Jo Goodman (45 page)

"And you shall have it, but really, Denison, your tactics are rather clumsy. My wife
will
scream, I assure you, and there are Sam Brannan's vigilantes to consider. You could render her unconscious and conduct a search of her person at your leisure, but I don't think one needs to go quite that far." His gaze swiveled coolly in Berkeley's direction. He knew her well enough to gauge her fear. She was not as calm as her brave, perhaps foolish, words would have him believe. "It's unlikely that she has the earring in her possession."

Garret Denison felt that pronouncement almost as a physical blow. "You can't possibly believe her," he snapped.

"You misunderstand. I meant that it's not in her physical possession. Berkeley's unusual gift makes that unlikely. She had a strong reaction to the earring when the Thornes gave it to her to examine. I believe I told you about that."

He had, Garret recalled now, but the real significance of it had eluded him. "You mean she could not tolerate to have it physically on her?"

"I mean precisely that. When I gave her the earring for safekeeping, she kept it in a small leather pouch attached to her belt. Even then there appeared to be some indications of discomfort." Anderson smiled encouragingly at Berkeley. "Come, my dear, remove your outer gown and show Mr. Denison that you no longer carry the earring with you. Nothing else will be needed. His curiosity will be satisfied, and we can move on."

Berkeley offered no reply and made no movement to indicate she intended to do as Anderson suggested.

"A compromise, then," Anderson said. "You will permit a rather modest search of your person." He saw she was about to deny him and went on, his tone approaching boredom. "Yes, yes, I know you'll threaten to scream, but how does that assist you? Mr. Janeway will certainly come, and you'll be left with some uncomfortable explanations. That is supposing, of course, that you're able to make them before his interference costs him his life. You take my meaning, do you not? Yes, I see that you do. Now, the choice of how to proceed is yours. Shall I conduct the search, or would you prefer Mr. Denison? There is no need to rush your response. I'll give you a moment to decide."

Anderson's congenial smile chilled Berkeley's blood. She remained where she was because she simply could not move. Her eyes followed Anderson as he casually walked toward the window and looked out, his hands clasped behind him, his carriage confident and without visible strain.

There was a certain weariness in Berkeley's tone when she finally spoke. "If you will allow me to go to my suite, I will get the earring for you."

Anderson turned away from the window, his polished chestnut eyes hinting at his triumph. "You see, Denison, it's all in how the problem is approached." He studied Berkeley. "Though I confess, dearest, that I find this continued dislike of my touch insulting. I had hoped that Mr. Janeway had eased the way for me. You've been a proper wife to him, haven't you?"

Berkeley's pale cheeks filled with color. No reply occurred to her. She was too dazed to note that Anderson seemed disappointed he could not goad her into some intemperate remark.

Garret Denison filled the silence. "Whose bastard brat do you think she's carrying, Shaw?"

It was Anderson's stunned immobility that gave Berkeley her opportunity. She bolted for the door and grasped the handle. Even when Garret caught her she managed to twist it. The door opened several inches before it was slammed shut, blocked by Garret's body and secured by his weight. She wrenched free of his grip and stepped out of his reach. Her breathing came harshly, more from fear than exertion.

"Is it true?" Anderson demanded, his gaze dropping to her belly. "You're carrying his child?" He did not wait for a reply. Disregarding her earlier threats and his knowledge that she was revolted by his touch, Anderson closed the distance to Berkeley and used one arm to hook her roughly at the waist. He laid his free hand flat on her abdomen. "My God," he said under his breath. "You would bear him a child?"

Berkeley felt her stomach heave. There were no contents to discharge, but the dry wretch was enough to make Anderson release her. She stumbled out of his reach, bent forward, hugging herself. A hand at the back of her neck forced her onto the ottoman and pressed her head between her knees. She stayed that way for more than a minute while the voice above her commanded her to take deep breaths and exhale slowly.

