Jo Goodman (49 page)

Berkeley closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them weariness and a certain resolve etched her features. "I'm sick of lying to my husband. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I don't want to think on it. I want you to take what you have and leave here. Leave the city. Leave the coast. But leave."

A small, rather stiff smile raised the corners of Anderson's mouth. "Or what?" he asked. "I believe you're prepared to threaten me. Have a care, Berkeley. Only consider this: I am, in fact, your legal husband. That will become the least of your problems if you don't show a more temperate nature."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I'm a better gambler than you've given me credit for. I know when to show my cards and when to keep them close to my vest. I believe I'll hold them for now." His eyes dropped to her beaded bag. Berkeley's right hand was still inside. "What do you have there? A pocket pistol?"

She shook her head. The knife she held felt very solid in her hand. Berkeley told herself when she lifted it from Grey's boot that she would be able to use it. Her conscience had been easier to convince when she was not confronted by a flesh-and-blood target. She let the knife drop to the bottom of her reticule and removed her hand. "I won't let you provoke me, Anderson. I'm not frightened of you any longer. You will do what you will, and I will follow my own course. Right now, I am going to leave."

Anderson watched her come around the chair. "You're infinitely more interesting than you used to be. I wonder how much credit I may take for this transformation. Leaving you to fend for yourself has given you courage. A false sense, to be sure. How I will enjoy making you understand you're only being reckless."

Berkeley made no attempt to reply. She nodded once, coolly, in Garret's direction, and then took several steps toward the door. She anticipated that Anderson would grab her arm as she passed and he acted true to form. Berkeley swung her reticule in a wide arc at his head and felt the hilt of the knife connect solidly with the back of his skull. She wrested her arm away from him as he staggered sideways, partly from the blow, but more from sheer surprise.

Berkeley reached for the door handle. It twisted in her hand but not because she had done anything to cause it. Someone was pushing on the door from the other side. Instinctively she stepped back and found herself being trapped between the wall and the door as it was thrust open.

Grey Janeway stepped into the room. He was followed closely by Ivory DuPree. His eyes darted to the two occupants and he recognized one of them immediately. "Mr. Lerner," he said to Anderson. Grey glanced over his shoulder at Ivory. "It's all right. I'm certain we've found the right room this time."

Standing on tiptoe, Ivory looked past Grey and searched the room. "I don't see your wife. You must be mistaken. Come, we'll try another." She flashed an apologetic smile at the Palace's guests and tugged on the back of Grey's jacket. "Hurry. Or we'll miss her altogether."

Grey removed Ivory's hand. "She's here." Indeed, he had known it even before he had felt the slight resistance on the door as he opened it. It was her fragrance, faint to be sure, but nonetheless unmistakable to his senses. He had buried his face in her cloud of corn silk hair last night. He was not wrong about the scent of lavender now. Grey took another step and gently pried the door a few more inches away from the wall. Any doubts that she was behind it faded when he felt her pulling from the other direction. The outcome of this tug-of-war was inevitable.

Berkeley looked up at Grey as her face was revealed in a shaft of light. "Hello," she said softly, a shade guiltily. "I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here."

Grey took her by the hand and brought her out from behind the door. "An understatement."

She noticed he did not seem at all angry with her. His hand squeezed hers. "You remember Mr. Lerner."

Grey nodded. "From yesterday evening. The challenge about plays and roles. Yes, of course." The actor, Grey saw, was rubbing the back of his head. Something about the movement suggested to Grey that it was not a gesture of pure puzzlement, but one rooted in pain relief. What had Berkeley done?

"And this is Garret Denison," Berkeley went on. "Graham Denison's brother."

Grey inclined his head, his eyes cool, his features implacable. "I know the name."

Garret had jumped to his feet the moment Grey had barged into the room. Alarm and apprehension mingled to keep him silenced. Now his eyes narrowed suspiciously on his brother's face. "What game is this, Graham? Do you think I wouldn't know you? My God, you're a piece of work."

