Jo Goodman (53 page)

"I won't do it," she said. "I knew he couldn't have accepted your terms without wanting something else. It's always been like that. He has to have the last word. He never settles for what someone else wants unless it's what he's wanted all along."

Grey leaned the poker against the jamb, then stepped aside to let the warmth reach Berkeley. "He would like you to be at the wharf to see him off. You would be with me, not alone."

"You sound as if you want me to go."

"Do I? Believe me, I don't want you within a mile of him, but it's your choice. I want you to know what he told me."

She waited as Grey's focus shifted from her to the floor. His fingers raked his thick hair just once. He seemed to be considering his options. "Is that all?" she asked finally. She couldn't imagine that it was. Anderson Shaw always had a hook in one hand and bait in the other. He was a master fisherman.

Grey's gaze slid back to Berkeley. "I told him I didn't think you would come and that I wouldn't force you."

"And?" Berkeley found she was holding her breath.

"He said to tell you it was about your father. He said I wouldn't be able to keep you away."

Berkeley felt as if her heart was being squeezed. She bent her head, hiding her stricken expression from him. There was the slightest catch in her voice as she said, "He was right."

* * *

Nat carried the news that
Albany's
repairs were completed and the ship was preparing to sail within the hour. He was breathless from his run to the hotel, and his report was offered in fits and starts, but no one had any difficulty understanding it. As one, Sam and Shawn and Donnel and a half dozen others who were working in the hall that afternoon all turned to Grey to gauge his response. They heard him thank Nat quietly, then ask the boy to get Berkeley in her room.

Grey waited until Nat had reached the top of the staircase. He stood and laid down the cards he had been absently shuffling. "I don't know what to expect when we get there," he told them. "It could be the Ducks. It could be Anderson only wants my wife's best wishes." There was a murmur of disbelief among the others, but Grey ignored it. "You know where to station yourselves and what to do. Keep in mind that we're not Brannan's vigilantes. It's not our place to start a war with the Ducks or retaliate for the past. Especially not for the past."

He paused and looked at every one of them in turn, knowing full well each man was remembering Mike and the beating he had received at the hands of the Sydney Town Ducks. "There's no reason for you to do anything unless Berkeley is placed in danger." Grey was satisfied when they nodded. "Very well. Go on. Get out of here. And don't let me see you at the wharf. If I do, Anderson Shaw certainly will."

The hall was almost entirely deserted when Berkeley came downstairs. Nat dogged her footsteps. "Where is everyone?" she asked when she reached Grey. Her abrupt stop brought Nat's nose in contact with her spine. Sighing, Berkeley groped behind her and pulled him to one side. "Stand here," she said. "Beside me. Stop trailing me like a bread crumb."

Grey quickly raised one hand to his mouth, cleared his throat, and successfully hid the smile that Berkeley's description and Nat's crestfallen expression had brought to the surface. He touched the boy's shoulder. "You did fine, Nat. Go on. Annie Jack has something for you in the kitchen."

Nat's eyes brightened. He ducked his head and hurried off.

"He was stalking you like an Apache," Grey told Berkeley. "There was honor in that. I don't think he liked being referred to as a bread crumb."

Grey's attempt to lighten her mood failed. Berkeley handed him her cloak and turned around so he could fit it properly across her shoulders. She fastened the clasp at her neck and raised the hood. Black ribbon trim framed her face. The velvet was only a few shades darker than her eyes. "You haven't told me where everyone is," she said. "I thought Donnel and Sam were playing cards with you."

"The game broke up a while ago. Sam was the big winner. I think he's squirreling away his markers now. Donnel went off to make a repair. I can't speak for the others." Grey went to the storeroom at the back for his own coat. When he returned Berkeley was waiting for him at the main entrance. Impatience defined her posture. He didn't ask her if she was prepared to go. It was clear that she was. "It might be better," he said gently, "if you did not give Anderson an advantage by appearing too anxious."