The weight of Garret's palm on her nape seemed enormous. Berkeley's slender throat was encircled by the high-banded collar of her day dress, hiding the gold chain of her earring pendant while pressing the links against her skin. She was so aware of its presence that she expected Garret Denison to feel it as well.

"Breathe," he ordered calmly, his voice near her ear as he stooped down beside her. He watched color come and go in her face. Her eyes remained closed. Garret glanced over his shoulder at Anderson. "I've seen quite enough," he said. "As soon as she's adequately recovered I will accompany her to retrieve my earring."

Anderson sat on the arm of one of the chairs. He ignored Garret and gave his complete attention to his wife. "I won't raise another man's bastard, Berkeley," he said softly. "I did it once because I had no choice. I won't do it again. You'll have to get rid of it."

"For God's sake, Shaw," Garret said. "Leave it for now."

"Shut up," Anderson said with mock civility. "Berkeley? You do understand, don't you? I will find someone in the city to handle the matter. San Francisco's full of abortionists. You need not trouble yourself with the details. Our reward for the return of the earring will be substantial. I will be able to arrange for a physician to treat you."

Berkeley shivered. She felt Garret's hand fall away, and she raised her head. Her eyes were dull but not defeated. "I thought you would be pleased," she said. "After all, upon my death you may decide you will want to marry this child, too."

He itched to slap her but thought perhaps Garret would not tolerate another assault. The man had peculiar scruples, and Anderson had yet to clearly define the limits of his patience.

Was it possible Garret had some feeling for his brother's bastard? His eyes strayed to Garret. "I don't seem to recall," he said casually. "You're blessed with children?"

Garret stood. He cleared his throat. "No, as a matter of fact, Alys and I have none."

"Then the bastard may be your heir. That is, if you have a wish to name one. He is, by both our reckonings, your dear brother's baby." It could come to pass, Anderson thought, that the child would prove more valuable than the earring. "That is if you should acknowledge him as such. Would that prove difficult for you? I recollect the Denisons have not been noted for laying claim to their bastards."

Garret's cerulean eyes momentarily lost their warmth. "Your meaning, Shaw? Speak plainly."

Anderson would not be goaded. He shrugged. "Perhaps I misunderstood something once told to me. It's of no account now. I beg your pardon if there's been offense given."

Garret studied him narrowly for several moments before he relaxed his stance. At his side he noted that Berkeley was somewhat recovered, her breathing light and even and her color returned. "The earring, ma'am. I'll trouble you to produce it, then I'll trouble you no longer."

Berkeley refused the hand he extended. She came to her feet of her own accord, though she knew herself to be somewhat distracted, her thoughts still centered on Anderson's odd aside. "Give me a moment. I'll return with it shortly."

Garret's smile held no warmth although it was pleasant enough. "I insist on escorting you."

"Do you think that's wise?" she asked, collecting the tattered threads of reason. "It's entirely likely that Grey is in our suite. Your presence would be difficult to explain."

"My brother left. We saw him go."

Anderson interrupted. "We've overstayed our welcome here. Berkeley's correct. Mr. Janeway may have returned. It would be better if I accompanied her. Janeway doesn't know me."

Garret hesitated. He had no wish to be seen by his brother, yet he did not fully trust Anderson Shaw or his wife. "Very well. A few minutes. No longer."

Anderson followed Berkeley to the door. With a gallant gesture, he opened it for her and indicated she should precede him. He felt her hesitation the moment she stepped into the hallway, and his eyes shifted to the narrow opening at the hinges. What he saw made him allow Berkeley to close the door behind her, leaving him to cool his heels with Garret.

Berkeley's smile was fixed. "Grey!" She wondered at her own success at injecting a measure of warmth in her voice. "I was just coming to meet you. I saw you arrive."

He stared at her, puzzled, but made no comment. Instead he bent his head and kissed her cheek. "You've forgiven me, then?"

