar of pomade from his bureau. "A bit goes a long way. Use it sparingly." Standing behind his little best man, Grey watched Nat in the mirror. He nodded approvingly as Nat took less than a fingernail's amount of the fragrant cream and dabbed it over the offending stem of hair. "Just so. Here, take this comb and run it through."

Nat's eyes lifted gratefully as he accepted the comb. "You're a good one, Mr. Janeway, helping me out like you have. I know it's because you don't want me to embarrass you and all, but I sure do appreciate it. Truth is, I wouldn't want to make a bad show of it today. Sam says spit and polish is what's called for."

Grey touched Nat's shoulder lightly. "And you have plenty of both." He took back the pomade and set it aside, then he lifted the comb from Nat's hand and straightened the boy's part. The cowlick disappeared. "As for embarrassing me, that's not possible. You've already shown considerable courage by not running off this morning."

"I wanted to. I thought you'd be angry."

"Not at you, Nat. Only at the men who are using you to get to me. You can be proud that you told Miss Shaw the truth last night and that you stayed to tell me the same."

Nat ducked his head but not before Grey glimpsed his small, pleased smile. "Thank you, sir."

Grey ruffled Nat's hair.

"Sir!" Nat clamped his hands over his head, protecting it from another surge of Grey's affection.

It took a mighty effort on Grey's part not to laugh. Young Nat's hair was a veritable garden of shoots, strands of hair sprouting in every direction. Dutifully he smoothed it all back in place with the comb. "There. You're quite turned out." He straightened the shoulders of Nat's black jacket and patted the collar. "And handsome. I don't suppose you'll have any trouble finding a dance partner at the reception."

A flush touched Nat's cheeks. "You think Miss Shaw will dance with me?"

Grey turned Nat away from the mirror, then hunkered down to be at eye level. "I think I couldn't stop her," he said. "Do you know Miss Shaw told me once that I would have four children?"

Nat's narrow face puckered in a vague frown. "I didn't know that, sir."

"Well, she did. And she also insisted that there was another child. One that was mine and yet not mine. She said I would have a child who wasn't mine."

Nat's frown deepened. "She says some odd things, Miss Shaw does. You shouldn't take it—"

"She was talking about you, Nat. She didn't know it at the time, but she was talking about you. Miss Shaw said I would marry the mother of the son who wasn't mine. She's that woman, and you're that son."

"I don't know what she's been tellin' you, Mr. Janeway, but Miss Shaw's not my mother."

"I know that," he said. "She makes it a bit complicated, but I find that she's usually right. She was telling me I would think of you as my son. That's what's come to pass, Nat. I think of you in exactly that way."

Nathaniel Corbett sucked in one side of his cheek and worried it between his teeth. He bit down a little harder so he had an excuse for the tears welling up in his eyes. "I didn't want to come to the Phoenix," he said.

Grey smiled. "Miss Shaw made you?"

"She grabbed me by the arm and marched me across six blocks to bring me here. Do you know what she told me, Mr. Janeway?"

Grey shook his head.

"She said you had a tender heart for throwaways."

Grey's head tilted to one side. "Stowaways, you mean?"

"No." Nat gave his head a vigorous shake. "Throwaways. Like me. Like her. People that don't matter to anybody else. She said they mattered to you, that
we
would matter to you."

"And so you do," Grey said quietly. "I told you, Miss Shaw's usually right." He stood, his very tender heart recovering its normal rhythm slowly. He cleared his throat, his voice a bit hoarse. "Do you have the ring?"

Nat patted himself down until he felt the familiar shape of the ring in his vest pocket. "Yes, sir. Right here. Would you like to see it?"

"No. Keep it there and keep it safe."

"I will." Nat glanced over his shoulder at the clock. "Don't you think we should be going downstairs? Seems like we should get there before Miss Shaw."

Grey laughed. "An excellent notion."

The gathering in the gaming hall was a small one. Sam Hartford was there. So were Donnel and Shawn. Annie had just hurried in from the kitchen and was still out of breath. Berkeley had balked at the idea of exchanging vows with Grey in front of all and sundry. The reception was open to anyone who wanted to wish them well, but the ceremony was meant for those close enough to be family.

The Reverend Amos Watkins had no objection to performing the service in the gaming house. He'd had three churches destroyed by quakes and fires and his current meeting place was a large canvas tent that yawed uneasily with the winds. For the amount Grey was going to donate to the building fund, the good Reverend was willing to yaw a little himself. The Phoenix would do just fine.

Grey was speaking to the minister, Nat close by his side, when he felt the attention of those around him shift. He followed the path of their collective interest until his eyes came to rest on Berkeley.

He smiled. She didn't seem to notice that she was holding them captive. She had lifted the hem of her gown a few inches and was carefully making her way down the steps. Sam rushed to the staircase and in three mighty strides heaved himself up beside her to offer his elbow. She seized it gratefully and faltered only when she realized she was the object of all of their attention.

Berkeley sought out Grey, and it was like stepping into sunshine. She basked in the warmth she saw in his eyes. The last of her doubts melted, and she wondered that she had had them at all. It would be fine.
This
would be fine. What other course could her life have taken but this one? Hadn't she always known this end was inevitable?

Grey's eyes moved over Berkeley's spare figure as she approached him. Seed pearls that gave luster to the combs in her hair also illuminated the bodice of her gown. Satin and lace shimmered, and the contrasting textures rustled lightly as she stepped forward. Her complexion glowed. Save for the pendant earring she wore at her throat, her neck and shoulders were splendidly bare. The gown's tightly fitting sleeves gave her porcelain elegance; the length of her from wrist to shoulder was smooth and gracefully curved. Her unusual, otherworldly aura had not had full expression until now. She didn't seem quite real to him. Berkeley did not merely radiate light; she was its source.

Grey welcomed the first touch of her fingers as her hand brushed his. She was not insubstantial at all but flesh and bone and beauty. She could be held in his hand, in his arms, against his side.

He wondered then at the odd tremor that suddenly tripped his heart.

Chapter 11