"I don't think I can help it."

"I understand. But you realize he may have nothing at all to say about your father. It could be a ruse simply to get you there."

"I know." Berkeley had thought of little else these past two days. She considered her own disappointment the most likely outcome of her meeting with Anderson. "I have to go, though. He made certain it wasn't a choice for me."

Grey nodded. He opened the door for Berkeley and slipped a hand under her elbow. He was surprised when she hesitated. "What is it?"

"I don't want there to be trouble, Grey. I don't want that on my conscience."

"Neither do I."

Berkeley lifted her face, studying Grey's. She wondered if they meant quite the same thing. "Your brother will be there."

"I haven't forgotten." He indicated the open doorway again. This time Berkeley went through it.

* * *

Garret Denison tossed his valise to a crew member of the scow that would take him out to the
Albany.
Next came his trunk. He pushed it forward with his foot and tipped it over the edge of the wharf. Two large hands grasped it at either end and hauled it aboard. Garret turned and waited for Anderson to follow suit.

"Do you really think she's coming?" Garret asked.

Anderson scanned the wharf one more time before he picked up his carpetbag and threw it on the scow's deck. "I can't leave with you if she doesn't."

Garret shrugged. "Suit yourself." He jumped down. "It doesn't appear the skipper's going to wait for you. I know the
Albany
won't."

"A few more minutes," Anderson said. In spite of the cold air lifting strands of hair at his nape, Anderson Shaw was sweating. He lifted his hat and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. His eyes darted past crates stacked five deep and taller than a man. He looked beyond the pyramid of barrels and the wagon traffic. His gaze never lingered on the men he recognized moving in the crowd. Bent Eddie. Jolly Waterman. Bobby Bums. The Ducks were there in the event Grey Janeway was of a mind to have his necklace returned.

"You'd better come," Garret said. Behind him the skipper was barking orders to his crew.

Anderson had backed himself up to the very edge of the dock. When one of the scow's crew tried to remove a secure line from the piling, Anderson stopped him. "You've waited two days," he snapped. "You can wait two minutes."

It was Berkeley who saw Anderson first. He was standing on the lip of the wharf, one foot resting on a piling, his arms crossed in front of him. She could see that he was looking for her. His chin was lifted, and his head moved with the alert, almost startled movements of a bird.

Berkeley did not give him an opportunity to observe her. She was out of the carriage before Grey could help her down, but remembering what he'd said about not giving Anderson an advantage, she held herself back while he tethered the team. She knew the moment Anderson caught sight of them. The handkerchief he was holding in his hand was thrust into his pocket, and the stiffness went out of his shoulders and back. By the time they reached him Anderson appeared to be very much at his ease. For the first time in any encounter with Anderson, Berkeley felt as though the scales had tipped in her direction.

"Berkeley," Anderson said in greeting. "Janeway. Good of you to come and see me off."

Just as if it were their pleasure, Berkeley thought. Anderson Shaw was acting in the only way his nature allowed him. She looked past his shoulder and saw Garret talking to the skipper of the scow. "I don't know that Mr. Denison can hold the scow for long, Anderson. You'd better say what you will and leave."

Anderson glanced back, saw that she was probably right, and nodded. "Very well. But alone. This is for your ears only."

Grey shook his head. "My wife isn't going anywhere with you."

"Your wife?" Anderson asked. "Must we tramp all over that ground again? Berkeley, tell him to step away. It needn't be far. Just out of hearing. You'll thank me for keeping this between us."

Berkeley glanced at Grey. She wouldn't ask this of him, her eyes said. It would be his decision.

Grey touched Berkeley's elbow lightly, then stepped back some five feet. Almost immediately Anderson turned so Grey could not read his lips. "Don't put yourself between me and Berkeley," Grey warned him. "And keep your own distance."

Anderson moved a little to one side. "I don't want anything from you, Berkeley. This time I'm going to give you something."

Berkeley merely looked at him.

