Thorne Brothers: With All My Heart Part 15

Trying not to show her smile, Berkeley hurried into the bedroom. "Do you think the red velvet will do?" she called back to him.

"No. What about the blue-beaded gown? The one Ivory gave you."

Berkeley pulled it from the armoire. She had never even tried it on. There was something about it that unsettled her each time she picked it up. It had been thrust to the back of her wardrobe. Trust Grey to remember it. "I don't think it will fit."

"It will fit," he said with a.s.surance. "Put it on." He consulted his pocket watch. "You have three minutes."

Berkeley wiggled out of her gown and tossed it on the bed. She stripped out of two petticoats that had added fullness to the last gown but which were unnecessary for this one. Stepping into the gown, she pulled it up to her shoulders. The sleeves were long and tapered. They flared at the shoulders and were cut narrowly around her wrists. The bodice was heart-shaped and decorated with hundreds of tiny gla.s.s beads that s.h.i.+mmered like sapphires when she moved. Berkeley carefully smoothed the silk across her midriff and made a quarter turn to each side in front of the cheval gla.s.s. The gown was not as revealing as the green satin, yet she was infinitely more uncomfortable in it.

"Do you need help with the back?" Grey asked from the doorway.

Berkeley was grateful for the interruption. She knew she required a diversion. She had to steel herself. Ivory DuPree's gown was tugging on her senses.

Chapter Seven.

Berkeley faltered at the top of the stairs. Her fingers dug into Grey's arm as she was seized by a wave of light-headedness and stomach-churning anxiety.

Beneath his sleeve, Grey could make out the crescent shape of Berkeley's nails. He winced as she pressed harder. "You'll leave bruises," he whispered. "What will my guests think?"

She gave him a quick sidelong glance. "I'm sorry." It was an effort to uncurl her nearly bloodless fingers from his forearm.

Grey laid a hand over hers before she removed herself from his support entirely. "I was teasing, Berkeley. Are you all right?"

She only nodded. Her throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. It was difficult to draw a breath deep enough to fill her lungs.

"Courage," Grey said. "You're going to be the belle of the ball."

Berkeley expected him to begin the descent down the curving stairs. When he didn't move she cast him another glance and glimpsed an expression of pure puzzlement on his face. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He was, Grey thought. And he wasn't. He had never experienced a moment from the past with such overwhelming clarity. He knew without any doubt that he had done this before. The staircase. The woman. The people waiting for them. You're going to be the belle of the ball. Those had been his words. Everything was the same, yet not the same at all.

Too quickly the moment pa.s.sed. The freshness of the experience vanished with it. He repeated the words to himself but there was no recapturing it. His certainty of having gone through these motions before faded as well, yet there was the beginning of a headache as muscles corded at his nape, reminding him this was not his imagination.

Grey resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. He patted Berkeley's hand lightly. To all appearances he was comforting her. The reality was a little different than that. "Shall we?"

The noisy throng of guests quieted as Grey Janeway and his hostess appeared at the curve of the grand staircase. Grey had greeted guests when the doors opened, but this was the first opportunity for them to acknowledge his accomplishment en ma.s.se. The initial light applause swelled to thunder. Empty gla.s.ses on the bar actually inched forward with the strength of the vibration. Grey inclined his head, accepting the accolades in an aristocratic manner that was bred in the bone. Some of the rowdier guests hooted gleefully at the airs they thought he affected. Grey chuckled deeply and smiled at their reminder that he had no special claim on good breeding and inherited wealth. He had sc.r.a.pped and scrabbled like everyone else in the hall. He'd been less fortunate than some, luckier than most. No one among the two hundred present tonight thought he deserved anything less than what he had earned.

But to a man they were wondering what Grey Janeway had done to deserve the woman on his arm.

Grey held up one hand to silence the crowd. "Ladies." Grey made a point to single them out and give each one a moment's attention. "Gentlemen.'' In some corners of the hall this distinction was greeted by a low rumble of laughter. "It is my very great pleasure to introduce you to the Phoenix's hostess, Miss Berkeley Shaw. Miss Shaw, my friends."

Berkeley's beaded gown flashed as she was turned toward Grey. He lifted the hand that was lying over his forearm and brought it to his lips. Surprise held Berkeley still. She was unaware of the collective groan that was offered up by most of Grey's male guests as her unavailability was confirmed.

"Can you smile at least?" Grey asked over her hand. His lips brushed her skin as he spoke. His eyes were focused on hers. "They shouldn't be left with the impression that you're terrified."

Her smile was reflexive. "But I am terrified."

