Jo Goodman (52 page)

"Something like that," said Grey.

"A public place where we wouldn't be overheard."

Grey nodded. "Where is Garret?"

"Following us, I believe." Anderson glanced over his shoulder again and saw Garret Denison a discreet distance behind them. "Yes, that's him on the cinnamon mare."

Grey didn't turn. "And how many Ducks trailing in his wake?"

Anderson shrugged. "You'll not get that from me," he said. "I assure you, their number will be revealed if you renege on our agreement."

Pulling up the reins, Grey held back his team to give a wagon stacked high with chicken crates a wide berth. "About our agreement," he said, waiting for the wagon to rattle past them. "I'm going to allow you to keep the necklace you took from Berkeley, but that will be the extent of our charitable contribution."

Anderson was jerked unexpectedly into the uncomfortable corner of the carriage as Grey urged the team forward again.

Grey glanced sideways. "Sorry. They got away from me that time."

Anderson made no comment. He didn't believe for a moment that the apology was sincere or that Grey's handling of the horses had been anything but deliberate. He sat up straight and braced one arm on the side of the carriage. "Tell me what you mean about the necklace," he said instead.

"I'm certain I was clear." Grey reached into his vest pocket and removed the pair of vouchers. "The earliest departure from the city will be in the next forty-eight hours. These will guarantee you passage on the
Albany
as soon as her repairs are completed. The captain assured me you and Garret can move into your cabin now while the work is being done. There will be no chance you'll be left behind."

Anderson took the tickets and examined them. Shaking his head slowly, he tucked them away. "I can't speak for Garret," he said, "but I suspect he'll leave without incident. He has what he came for. As for me, I admit to some disappointment. I was looking forward to the voyage east."

"You have everything you're going to get," Grey said. "There will be no more money."

Anderson's voice lost none of its confidence. "My arrangement is not solely with you. Berkeley's made promises of her own."

"I know what she's offered. We decided together there will be no more."

Anderson's mouth curled derisively. "I don't believe you've spoken to her at all."

"How would I know about the necklace?"

Anderson went on. "She would never agree to this."

Grey glanced sideways at his companion. "It was her idea." He watched those words take effect. Anderson's handsome features lost some of their color, and his eyes became less focused as his thoughts turned inward. "She's finished with you, Anderson. We both are."

"Really?" Anderson said after a moment. He had regained a measure of his composure, and his expression reflected mild amusement rather than concern. "I would like to hear that from Berkeley."

Grey shook his head. "I won't let you see her."

"I don't think you can stop me, Janeway. I have more rights than you do."

"Because she's your daughter, you mean."

"Because she's my wife."

Grey didn't blink. He had wondered all afternoon what it would be like when Berkeley's surprising confession was finally confirmed. He had actually hoped Anderson could be pressed into revealing the truth if only to have the last niggling doubts removed. He knew now how much he hadn't wanted to believe her. Grey held the reins in one hand and rubbed the back of his neck with the other. It was not his head that ached, though. Habit had made him raise his hand there. Massaging his neck did nothing for the raw wound around his heart.

Grey continued to stare straight ahead. The carriage slowed a fraction until he took the reins in both hands.

"You knew about it." Anderson's tone was almost accusing.

Shrugging, Grey said, "You pushed Berkeley too hard. She realized if she got out of the way, you couldn't push at all."

"So she told you."

"Yes," he said softly. "She told me." Grey wished now he had not been so quiet as Berkeley had unfolded her story. He wished he had offered his hand instead of giving her his back. He might have said something rather than leave their bedchamber without any kind word to console her. He wanted to be with her now. He wondered if she were still lying on the bed, her body turned on its side and curled like a child's. Was she still weeping? "It makes no difference to me," he said. It was what he should have said to Berkeley, he thought. Those were the words she had expected to hear, the ones she had
deserved
to hear. Instead he was saying them to Anderson Shaw.

Grey pulled back on the reins and stopped the carriage. His eyes strayed briefly to the gaming house on their right He had brought Anderson back to the Palace. "Was there anything else?" he asked.

"She belongs with me."

"You don't want her. You never did. If you ever had any great feeling for Berkeley, it was fear, not love."

Anderson's mouth twisted. "Fear? You're mistaken there."

"I don't think so. You exploited her gift and—"

"As you did," Anderson interjected. "Just as you did."

"As I did," Grey agreed. "But you were afraid of her talent, too. The way she couldn't bear to have you touch her, the way she looked at you, as if she always could see more than you wanted her to. She must have been an odd and maddening child. Still, it was better to keep her close than let her stray beyond your influence, and when her mother died—your wife—you convinced a bereft and confused young woman that she would be nothing and have nothing if she didn't throw in her lot with you. I imagine you didn't have to try very hard to get her agreement."

"No," Anderson admitted. "Not hard."

Grey swore softly and gripped the reins tighter. The horses shuffled in place. "She was only sixteen. You took advantage of her. You used her grief."

"Perhaps. But I made certain she had shelter and clothing. Berkeley wanted for nothing."

"She earned everything."

"I never took advantage of
her,"
Anderson said.

Grey didn't argue the point. He knew the marriage had never been consummated, but there were a host of things Anderson had done to keep Berkeley with him. She had only been discarded when he no longer considered her of any use. "Leave her be now," Grey said. "She's done nothing to earn your enmity. She's only tried to make a life for herself. Let her be happy."

Anderson considered the request. He could discern no threat from Grey Janeway's tone and wondered that the other man could be so generous. It was not something Anderson understood, and therefore it made him suspicious. "Do you want me to divorce her?" he asked.