"I know I haven't given you much reason to trust me or—"

"You've never given me
any
reason to trust you."

His slight smile held no humor. "Very well. I'm telling you this because of the child you're carrying. It's the only reason I would break the promise I made in Virginia. Your mother wouldn't allow me to tell you anything about your father. She's responsible for you coining to this end. Remember that, Berkeley. It wasn't me."

Berkeley's hand had unerringly found the swell of her abdomen. Her palm lay across it protectively. "Say what you mean to say, Anderson. If there's blame in this, I'll be certain to lay it at the proper door."

His polished eyes narrowed a fraction. She could not be as certain of herself as she sounded. "First, you should know this: Garret, not Graham, is the brother of Colin and Decker Thorne. He doesn't know it, and he wouldn't thank either of us for telling him. He's arranged his entire life around being the sole heir to Beau Rivage."

Berkeley was suspicious. "How have you come by this conclusion?"

"You've never understood how integral you've been to all of this, have you? Your mother told me, of course. Graham was a sickly child, so ill in fact that Evaline and James Denison traveled to London with him to seek a cure. It was while they were there that they visited Cunnington's Workhouse and took Greydon Thorne away. James wanted an heir, and Evaline had been informed she would bear him no more children. They named their foundling baby Garret and claimed him as their own. By the time they returned to Beau Rivage there were two miracles to celebrate: Graham's recovery and the 'birth' of a second child."

Berkeley's suspicions had not lessened. It was the kind of tale Anderson took great delight in spinning as it was almost impossible to corroborate. "How would my mother be privy to that information?"

Anderson allowed his smile to widen. It was smug triumph that pushed the corners upward, not humor. He leveled Berkeley with an arch look. "Can't you guess? Use your gift, Berkeley. Why is it that you're always afraid to use it when it's about you?"

Berkeley's hand fell still then slowly dropped to her side. Her eyes widened fractionally and lost their fey, otherworldly appeal. Innocence was stripped from her as she opened herself to a new, horrifying possibility.

Watching the change in her expression, Anderson was satisfied that she understood what he had yet to say. "James Denison was your mother's lover," he told her.

"No."

"Graham Denison's father was also yours."

"No." This time she held up one hand, palm out, as if she could ward off Anderson's words.

"You married your half brother, Berkeley. Your child was conceived of incest."

No! I won't let you do this to me! Not again. Not ever again.
Had she screamed the words? she wondered. She had wanted to scream them. But when Anderson stood there, unmoved and unrepentant, Berkeley knew she had not. Shame, fear, and loathing drew her hand back toward her mouth. For a moment she thought she would be sick. Then, almost without knowing her own intention, she struck out furiously. The flat of her hand connected solidly with Anderson's cheek. His head snapped. The blow was hard enough to knock him sideways, and Berkeley stepped back, watching him, stunned, as he tried to gain his balance and caught the secure line of the scow with his toe instead. The rope strained against his boot as Anderson began to fall and, finally, it was pulled free of the piling. Anderson's arms flailed in Berkeley's direction, but now she was the one unmoved and unrepentant. Crying out, he tipped over the edge of the wharf and fell headfirst into the scow.

No one aboard went to his aid. The crew grabbed the freed line, pulled it back, and pushed off from the dock. From his vantage point on the scow, the skipper smartly saluted Berkeley as if the blow she struck had been for his convenience.

Berkeley didn't see it. She was staring at Anderson's still form and the odd angle of his left leg in relation to the rest of his body. His eyes were closed, and she wasn't sure if the rise and fall of his chest was from his breathing or the movement of the scow.

Grey had come up behind Berkeley and caught her by the waist as soon as Anderson started his fall. Now his fingers tightened and he held her steady as she swayed forward to keep Anderson in her line of sight. The scow was already fifteen yards out. A stumble now would have dropped Berkeley headfirst in the bay. Grey noted she remained oblivious to any danger. "You may regret it later," he said, "but you didn't kill him."