"Good." Grey was encouraging her smile, not her state of mind. He lowered her hand, placed it on his arm again, and turned to the crowd. Applause swelled again as they began their descent. Grey scanned the faces lifted in their direction while he tilted his head toward Berkeley. His faint grin was still in place. "You will have them quite literally in the palm of your hand," he whispered. "Let's see what you can do with it."

The first hour pa.s.sed in a blur of faces that Berkeley could barely distinguish and names she would not remember. She knew she fixed her smile and extended her hand and made socially appropriate comments, but it was done by rote. The real effort she made went unnoticed by everyone, including the man who rarely left her side. Grey could not know, nor could Berkeley adequately explain, the sensations that were making her skin crawl and her heart beat like a trip-hammer.

She was mounting all her defenses to sustain the pretense of normality while terror defined the only emotion she felt.

Berkeley smiled warmly at Samuel Brannan. He was a large, bl.u.s.tering sort of man, the kind who brought attention to himself even when he traveled without six bodyguards. He pumped Berkeley's hand before he seated himself across the table from her. His protectors formed a phalanx on either side and curious onlookers squeezed in where they could.

Grey stood just behind the table, in clear view of Sam but not close enough to Berkeley to be accused of giving her any signals.

"I don't know what you have in mind, Grey,'' Brannan said. "I don't exactly need an excuse to take a beautiful woman's hand."

"Perhaps she needs an excuse to take yours," someone in the pressing crowd called.

Brannan laughed good-naturedly. "There's the truth of it." He placed his hand in the middle of the narrow table. "Well, Miss Shaw? Even if you don't tell me anything out of the ordinary, I'll still leave this table a satisfied man."

Berkeley turned Sam Brannan's large palm over in hers. She held his eyes steadily with hers. "I hope I can do more than merely satisfy you," she said huskily.

Behind her, Grey's dark brows drew together. He had never heard Berkeley's voice fall to quite that suggestive pitch before. If he'd had to make a wager on it, he would have said it wasn't possible. He glanced around at the men and women watching her. Her comment hadn't gone unnoticed and wasn't going to pa.s.s unremarked. Sam Brannan's complexion, he saw, had turned a ruddy hue beneath his large side whiskers. He was still game, though, looking infinitely more honored than offended.

Berkeley had no idea that she had displeased Grey or elicited any comment from the crowd of onlookers. She stroked Sam Brannan's palm several times, tracing the curve of his mounts with her fingertips. Berkeley spoke as if she and Sam were alone in the great hall. "You have always been a powerful man," she said quietly. "Your strength comes from your conviction and your faith. You are a leader among men even when you do not position yourself that way. You take a stand for yourself, and others simply follow whether you ask it of them or not."

Sam Brannan was smiling broadly. "If that don't beat all," he said. "You tell her to say that, Grey?"

"I don't put words in her mouth," Grey said. "And if I did, those wouldn't be the ones I'd want her to tell you."

Sam chuckled. "Just so," he said. "Go on, Miss Shaw. I can stand to hear more."

Berkeley continued for a few minutes in the same vein, relating the traits she sensed in his character. Finally she said, "Do you have a question for me, Mr. Brannan?"

He didn't respond immediately, but gave her query full consideration. "I believe I do," he said, stroking his beard. "I'm engaged in a new struggle, and though I feel the rightness of it, I have my doubts that it can succeed. What do you give for my chances?"

Berkeley leaned closer. "The answer to that doesn't rest in your palm," she told him. "But in your heart and head. Your Vigilance Committee may have a good intent, but it exists outside the law. It can't hope to operate within the structures of justice when there are no trials for the accused. Good intentions do not necessarily lead to good decisions. You and your committee will drive the Ducks out but not without claiming some innocents. You will be successful, Mr. Brannan. The cost will be your peace of mind."

Samuel Brannan slowly withdrew his hand from Berkeley's. She had spoken only to him, her voice low and intent. Now the gathering was waiting for him to pa.s.s judgment on what he had heard. His thoughtful gaze told her she had given him something to think about, but it was his c.o.c.ksure, brash personality that spoke to the crowd. "Miss Shaw is confident of our success,'' he boomed as he came to his feet. He raised his gla.s.s of seltzer, saluting Berkeley and the future of the Vigilance Committee.

Grey's light touch on her shoulders kept Berkeley in her seat as drinks were lifted and a raucous cheer went up. He bent toward her ear and whispered, "Can you do another?"

