Jo Goodman (48 page)

The knot in Grey's middle began to loosen a bit. "She wouldn't have to know. I won't betray your confidence."

"That's the promise I made." Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back. His gaze strayed to the door again. He almost wished Berkeley would appear. He could have made his escape then and let her face Grey Janeway. When he turned back to Grey his expression was one of resignation. For a moment he looked far older than his eleven years. He took a deep breath and exhaled softly. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

Berkeley's eyes fluttered open as Grey slipped into bed beside her. "What time is it?" she murmured.

"The middle of the night. Go back to sleep."

She hadn't thought she could sleep at all, yet somehow she had. "You're late coming to bed." She placed the flat of her hand on Grey's back and rubbed along the length of his spine. His skin was warm but beneath it she could feel the corded tension of his muscles. Berkeley pressed herself closer and placed a kiss at the base of his neck.

"Don't." Reaching behind him, Grey removed Berkeley's hand from his back. "Go to sleep."

His words, his actions, had the opposite effect. Berkeley was wide-awake now and wounded. She put some distance between them but remained stiffly on her side.

Grey hadn't considered how difficult it would be to join Berkeley in bed and pretend he didn't know the things he did. Worse, he had learned less than he wanted to. Nat could only relate what he had observed firsthand because Berkeley hadn't really confided in him. What Nat could tell Grey raised more questions. The only satisfactory conclusion to the evening, as far as Grey was concerned, was that Nat had been relieved of the burden of his promise. That had been worth some peace of mind to both of them.

Grey turned over. Berkeley's head rested on top of the curve of her arm. She hadn't closed her eyes, and, from what he could make out of her features, she was as alert and on edge as he was. He had never wanted to make love to Berkeley to hurt her. He resisted the urge now. "I'm heartily weary of you blowing hot and cold with me," he whispered. "You seek me out with your eyes and when I'm near you push me away. You shrink from my touch. You scorn my gifts. You act as if you want nothing so much as to be rid of me. What am I to make of this latest overture? You place your hand at my back and your mouth on my neck... what does that mean, Berkeley?"

She said nothing for a long moment. Her mouth was dry, and the back of her throat ached. "Have I made you hate me?" The curve of Grey's smile was faint and bittersweet. "No," he said softly. "You haven't done that. You can't."

Berkeley's hand crossed the distance between them. Her fingertips touched his cheek and the corner of his lips. They swept lightly along the underside of his chin. She leaned toward him and searched his still features. She imagined his beautiful eyes darkening at the centers. She would lose herself in those eyes, she thought. She would lose herself in him.

Her mouth remained only a hairbreadth removed from his. "Love me, then."

Chapter 14

Grey understood better once Berkeley was sleeping again. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, and her soft breath warmed his skin. The faint rise and fall of her breasts was itself soothing.

It had been different earlier when she was stretched out beneath him, her nipples hard enough to scrape his chest as he moved over her. She had cried out when he took one into his mouth and sucked. The warmth and wetness of his mouth drew a shudder from her, and she had arched into him, wanting more from him, wanting to give him more.

He felt it then, as she curved her arms and legs around him and pressed her mouth against his neck. He felt it, and finally had a name for the emotion that had had her restlessly walking the edge of a precipice for seven days and nights: desperation. Grey recognized it in her because he recognized it in himself.

He did not want to lose her. He was driven by the same need to protect her as she was to protect him. Grey only wished he knew what secret she was guarding so carefully. Not revealing it was destroying Berkeley. Above all else, he did not want to lose her.

So he had held her tightly and matched the upward thrust of her body. Sweat-slick, their legs and arms tangled. Their mouths fused, parted, and collided again. They rocked together and twisted, and their positions changed in fits and starts until she was under him again, this time on her stomach. He cupped her bottom, lifting her hips while she raised herself on her forearms. Her pale hair spilled over her shoulder. He looked down at the elegant curve of her back and rise of her buttocks; he felt her shallow breathing as she anticipated his entry and heard the soft cry she couldn't quite contain when he took her.

She had fallen asleep almost the instant he had withdrawn. Her soft, languorous sigh had been as deeply satisfying to him as his name on her lips when she climaxed. Grey smiled in the darkness and stroked her hair. "You shouldn't be afraid," he said quietly. "You should never be afraid."

* * *

Ivory DuPree's attention strayed from her companion as the main doors to the Palace were pushed open. There was not much trade this early in the morning, so Ivory's curiosity was piqued. Her brows rose a full half inch when she saw who it was.

"What is it?" Paul Henley wanted to know. He turned and followed the direction of Ivory's gaze when she was too long in answering. He whistled softly. "I'll be damned. Why it's—"

"Why it's a bump on your head you'll be having if you mention this to anyone." As an afterthought she added sweetly,
"Cher."
Ivory watched Berkeley Janeway hurry across the Palace's hardwood gaming floor toward the staircase. She looked neither right nor left, but kept her head bent and her eyes lowered. Her green satin bonnet was trimmed with black velvet and adorned on either side with a black-and-white feather. A broad emerald ribbon secured it. It did not hide her features as much as she might have hoped. When she had stood for a moment in the doorway, uncertain and hesitating, it merely framed her face, bringing her features into clear focus. Ivory had no difficulty recognizing her.