Berkeley stepped closer to Grey as if she could shield him. "My husband doesn't recognize or remember you," she said. "You have nothing at all to fear from him."

One corner of Garret's mouth lifted derisively. "Fear? You're quite mistaken there. I've never feared my brother."

"Then there's no reason to raise the past, is there?" she asked. Berkeley looked up at Grey. Her husband showed no interest in Garret at all; he was watching her. "Mr. Denison's come all this way to claim the earring."

"He's identified it?"

She nodded. "Yes, and claimed it. I gave it to him only a few minutes ago. It's why I've come here, you see. To pass it on. You've never really cared about it, and I thought we'd be better rid of it. Do you understand, Grey? I didn't want to distress you."

Grey smiled faintly. "I think I understand." He held her lightly by the waist and regarded Garret again. "You don't seem as though you believe us," he said. "I can fully comprehend your mistrust. It's true your face means less than nothing to me, but Berkeley has given me some information about my past. I'm aware that I've brought shame to the family and that you consider yourselves well rid of me."

Berkeley gasped a little at that. "Grey, I've never said—"

"She's right," he interrupted her. "That would be
my
interpretation. Would you consider it accurate, Mr. Denison?"

Garret's head jerked a fraction at being so stiffly referred to as Mr. Denison. It was unexpected, this civil tone and grave formality. How surpassingly amusing it was that he had gone to such lengths to avoid his brother. He had set himself the problem of what to do about Graham at the moment he learned from Anderson Shaw that his brother was alive. Throughout his journey west to San Francisco he contemplated the necessity of arranging his brother's death a second time. The only way to circumvent that end was to conduct this business with the earring without Graham's knowledge. He had vowed to give his brother a small advantage this time. Now he realized his noble gesture had been unnecessary and would never be fully appreciated.

It seemed the beating in Charleston all those years ago had served to end Graham's life after all.

Garret shook his head slowly. Low laughter rumbled deeply in his chest. He sat back on the bed again and let himself enjoy the irony. He laughed hard, with real amusement, and regretted only that he would never share this moment with any family member save the brother whom he hated. It took him more than a minute to compose himself. His eyes were damp. "Forgive me," he said somewhat breathlessly. "That was quite unpardonable. I imagined another outcome entirely upon seeing my brother again. This meeting... well, it's difficult to take in." Garret took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "It's true then? You really don't remember me?"

"At the risk of sending you into another paroxysm of laughter, it's true."

Garret grinned. "And Beau Rivage?"

"Not a thing."

"It's incredible. There are certain similarities between your hotel and my home. I remarked on them as soon as I saw the Phoenix." He paused. "You don't mind that I refer to Beau Rivage as
my
home, do you?"

"Only as long as you don't refer to the Phoenix as
your
hotel."

Garret was actually enjoying himself. His expression warmed as he silently saluted his brother with a brief tilt of his head. "Alys?"

Grey frowned. He glanced at Berkeley. She had never mentioned anyone by that name. "Nothing, I'm afraid," he told his brother.

"You were going to marry her," Garret said. "Instead, I did."

Berkeley had no liking for how Garret was amusing himself at Grey's expense. She wanted to leave. Anderson's role in this meeting had been sidestepped for now, but Grey would have questions. Berkeley wanted to be away from Anderson when she was forced to answer them. She had no faith that Anderson would allow her to spin her own tale.

"Then I wish you happy with her," Grey said politely. "I certainly have no regrets."

Anderson used to hold her like this, Berkeley thought. One hand at the small of her back. His fingertips grazing her waist. She felt an unpleasant knot form in her stomach as she anticipated feeling his knuckle dig harshly into her spine. She tore her eyes away from Anderson and reminded herself that she was with Grey. "May we leave?" she asked.

"Of course." Grey looked back at Ivory, who was still standing behind him, bobbing and weaving to get the best view she could of the room's inhabitants. "Please take my wife downstairs. I'll join you both in a few minutes."