She nodded. Lome Fitch sat down next, his wife beside him. Berkeley took most of the cues from her. She went carefully through the information Grey had provided for her earlier and gathered new insights along the way. She told him that he came from a large family in New England and eventually identified the city as Providence. She discovered he met his wife at a church social and was so taken by her that he stammered through most of their first conversation. Berkeley's recitation not only won over Lorne Fitch, but his wife as well, as they both were skillfully guided through fond memories of courts.h.i.+p and marriage, giving up secrets they believed they hadn't given up at all. The banker's question had nothing to do with the success of his business ventures. He wanted to know something far more personal.

"Tell me if you can, Miss Shaw, will my wife and I be blessed with another child?''

It was then that Berkeley dropped Mr. Fitch's palm and took up his wife's. She only had to lower her guard a bit to know the truth, and if she hadn't felt the life force in Marilyn Fitch's touch, she would have known by the look in the other woman's eyes. Berkeley hesitated, silently asking Mrs. Fitch's permission to give up this secret. The banker's wife offered her a blissful smile and nodded.

Berkeley's glance slid to Mr. Fitch. "When you ask about another blessing," she said, "I a.s.sume you mean one beyond the child your wife's carrying now."

Fitch leaped up from the table, toppling the chair behind him. He lifted his wife by the elbows and searched her face. The truth of Berkeley's words were plain on Marilyn's glowing skin and beatific smile. He'd been blind not to have seen it before. "I'll be d.a.m.ned," he said, grinning widely. "Will it be a boy this time, Miss Shaw?"

It was Grey who responded. "You only get one question," he said. "If you want to know the answer to that, then you can pay for the privilege or wait nine months."

The gathering laughed heartily as the banker was put to a blush. It was Marilyn Fitch who laid down two pieces of gold from her reticule and slid them toward Berkeley.

"A boy," Berkeley said confidently. She palmed the gold pieces and they disappeared down the front of her beaded bodice with credible sleight of hand.

It was the second time that evening she drew Grey Janeway's displeasure.

Anthony Bottoms was the final guest to be invited to Berkeley's table. It was nearing midnight when Grey pretended to relent his previous decree that Berkeley had finished performing for the evening. It had been Shawn's idea to let some time elapse between the first two readings and the last one. In the future there would always be the question of whether or not Berkeley was truly done for the night. Men who wanted her attention would be encouraged to stay at the tables longer. As long as the possibility existed that she might have time to take their hand, they would wait for her.

Berkeley wished now that Shawn had not gone to Grey with his idea or that Grey had not received it so well. She wished she had done more than smile wanly when Grey asked if she was still prepared to meet Mr. Bottoms. And when she touched the gambler's cool hand she wished she was wearing gloves.

Anthony Bottoms was a dandy, smooth and polished and without substance. Touching him was like licking icing from a cake, sweet at first, sickening when repeated. Berkeley's exhaustion left her defenseless.

The first contact raised the flesh on Berkeley's arm. The s.h.i.+ver that rippled through her was quite real, though not caused by an attraction to Anthony Bottoms as the onlookers thought Berkeley's exotically colored eyes darkened at the centers. She drew her chair closer to the gambler's, and when she bent forward her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelled slightly against the beaded neckline of her gown. Her voice was quiet, just as it had been with the others, but it was intimate as well. She reached the husky pitch she had hit once with Sam Brannan and stayed there throughout the interview with Anthony Bottoms.

"You're a bit of a confidence man," Berkeley told him. "It's in your blood. Generations of gamblers. Is that right, Tony?"

The man who had always despised the shortening of his Christian name, swallowed hard and nodded.

"I thought so," she said. Her smile was a shade wicked. "You're good at it though. You watch others, make a note of their weaknesses, their habits under stress. Your father taught you how to do that. Would you say you exploit others, Tony? Take advantage of their weaknesses? No, that isn't how you describe what it is you do. It's all fair in your mind because others enter into the game with you willingly. They like your style. Some of them even envy it."

Berkeley raised her eyes to him and gave his palm an imperceptible squeeze. "I like your style," she said deeply. "Very much indeed."

Grey Janeway was certain he didn't like what he was hearing. He stepped closer to where Berkeley was sitting, not touching her yet but close enough that he knew she could feel his presence. He wasn't worried that Anthony Bottoms would take Berkeley's revelations too seriously, especially not when Grey's flinty stare was leveled on him, but Grey could not say the same for the men who were pressing in, intrigued by the intimate nature of her conversation with the gambler.