"I can only imagine what that would cost me. I don't expect it."

"You'd prefer to make her a widow. Is that it?"

Grey's flint-colored eyes were frank in their assessment of Anderson Shaw. They moved over him slowly, taking measure of the man, only this time for his coffin. "It's a tempting thought, and the more it occurs to me, the easier it is to consider. Don't make too much of my reluctance, Anderson. I could do it." He turned in his seat and faced Anderson squarely. "But your leaving will accomplish enough. I can be satisfied with that."

Anderson stared back. He wondered what to make of this adversary. "Very well," he said finally. The carriage rocked as he stood. "There seems to be nothing I can say or do that will make me richer than I already am; therefore, I accept your gift of the necklace and the passage. I do, however, want to see Berkeley before I board the ship. There's no need for me to come to the Phoenix. Have her at the wharf before
Albany
sails. You both can see us off." He saw Grey hesitate. "Have her there, Janeway, or I won't get on the ship."

"You misunderstand," Grey said. "I don't know if she'll come, and I won't force her."

"She'll come." Anderson was a shade more than confident. Smugness crept into his voice. "Tell her it's about her father. You won't be able to keep her away."

* * *

Grey found Berkeley in the small library when he returned. Except for a single oil lamp on the table at her side there was no light. She had drawn the heavy drapes and not laid a fire. A shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, and Berkeley had pulled a blanket across her legs. The gloom was penetrating and rather dramatic and overdone for Grey's tastes. "Less is more," he told her as he opened the drapes.

A shaft of late-winter sunlight struck Berkeley full in the face. She raised her hand to shield her eyes. "I'm not speaking to you," she said. "And I liked it dark. I don't know that I want to see you either."

Grey went over to the chair where she was seated and hunkered down. He closed the book lying on her lap and removed it to the table.

"You've lost my place," she said.

"Berkeley. It was upside down."

Twisting slightly in the chair so the sunlight glanced off her hair, Berkeley lowered her hand. When Grey reached for it, she offered only faint resistance.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know what to say or do when you told me, so I said nothing, did nothing."

"You walked out on me," Berkeley said. Her chin came up a fraction. "That was not nothing."

"No, it wasn't."

"You
hurt
me."

"I know." He held her pained glance. Even now, hours later, he could make out the faintly red-rimmed line of her lower lashes. "I can't even say that I didn't want to hurt you."

The honesty inherent in that flat, unadorned admission let Berkeley know, in turn, how deeply she had hurt him. "I was ashamed that I agreed to marry him," she said quietly. "There was no coercion involved. If I had been more confident, even a shade more willing to face life on my own, I wouldn't have married him. I suppose I could have told you the truth from the first, but it seemed rather too much to explain. Later, after I thought he was dead, it was merely a fact about my past that seemed to have no relevance to my present or my future."

Grey nodded. "I seem to recall someone taking me rather harshly to task for keeping some secrets about my own past."

Berkeley sighed. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn't remind me."

He grinned faintly. "Yes, that would have been too much to expect. I'm not above getting a little of my own back." Grey gave her a knowing look. "And you? What about the closed drapes and meager lamplight? Sitting alone here in the cold and dark. What was that in aid of?"

Pale pink color washed Berkeley's cheeks. "I was setting a mood."

"Yours?" he asked. "Or were you trying to provoke mine?"

"Both, I think." She looked around, remembering the cavern-like darkness and chill. "Was it too much?"

"A bit." He squeezed her hand. "In any event, I couldn't have felt worse than I already did. In the future you may as well save yourself the effort." Grey stood, released Berkeley's hand, and went to the hearth to lay a fire. "Anderson's agreed to leave. He accepted the passages and my terms." He stacked kindling and logs and lit them. He was conscious of Berkeley's silence behind him. He turned on her as the flames began to crawl along the kindling. "What are you thinking?"

She shook her head quickly, as if to clear it, and came out of her reverie. "What? Oh, nothing. It's... well, it's nothing."

Grey's gaze fell to Berkeley's hands. She had slipped them beneath the blanket that covered her lap. Without seeming to realize it, she was stroking the gentle swell of her abdomen. "It's not nothing," he said, using her earlier words for emphasis.

Worrying her lower lip, Berkeley's silent distress was palpable.

"Is it the baby?"

"No... no, not the baby... not the way you mean."

Then Grey understood. Somehow he
knew.
"Anderson threatened our child."

She nodded slowly. "He told me I would have to get rid of the baby. He said he would arrange it. He was... he was insistent. Even when I changed the subject I could see the idea never left him. I couldn't believe what he was suggesting. At first I thought it was jealousy, but then..." She shrugged helplessly. "But Anderson never expressed any desire to have children with me. Why would he want to deny me this child?"

"He'd deny you anything he thought would make you happy. He only values what others want."

"You're probably right." But she wasn't certain, and it was evident in her voice.

"I know I am." There was more conviction there than he felt. "He can't make you do something against your will."

"No," she said. "He never could. Anderson always found a way of making his ideas seem like mine. That was his talent."

Grey watched her a moment. One of her hands still lay protectively over her belly. "Can he do that this time? Is there really something he can do that would make you consider visiting an abortionist?"

Berkeley's head snapped up. "No! I want our baby. He can't make me not want it."

"If you're afraid, if you have any doubts, you don't have to meet him."

"Meet him? Has he suggested that?"

Nodding, Grey turned and poked at the fire. "He says it's the only way he'll agree to leave. He wants to see you."