Berkeley started to protest. She did not want to leave without Grey.

"Come with me, Mrs. Janeway," Ivory said, looping her arm through Berkeley's. "Let the men have their say. There won't be room for us once they commence puffing their chests and strutting. This isn't a suite at the Phoenix, you know." More firmly than gently, Ivory tugged on Berkeley's arm.

Berkeley's feet gave way reluctantly. She suspected that Ivory would drag her from the room if she didn't move of her own accord. She felt the light caress of Grey's hand as she was parted from him. His smile gave no hint that he was the least concerned. It was the flinty, blue-gray cast to his eyes that gave her pause.

Grey waited until the footfalls of the two women were out of earshot before he spoke. Ivory had had the presence of mind not to close the door behind him. He had a clear escape route if one was needed. "Is the earring all you came for, Garret?" he asked. "Do you have what you want?"

As if struck by Grey's tone, Garret's head snapped up. "Unless you give me reason to want something else," he said slowly.
Your life, perhaps.
"You haven't suddenly found your memory?"

Grey pointed to his temple. "Tabula rasa," he said. "A genuine blank slate. I don't anticipate that changing."

Garret's eyes narrowed. What was his brother saying? That he did remember and was choosing to pretend otherwise? Or could he be taken at his word? "I have the earring," he said. He took it out of his pocket and showed it to Grey. "Your wife was instrumental in delivering it to me. It's been an exhaustive search. For the earring, that is. Not for you. I could have done without laying eyes on you again, Graham."

"I understand that. I suppose, in your eyes, what I did was unforgivable."

"She's told you about Falconer, then."

Grey nodded. "It doesn't seem real to me. It's as if the name should belong to someone else."

"Oh, it's yours. You earned it running your blackbirds along the Underground. I confess I was surprised to discover you hadn't taken up the abolitionist cause again. Apparently a leopard
can
change his spots." Garret wrapped his handkerchief around the earring and put it away. He lifted his chin in Anderson Shaw's direction. "You haven't asked after my companion. I'm entertaining some peculiar notions as to why that is."

"I only wanted to be certain you and I are finished," Grey said. "I'm satisfied we are."

Garret nodded. He folded his arms across his chest again and waited to see how Graham's other business would be concluded.

Grey turned to Anderson. "You're younger than I thought you would be."

One of Anderson's chestnut brows rose. "Oh?"

"I pictured my wife's stepfather as an older man."

"Aaahh." Anderson expelled a breath slowly. "So you know. She told you after all."

"About you, yes. That you were masquerading as Lerner, no. I've only realized the truth of the matter since I came here. Now you've confirmed it."

"Clever."

Grey shrugged. "Not really. I was thinking I've been slow to realize quite a bit. Weeks ago, when you and Garret tried to get the earring from Nat, I should have suspected you. I only considered that you'd told one of the Ducks about the earring before you were killed. It didn't occur to me then that you might be behind the thing yourself."

"Every man should attend his own wake," Anderson said. "It's a humbling experience."

"How could you abandon her?"

"Short-sightedness on my part, I assure you. I did not suspect that she could become such a lucrative asset. Our funds were short, and the earring, as valuable as it is to Garret, was essentially worthless here." He held up his hands in a mocking, helpless gesture. "In light of how well she's done, I don't think she regrets being left behind. She's managed to land on her feet... or at least on her back." Anderson did not miss the narrowing of Grey's flinty stare. He also observed the faint forward lean to his body, as if he were straining at the end of his leash. "You want to plant your fist in my face, I suppose," he said. "That would be a mistake, Mr. Janeway."

Grey gave Anderson Shaw full marks for his quietly threatening stance. It would be the Ducks, Grey thought, who would retaliate on Anderson's behalf. He almost didn't care. "Is the earring all you wanted from my wife?" he asked. "Are you leaving with Garret?"