Grey lifted one corner of the damp cloth. He eyed her. "I took your point."

"Oh. I wasn't sure."

He let the cloth fall back in place. "If you're right, then I may have made a small error in judgment this morning. I probably shouldn't have hinted to Garret that I may have regained my memory."

Berkeley's heart sank. "You didn't."

"Afraid so. Watching him, seeing him laugh, so obviously enjoying the fact that he was a stranger to mea well, after you were gone I got a little of my own back."

"Do you think he believed you?"

"I think he's uncertain. That's all I wanted to achieve. I wanted him to wonder."

Berkeley groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with them. What are we going to do?"

"I'm going to the bank in a few hours to meet with Anderson. I'm paying him to leave California. I'll need the diamond necklace back, I'm afraid. He's not leaving poor."

Now it was Berkeley who lifted the cloth from Grey's eyes. "You need it back? How much did you agree to pay?"

"Fifteen thousand in gold. I wouldn't require the necklace if so much of my money weren't tied up in the Phoenix. Those diamonds were an extravagance I couldn't properly afford."

"I knew that. It was an expensive lesson. For both of us as it turns out. It seems Anderson didn't tell you he's already in possession of the necklace. That's what he extorted from me. And I promised him even more."

"Dear G.o.d."

Berkeley leaned to one side and dropped the cloth in the basin. She began to wring it out, but Grey stayed her hand. He started to get up. "Where do you think you're going?"

"If I don't have the necklace, then I'm going to have to arrange for some funding from other sources. Bankers don't generally give loans that profit blackmailers. I'll have to think of some reason for requiring the money."

Bowing her head, Berkeley studied her hands for a moment. "Let's not pay him anything," she whispered.

"What?"

"Nothing," she repeated. "No money at all."

"I thought you wanted him out of your life."

"I do." Her voice was earnest. "But I realize I can get rid of him by telling you the truth. If he has nothing to hold over my head, then he has nothing. He'll leave when he sees that you know the truth and it doesn't matter to you."

Grey frowned slightly. "What truth is that, Berkeley?"

She took a short, shallow breath. "I thought he was dead when I married you. You know I did."

"Yes? What has that toa""

Berkeley held up her hand and cut him off. "Anderson Shaw was my stepfather. I never lied about that. But I didn't tell you everything." She hesitated the length of a heartbeat, then plunged ahead. "I didn't tell you that after my mother died he also became my husband."

Chapter Fifteen.

The bank was not crowded when Grey arrived. He made an inquiry into his account at the teller's window and a small withdrawal, then he waited on a narrow bench in the lobby for Garret Denison and Anderson Shaw. He watched the clock and occasionally patted the inside pocket of his vest for the pa.s.sage vouchers he had purchased for them. Grey wished he could derive more comfort from the gesture. Having the vouchers was not enough, not when there was no guarantee that a ship would be leaving San Francisco today. The best he was told he could hope for was that one would be sailing back East in forty-eight hours.

Grey stood. He leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. His head was c.o.c.ked to one side, and his eyes were cast downward. No observer of this casual posture would have known it was tension that had driven him to his feet. His hooded glance seemed more thoughtful than worried, and the slight curve of his mouth gave the impression of humor turned inward. For all intents and purposes he appeared quite at his ease if slightly aloof. Several times he responded to greetings that were made in pa.s.sing but he didn't invite or engage in conversation. No one of his acquaintance pressed.

Anderson Shaw entered the bank alone. His head bent, eyes on the floor, Anderson walked directly past Grey without noticing him. He stopped suddenly and turned, aware of Grey for the first time. Surprise made him slow to mask the malice in his expression.

Grey pushed away from the wall. He did not move to close the distance between them. "Shaw," he said.

Anderson made a slight nod. His acknowledgment was equally curt. "Janeway."

"Not here," Grey said. "Outside."

One of Anderson's brows arched as he considered this. It was certainly not a request. Before he gave any indication that he was going to go along with it, Grey walked out. Anderson waited, his eyes darting toward the clock. He stood there a full minute before he determined that Grey Janeway was not going to return. Slowly, his mouth tightening, he left the bank.

Grey was waiting on the lip of the sidewalk beside his carriage. When he saw Anderson he untethered the horses, climbed in, and took up the reins. He did not issue an invitation to Anderson except to glance in his direction.

Anderson climbed aboard. He sat back in the stiff leather seat beside Grey. "Where are we going?" he asked as Grey snapped the reins.

"Nowhere in particular."

Anderson looked around. Grey's open carriage gave him an un.o.bstructed view of the street ahead. Wagons filled with feed and hardware lumbered cautiously along the rutted avenue. The rough plank walks on either side were considerably crowded with people moving briskly from one place of business to the next. Behind him he saw a pair of miners jump off the walk as soon as the carriage pa.s.sed and head for the saloon across the street. "But you want witnesses," Anderson said shrewdly.

"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 a.s.sure 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 pa.s.sage on the Albany as soon as her repairs are completed. The captain a.s.sured 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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. Ma.s.saging 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 anda""

"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 dieda"your wifea"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 a.s.sessment 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 pa.s.sage. 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."