Jo Goodman (54 page)

Berkeley had no appreciation for Grey's dry humor. Her stomach turned over.

"See?" Grey said, indicating the scow with a thrust of his chin. "Garret's going to take care of him." He watched his brother kneel beside Anderson and make a quick assessment of the injuries. "He doesn't appear to be overly concerned."

"He doesn't care what happens to Anderson. There's a difference."

Grey pulled Berkeley back a few inches. "Do you care?"

"I... I'm not..." Her voice trailed off as her stomach heaved again. "I think I'm going to be ill." She let Grey help her down to her knees. He held her shoulders while she leaned over the dock and emptied her breakfast into the bay.

Grey pressed a handkerchief into her hand when she was finished. Sam Hartford appeared from behind the pyramid of barrels and offered a silver flask. Grey took it, unscrewed the cap, and held it to Berkeley's lips. "Just a few sips." He looked over his shoulder at Sam. "The Ducks?"

"They're here," said Sam. "Saw it all. The same as we did."

Nodding, Grey removed the flask and gave it back to Sam. "Let's get her out of here before they make a move against us." He looked at Berkeley's pale profile. "Shall I carry you?"

"I can walk." To prove herself able she rose unassisted. Belatedly she became aware of Sam's presence. "What are you doing here?"

Sam rubbed the underside of his chin and wondered how well lying through his teeth would be received. Judging by Berkeley's shrewd glance, not well. "Thought I'd come along to protect your back, ma'am. Though, from what I could see, you can take care of yourself."

Berkeley did not thank Sam for his compliment. Her eyes darted along the wharf. She picked out Donnel Kincaid as he tried to slip behind a stack of crates. Shawn was walking casually toward them carrying a fishing pole over his shoulder. It did not take her long to identify several other of Grey's employees from the Phoenix. She also saw the Ducks. "Bobby Burns is here," she told Grey. "And that Jolly fellow. Remember them?"

"I couldn't forget. Let's go, Berkeley."

He did not have to repeat himself. Fully aware of the threat the Ducks posed, she hurried in the direction of the carriage. When he would have snapped the reins she stopped him. "No," she said. "A moment longer. I want to see the
Albany
leave. I want to be certain he's not coming back."

Grey pretended to indulge her because he was curious himself. "Would you like to see through the scope?"

"You brought it?"

He nodded. Taking it from his jacket, Grey extended the sight and offered it to Berkeley first.

Berkeley raised it to her eye and made a small adjustment. The scow was clearly visible. Anderson was sitting up now, a grimace of pain twisting his mouth. No effort had been made yet to splint his leg. They would leave that to the
Albany's
surgeon. As soon as the scow drew alongside the clipper a canvas sling was lowered. Berkeley watched Garret and one of the crew help Anderson into the sling. She cringed as his features contorted into something unrecognizable to her, yet she didn't look away and felt no remorse. As they raised the sling Berkeley returned the scope to Grey. "You watch them put him aboard. I've seen enough."

"We've both seen enough." He collapsed the scope and put it away. "Good riddance," he said softly.

"Yes," she agreed. "Good riddance."

Grey signaled the team, and the carriage rolled forward slowly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Berkeley dart a glance back toward the ship. "Are you ready to leave?" he asked. "We can stay until the
Albany's
out of sight."

"What? Oh, no. We should go. I'm happy to see the last of him."

He turned his head and regarded her. "Berkeley," he said gently, "you're not happy. Just the opposite, I should think."

She forced a smile, which merely underscored Grey's point.

"Are you going to tell me what he said to you?" asked Grey. Beside him, he sensed Berkeley's withdrawal. Disappointment in her reaction turned quickly to anger. His fingers tightened on the reins. The horses responded almost immediately to his agitation by picking up their pace. It was Berkeley who remained unmoved.

More than a minute passed in silence while Berkeley stared off to the side. At first she was hardly aware that storefronts and gaming halls were passing with ever-increasing speed. Lost in thought, she didn't observe that pedestrians stepped back onto the sidewalks. It wasn't until her attention was caught by one miner tackling his drunken friend to keep him back that she realized the danger their speed was posing. "Please, Grey," she said. "Slow down. We almost hit that man back—" She stopped because of the look he turned on her. His flinty stare pinned her back in her seat, and the carriage ride continued without any reduction in its speed.

When they reached the Phoenix, Berkeley went inside without waiting for Grey's escort. He caught up to her as she was letting herself into their suite. He held the door open for her and followed her in. She rounded on him almost at once.

"That was childish," she said. "You might have hurt someone back there. You might have hurt
us."

Grey made no move to approach her. His sigh was somewhere between exasperation and weariness as he leaned back against the door. "You're right," he said finally, quietly.

She had expected some argument from him, excuses that she would see through and counter. There was no apology and none was required, not when he was able to admit so simply and easily that she was right. She knew then that she had been spoiling for a fight, and he had purposely removed all reason for one.

Berkeley eliminated the distance between them. Lightly touching his hand, she raised her eyes and searched his face. "Have I complicated your life beyond bearing?"

Grey's mouth curved in a faint smile. "Not beyond bearing," he said.

She leaned into him, pressing her forehead against the crook of his shoulder. Her arms loosely circled his waist. "I didn't know what to say," she told him.

At first Grey didn't understand, but then he realized she was referring to the question he had asked her almost half an hour earlier. "It shouldn't have required thought," he said. "I only wanted to know what Anderson told you. You merely had to repeat it."

She was glad he couldn't see her own humorless smile. "It's not so easy as that. Anderson lied to me. Everything he said was lies."

"They must have been particularly ugly ones. Is that why you slapped him?"

"Yes."

"And why you don't want to tell me?"

