"It never once occurred to me," Berkeley said. "In some ways you're very predictable, Anderson."

"Predictability had nothing to do with how you managed that trick this evening. You couldn't have known what I would write on the card."

"I didn't."

"Then how was it done? I have no particular fondness for The Shrew.''

"And Richard III would be your role. Yes, I'm aware of that. But you gave the card to Joe Allen, and he moves his mouth when he reads."

In spite of himself Anderson Shaw laughed. "So simple as that, eh?"

Berkeley nodded. They had reached her suite. "I won't invite you inside," she said. "Say your piece, then go."

Anderson would not be hurried although he did look over his shoulder down the long hallway. "You have not inquired after Mr. Denison."

"I a.s.sumed he was in his room."

"He is. Pacing the floor, I'm certain. He hasn't half the patience I've shown." He thought Berkeley would comment, but she remained silent. "Do you have the earring?''

"Yes, but I'm not giving it to you. I'll put it in Mr. Denison's hand myself. What is his room number?"

"Three-oh-six. But not here. He's at the Palace. We considered it the wisest course of action following our first meeting."

"Garret doesn't want his brother to know he's here."

"That's correct. I suppose he has his reasons. Can you leave?"

"Not now. But tomorrow. Is that soon enough?"

"You're very eager to give over the earring. I wonder at your change of heart. Can you be so relieved to see the last of us?"

Berkeley ignored him. "And what is it you want, Anderson? You've spent this last week thinking about it. What will it take to be rid of you?"

"Clever girl. Haven't you guessed it by now?"

Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "None of your games now. Of course I want you gone. You deserted me at the claim and left me to make my own way. Well, I have. And if I hadn't stumbled across Graham Denison, you would have never revealed that you were quite alive. You would have stayed with the Ducks in Sydney Town, where I imagine you've made your fair share of friends."

Anderson's hand snaked out and caught Berkeley's wrist. He held it tightly and would have enjoyed it more if she had struggled. He intended to leave bruises she would be forced to explain. "Do you know that if you hadn't returned to telling fortunes, I might never have found you? I'd heard of Grey Janeway but had no occasion to see him. The Ducks seemed to think he was better left alone. I believe the ruffians rather liked him, or at least they respected his power to retaliate. It was only when the rumor began of a certain young woman in his care who could tell a man about his past and divine his future that I became curious. Seeing feat you had landed on your feet was only half as surprising as my first glimpse of the man who called himself Grey Janeway. I knew the truth immediately. I was not entirely certain you did though. From what I could learn it didn't appear you had contacted the Thornes. I regretted leaving you with the earring nonetheless."

Berkeley's fingers were numb from the pressure of Anderson's hand. "You left it with me because you could have never realized its true worth. It would have sold for a paltry sum in this city. You would have been better staked at the gaming tables if you had owned an orchard. At five dollars an apple you could have made the fortune you want." She twisted her wrist and felt the skin rub harshly against Anderson's palm.

He gave her no quarter "'Name it,'' she said. "Tell me quickly before someone comes and sees you here."

"Twenty thousand dollars."

Berkeley actually gasped. "You can't possibly believe I can get that kind of money for you."

"Why not? You're wearing half that much around your neck right now." Before she knew what he was about he stripped her of the diamond choker. "Room three-oh-six. At ten. You shouldn't be late, and you shouldn't come without the earring and the money.'' Anderson released her hand and walked away, satisfied with this evening's work. He left the hotel by the back stairs, oblivious to Annie Jack's severe scolding for mistaking her kitchen for a thoroughfare.

Nat Corbett was yanked onto his tiptoes by the powerful hand at the scruff of his neck. He yelped once before his shirt collar caught him around the throat and silenced him. Half-carried, half-dragged, he was deposited in front of Grey in the main gaming hall. The crowd had thinned, but there were still more than a hundred gamblers left to witness his humiliation. Nat felt the stares of every one of them.

Annie Jack stood facing.Grey, arms akimbo, a severe frown on her face. To all appearances she was unmoved by Nat's whipped puppy expression. "Annie caught him sneakin' in her kitchen from the outside no mo' than a minute ago. That suggests to Annie that he also sneaked himself right out of here." She slapped her large palms together twice in a brisk hand-washing gesture and declared herself free of further responsibility for young Nat's welfare.