"Excuse me," she told Paul. Without waiting for a reply, she slid her chair away from the table and followed at a discreet distance in Berkeley's wake.

Berkeley looked up and down the hall before she knocked on the door of room three-oh-six. "Hurry," she said under her breath. "Please hurry." There was a soft tread on the stairs to her right. She looked in that direction nervously, her fingers flexing in agitation. When the door opened she ducked inside so quickly her bonnet was knocked askew by Anderson's imposing shoulder.

"My," he said, watching Berkeley make adjustments to the ribbons and brim. "Such an entrance. One might think you're eager to see us again."

Garret Denison moved away from the fireplace and offered to take Berkeley's cloak.

She shook her head and retreated a step, putting more distance between them. Her eyes darted around the room. The Palace did not offer the same spacious luxury as the Phoenix. An iron-rail bed occupied most of the space against the far wall. The rest was filled in by a pine washstand on one side and a small night table on the other. An overstuffed chair, its upholstery shiny with wear, sat near the fireplace. Two wooden chairs were also available for sitting. Berkeley ignored them both. "This does not have to take long. I would prefer that it didn't. No one knows I'm even gone from the Phoenix. Please, may we just conclude our business?"

Garret extended one hand, palm up. "I've only ever wanted the earring."

Lifting her wrist, Berkeley removed the beaded drawstring bag dangling from it. She opened it carefully and reached inside. Her gloved fingers closed around the earring. "Is it really yours?" she asked without removing it.

"It's rather late to be asking questions. But yes, it's mine. I hired your husband to find it for me after my brother was... well, after he disappeared."

"Then you didn't hire him to find your brother."

"God, no. Graham didn't have the earring the last time we spoke. In fact he made a point of telling me he lost it. I guessed he had sold it." He looked at the beaded bag, his eyes narrowing slightly. "May I?"

Still Berkeley hesitated. She turned to Anderson. Her brows were drawn together, a small crease appearing between them. "You found the Thornes because he told you where to start your search. Am I right?"

Anderson shrugged. "Something like that."

Exactly
like that, she thought. "Does he know about the other earring?" Berkeley asked. She felt her heart begin to pound. "Did you tell him what we found in Boston?"

"Enough," Anderson snapped. "Give him what he wants."

Garret lowered his arm slowly. He looked from Berkeley to Anderson and back to Berkeley. "What other earring?"

"There is a mate to this one," she said.

"That's impossible," Garret said. "My mother lost the mate years ago."

Anderson reached for Berkeley's reticule, but she held it away from him. "Give him the earring," he said between gritted teeth.

Berkeley skirted a large wing chair and put it between herself and Anderson. "Have you ever considered even once that
he
may be Greydon Thorne?"

"For God's sake," Garret interjected. "What the hell is she talking about, Shaw? Who is Decker Thorne except an acquaintance of my brother's?"

Anderson held his ground, but his lean cheeks were mottled with anger. "I swear I will strike you so hard, Berkeley, you will not come to your feet easily. Give him the earring!"

Berkeley paled but did not shrink away. She pulled her hand out of the beaded bag and extended it to Garret. "You should know that you may not have been told the truth about this earring," she said softly. She unfolded her fingers, and the earring dropped silently into Garret Denison's open palm.

Garret turned away, his shoulders hunched, and examined the earring closely. He moved to the window where he could see it in the sunlight and studied the delicate gold settings that held the pearl. He turned over the golden drop that hung from the pearl like a tear and saw the familiar and exquisite engraving. ER. Evaline Randolph. He whispered her name. His mother's name. There could be no doubt the earring was hers. He had seen it hundreds of times growing up, had gone into her bedroom and opened her jewelry case to look at it. All because she had promised it to him. It was something he would have someday that he would not have to share with his brother.

Garret turned around. "It's the earring. My mother's initials are here on the drop. She will be grateful to have it returned to her." His fingers closed over it. "She isn't well," he said quietly. "She never has been... for as long as I can remember. This will be important to her." He looked at Berkeley. "I don't pretend to understand what you were going on about, but I'm confident it has nothing to do with me.
This
is my heritage."

"As you wish," Berkeley said. Her gaze shifted to Anderson. "My business is concluded. You may apply my share of Mr. Denison's payment for the recovery of the earring to what you're extorting from me. You already have my necklace." She reached into her reticule again. "I've had a note drawn up from my account for another thousand. It's all the money I have, Anderson. If you give me an address, I will send payments as funds become available to me. You may be sure I will pay you."

"This is very disappointing, Berkeley," Anderson said. "I expected better from you."

Garret pocketed the earring and sat on the edge of the bed. Relaxed now, he stretched his legs in front of him and folded his arms across his chest. "How much does he want from you?" he asked Berkeley.

"Twenty thousand dollars."

One of Garret's dark brows kicked up. "And you have that kind of money?"

"No, of course not. He expects me to get it from Grey. Which is ludicrous because Grey will ask questions, and I'll be forced to tell him the truth at some point—which is precisely the thing I'm trying to keep from him." Her eyes implored Anderson. "Don't you see? I may as well tell him everything now if you're going to force my hand."

"Has he asked after your necklace?" Anderson said.

"No. But he will."

"You'll have to say you lost it, won't you? Or that it was stolen. I'm sure if you think on it, you'll come up with some equally plausible explanations for its disappearance."