This time she only nodded.

Grey caught her by the chin and lifted her face. "Are you afraid I'll believe them?"

Berkeley understood that Grey's gesture had been deliberate. Unguarded for a moment, her eyes revealed the truth.

"You half believe them yourself," he said. "That's what has you so frightened."

"No." But there was no conviction in her voice.

"Let me decide for myself, Berkeley. Were they lies about me?"

Berkeley led Grey to the settee. She offered him a drink, and when he declined she prepared one for him anyway. By the end of her recitation Grey was staring at an empty glass in his hands. He didn't remember drinking it but the taste of whiskey was on his tongue. It did not mix well with the bile rising in his throat.

"It
is
a lie," he said. "All of it."

"I know." She noticed he sounded no more convincing than she had.

"You're not my sister."

"Half sister."

Grey waved that distinction aside. "We do
not
have the same father."

"I'm sure you're right."

"Anderson said it to torment you. He thinks he can make you get rid of our baby."

"That's what I thought."

But that night in bed, though no word was spoken between them, they didn't reach for each other, not even for comfort, and the distance that separated them was, at the same time, too much and yet not enough.

For a while they slept.

When Grey woke he was alone. There was a moment's panic until he touched the space Berkeley had vacated and found it was still warm. He realized she couldn't have been gone long. He was struck that in spite of their self-imposed isolation, he had missed Berkeley almost as soon as she left the bed.

Grey sat up and hooked his heels on the edge of the bed frame. Frustrated and tired, he raked his hair back and squinted at the mantel clock. It was just after four. He sat there a moment longer, expecting to hear some movement from Berkeley in the adjoining dressing room. When silence remained his only companion, he got up and padded quietly next door to investigate.

The dressing room was empty. The library and sitting room were also deserted. Returning to the dressing room, Grey pulled on a pair of trousers and shrugged into a shirt. The clothes smelled of stale smoke and whiskey from the hours he'd spent earlier at the gaming tables, encouraging the Phoenix's patrons to spend their money unwisely. All evening he had watched Berkeley go through the same motions, greeting customers, appreciating their stories, and pretending attention when she had none to give.

"Goddamn you, Anderson." The sound of his own quiet voice, the anger and pain, not just in the words, but in
him,
brought Grey up short. He pressed one hand to the back of his neck and rubbed.
I should have killed you.
This time he did not give sound to his thoughts. Neither was he sorry for them.

Grey slipped on his boots, feeling the familiar outline of his knife now as a mere annoyance. He hadn't used it when he should have. That was his regret now. He swore again, more softly this time.

Believing that Berkeley had gone to Nat's room, Grey was on the point of leaving their suite when a movement on the balcony caught his eye. Berkeley had just stepped back from the balustrade and was crossing her arms in front of her to keep warm. Apparently putting on her cloak or dressing in something warmer than her nightshift had not occurred to her. She was not even wearing shoes or stockings.

She didn't turn around when he joined her or affect any surprise. It was as if she had been expecting him. He stood behind her but didn't touch her.

"They're out tonight," Berkeley said without looking at him. "There's going to be trouble."

He didn't ask who
they
were. He had seen several Ducks mingling with the Phoenix's guests this evening. He hadn't suspected that Berkeley had known. Bobbie Burns and Jolly were not among the faces he recognized, and he didn't believe she knew any others. "Do you know what sort of trouble?"

Berkeley shook her head. "Do you suppose Anderson put them up to it?"

"Perhaps. But Berkeley, it's nothing you did. Anything that's going to happen is not because of you."

She realized then that he wasn't questioning her. He might have wondered
how
she knew but not
that
she knew. "There were Ducks in the Phoenix tonight," she said. "Did you notice them?"

"Yes, but I didn't know you did."

"One of them gave me his palm to read. I didn't suspect until I held his hand. It was too late then. I thought I was going to be sick." Berkeley shivered slightly, but it wasn't from the cool air eddying around her. The wind was nothing compared to the chill she felt in her marrow. "They don't go anywhere alone. Where there was one there was probably a half dozen."

"I recognized three," Grey said. But he hadn't known the man whose fortune she'd told was a Duck. That put the number conservatively at four. Berkeley was most likely closer to the mark with six. "Will it be tonight?"

"Yes, I think so. I didn't know that earlier, but when I woke I felt so certain of it I came out here. I thought I might catch a glimpse of them."

"They don't typically keep their presence a secret," he said. "Intimidation is one of their weapons. They do that in numbers. Never alone. It would be more like them to march into Portsmouth Square with torches blazing than to skulk in the shadows making mischief."

Berkeley turned on Grey. Her features were starkly etched by fear. "It isn't mischief they have in mind this night. They mean for people to die."

Grey did not require convincing. He reached behind him for the door and opened it. "Come inside and get dressed. I'm going to get Donnel and Sam. We'll empty the hotel into the square. Wake Nat and take yourselves out. That's your only job, Berkeley. I want to know that you'll be outside waiting for me."

She nodded. "Yes, of course." Before she thought better of it, Berkeley stood on tiptoe and brushed his mouth with her own. She hurried past him before he could catch her or comment.

* * *

There was grumbling and protests as guests were roused from their beds. Some had only left the tables an hour earlier and were groggy with drink and lack of sleep. Others had been in a deep sleep and required considerable convincing to leave their rooms.

The fact that Grey couldn't tell them what the danger was made them more suspicious than cooperative. Some made no secret that they thought it was all a ruse to separate them from their belongings. Many people took time to gather valuables and pack a valise. The gamers still at the tables on the main floor were even more difficult to remove from their cards and dice. Those in the middle of a lucky streak were especially physical in their opposition.