Grey consulted his pocket watch. It was nearing one o'clock. His own frown was a less fearsome one than Annie's but clearly communicated that he was displeased. "We can't talk here," he said. "Come, we'll go upstairs. I don't have to carry you under my arm, do I?"

In answer, Nat hung his head and began to lead the way. At the top of the stairs he turned toward his own room. Grey put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

"My suite," he said. Nat's stiffening and the fear that leaped into his eyes provided Grey with the information he sought. "This way.'' He turned Nat in the direction of his own quarters.

In the front room Grey indicated Nat should be seated. The boy chose the large chair by the fireplace and sat stiffly on the very edge. Grey felt his eyes on him as he moved about the room, first closing the door to the library, then while he poured himself a small drink at the sideboard. "Do you imagine I'm going to beat you?" Grey asked.

Of course it had occurred to him, but Nat wasn't certain it was a good idea to say so. "I'm hoping you won't, sir."

"Well, I won't. You can set that from your mind and concentrate on telling me the truth. And I do want to hear it from you, Nat."

Nat's eyes strayed involuntarily toward the door.

"She's another room away," Grey told him. "And sleeping. She retired more than an hour ago. You don't have to be worried that you'll be overheard." He paused, sipping his drink. "I take it your late-night excursion had something to do with her."

Nat squirmed in his seat but said nothing. His abject countenance spoke eloquently of his misery. He could not meet Grey's eyes.

Sighing, Grey sat on the settee opposite Nat. "Did she send you on some errand this evening? Is that it?"

"No!" Nat blurted. He sat back a little, surprising himself with the vehemence of his reply.

"But you slipped out of the hotel because of her." It was not strictly a question and Grey didn't expect an answer. He regarded Nat in silence for a moment, thinking back over the past week to things he had noticed but not really seen: how Nat kept Berkeley in his sights when even the most intrepid among them gave her a wide berth; how he often would appear at the door to their suite looking for Pandora; and how he sat in the shadows at the top of the stairs while the Phoenix filled with customers, his attention on the doors.

"We've all been watching her these days," Grey said at last. "But I think you've been the only one watching out for her."

Nat's small chest heaved with a shaky breath. His expression became marginally more hopeful.

"Listen to me, Nat.'' Grey rolled the crystal tumbler between his palms. "Whatever it is you've seen or know, it can't be your secret alone. Berkeley's in some sort of trouble, isn't she?'' Grey watched Nat bite his lip. "Is she aware you know?''

A spot of blood appeared on Nat's lower lip as he bit down harder.

Grey swore softly. "She does know, doesn't she? And she's asked you not to say anything." And keeping the secret was clearly an agony for the boy. How could Berkeley have done that to him? Grey's mouth tightened as he felt his own anger taking form. It was not only that she had placed Nat in this untenable position but that she had refused to share any part of what was troubling her with him. No, that wasn't entirely true. She had shared all the emotion and none of the information. There was no betrayal of trust. There was simply no trust.

Grey finished his drink and put the tumbler aside. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his fingers clasped together. "Look at me, Nat," he said. His tone brooked no refusal. "I respect your promise to honor Berkeley's wishes. Only you can decide if your promise was extracted unfairly or given rashly, against your better judgment. I'm not going to conduct an inquisition. I am going to ask that you think carefully about this secret you're carrying for Berkeley and if you should be doing it at all."

Nat rubbed his kneecaps nervously, but he didn't look away from Grey's penetrating stare. He was remembering the blow Berkeley had taken seven days earlier. If he closed his eyes, he would have been able to see her stumbling backward from the force of it. She had been given the slap to a.s.sure his silence. His life had been threatened to make certain of hers. And now there was the baby to consider.

"She wouldn't have to know?" Nat said at last. "That I said anything, I mean."

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 necka 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 Fourteen.

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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s was itself soothing.

It had been different earlier when she was stretched out beneath him, her nipples hard enough to sc.r.a.pe 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 b.u.t.tocks; he felt her shallow breathing as she antic.i.p.ated 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 d.a.m.ned. Why it'sa""

"Why it's a b.u.mp 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 s.p.a.cious luxury as the Phoenix. An iron-rail bed occupied most of the s.p.a.ce 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 wasa well, after he disappeared."

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

"G.o.d, 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 G.o.d's sake," Garret interjected. "What the h.e.l.l is she talking about, Shaw? What 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.