Had Grey known it, he could have asked forgiveness for any number of transgressions, real or imagined. At the moment Berkeley couldn't remember a single detail of their earlier argument. She turned her face so that her lips brushed his and raised herself on tiptoes. Her mouth sought his mouth, and she denied the desperation she felt in a hot and hungry and urgent kiss. Her arms lifted and circled his neck.

Grey returned the kiss, lifting her slightly against him, relishing the fullness of her response. It was with a large measure of reluctance that he slowly raised his head. His voice was husky and he made no attempt to hide his arousal. "This is a very public hallway," he whispered.

She nodded. In other circumstances she would have been embarrassed. "Take me to bed." It was all she could think to say.

Grey reached behind Berkeley to open the door of her old room.

"No!" She pressed herself against Grey, rocking him back on his heels. "Not here. Our bed."

He grinned, his eyes endearingly sheepish for a moment. "I was thinking any port in a storm," he said. "But if the wind's blowing in the other direction..." He let his voice trail off as Berkeley grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway.

* * *

It was sometime later that Grey rolled onto his side and raised himself on one elbow. Berkeley was curled against him, her body warm and still. The fragrance of lavender mingled with the musky scent of her sex. A quilt covered her naked shoulders, but he could make out the damp sheen of her skin along the length of her throat. Strands of pale hair curled at her nape. His fingers eased themselves lightly through the silky threads. She didn't stir although he knew she was awake.

He wondered at her silence and her distance. He had felt it all through their loving, this peculiar sense that she had retreated from him even while he was joined to her,
especially
while he was joined to her. Grey couldn't fathom her mood, yet he was coming to know her well enough to understand that something was wrong. She could deny it, probably would deny it, but he trusted the feeling of anxious restlessness in himself and realized she was its source.

He could have been satisfied to hold her and keep her close. He could have sheltered her in his arms and soothed her fears. She had wanted none of it. Almost as if she anticipated his consideration, her mouth had cut off his words, kissing him deeply until consideration was pushed to the back of his mind. And when he thought of them again her eyes had darkened with need, and he gave her what she seemed to want.

They had both been satisfied in the moment. Now Grey did not believe he was alone in feeling curiously empty.

"I know you're not sleeping," he said quietly. "It's no good pretending otherwise."

Berkeley didn't open her eyes, but when his hand slipped around her waist her fingers laced through his. She squeezed them gently.

"I thought you had forgiven me," Grey said. "But perhaps not."

"There is nothing to forgive." Berkeley fully recollected their earlier argument. She felt very young and foolish for having been so hurt when he walked out. It seemed so petty in comparison to what confronted her now. "It's certainly your right to decide what you want the Thornes to know. It's selfish of me to ask you to do more than you're prepared to. I'm quite sure they don't expect to hear another word from me. I'm afraid I've been insistent with you because I don't want the Thornes to think I've cheated them." She fell silent a moment. Her thumb brushed the heel of his hand. "Is that what you meant when you said good intentions often arise from selfish motives?"

"Did I say that?"

"Something like that."

"And you didn't call me a pompous ass?"

Her smile was watery as she felt his lips on the nape of her neck. His touch was profoundly tender. Berkeley's voice was trapped at the back of her throat, and she felt tears gather behind closed lashes.

Grey raised his head. "I walked for a while after I left here. Rather aimlessly at first. Or so I thought until I found myself at the harbor. Did you know there was a Remington ship making repairs?"

"I may have overheard it somewhere," she admitted.

Grey chuckled. "I wrote out a rather short and somewhat cryptic message for the captain to carry back to Boston. I have no idea what Decker Thorne will make of it, if anything. There may never be a response. I made no mention of you, not because I wanted to absolve you of anything, but because you've not done anything wrong. You never have."

Tears fell in earnest now. Berkeley wrested her hand away from Grey's and knuckled her eyes. "You can't imagine what I've done." The sentence was accomplished in fits and starts as her shoulders heaved and she left it to Grey to decipher. She was incapable of repeating it, not when he turned her over and pressed her face against his shoulder and held her in just that fashion until her sobs were silenced.