Anthony Bottoms fingered his mustache. It was an unconscious gesture he made when he was nervous, an emotional state that was largely unfamiliar to him. He felt the force of Grey's coldly remote eyes and the searing heat of Berkeley's. He was not a man accustomed to these extremes. At a gambling table he was used to making others uncomfortable. Charm and polish did not serve him well in these circ.u.mstances.

"Do you have a question for me, Tony?" Berkeley asked. One brow was lifted archly. "Would you like to know if you've sparked the interest of a certain woman?''

Anthony Bottoms felt beads of sweat forming just under his mustache.

"Perhaps you want to learn if the luck you've had this evening will continue the rest of the week." There was the suggestion in her voice that she was not speaking of his good fortune at the gaming tables. Berkeley crooked her finger at him and beckoned him closer. "Do you want everyone to know the suit and royal line of the card you have up your sleeve?'' she whispered. Berkeley sat back, her smile secretive as Anthony Bottoms leaped to his feet.

"What did she tell you, Bottoms?" someone in the crowd asked.

"Out with it," another voice prompted. "Don't leave us in suspense."

"We're not b.l.o.o.d.y mind readers, you know," said a third. This roused a round of laughter and more insistence that Anthony share what Berkeley had whispered to him.

Anthony pulled at his mustache and forced a smile behind his hand. "She's says I'm going on a trip back East," he told them. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a receipt. "I only bought this today, gentlemen, and I haven't told a soul."

Berkeley shrugged off Grey's light touch and stood. She looped her arm through Anthony's and sidled close to him. Her saucy wink was meant for him alone, but the men crowding in saw it. "Why I do believe you're a knave, Tony Bottoms. And you've quite captured my black heart."

Anthony Bottoms thought of the jack of spades secreted in the cuff of his s.h.i.+rt. It was just as well he was planning to leave Frisco. This woman could ruin him, and she had let him know it in no uncertain terms. He had thanked her in the only way he could, by cementing her reputation as someone who knew more about the future than the rest of them. He envied Grey Janeway. The man was going to make a fortune with her.

"Step aside," Anthony told his friends smoothly. "I want a farewell dance with Miss Shaw." The sea of men parted, and he spun Berkeley away as the music swelled.

Grey let them go, but his eyes followed. He accepted the congratulations of his guests with little comment. Berkeley Shaw was a success, and it was because he had insisted she not back away from her opening night commitment. He wondered that he did not feel better about it.

"I'd like to retire," Berkeley told her dancing partner. After taking the floor with Anthony Bottoms, she found herself in the arms of a succession of men. She smiled gaily and laughed from time to time and tried not to think about the strangers who put their hands in hers or laid their open palms against her waist. She tried not to think about the fact that none of the men were Grey Janeway. "Would you mind escorting me to the stairs?"

Martin Reade bowed with correct formality. He was a tall man, slenderly built, and rather endearingly awkward. "I'd be happy to escort you safely to your room."

Berkeley didn't tell him that her safety was not at issue. None of the upstairs rooms and suites would be given out until tomorrow. Except for Mike and Grey she was quite alone on the floor. "Yes, thank you. I'd like that." The waves of dizziness were coming at her now with little respite between each crest. The curving staircase presented a more intimidating climb than any three of San Francisco's hills.

"You're very pale, Miss Shaw," Martin noted. "Should I find Grey?"

"No. No, he doesn't need to be disturbed. Please, just get me through this crush."

Martin took Berkeley's arm and began to wend both of them toward the stairs. Berkeley had to turn away three prospective dancing partners before Martin took over the duty by saying she was unavailable. It wasn't until they reached the foot of the wide staircase that Berkeley knew she couldn't make the ascent. She placed her hand flat in the middle of Martin Reade's chest to stop him.

"There are stairs at the back through the kitchen," she said, her voice hardly above a whisper. "Take me there."

He regarded the distance to be traveled skeptically. "I'll carry you up this way."

"No! Not in front of everyone. Please, help me get to the back stairs."

By keeping to the perimeter of the large hall, Martin and Berkeley were able to reach the kitchen with relative ease. Annie Jack's domain was still a hive of activity, even at this late hour. The cook and her helpers were putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on a four-tier cake.

"Out!" Annie yelled at them. She went immediately back to the work, proof that she expected to be obeyed.

Berkeley could feel Martin begin to retreat. "The stairs are that way." She pointed past the table of hovering helpers toward the pantry. "She doesn't bite."

"Annie do bite," the cook said. "She's fixin' to tear a leg off someone if they trespa.s.s in her kitchen."

Martin hesitated. It was Berkeley who pulled him along. Annie Jack actually raised her frosting knife at them and waggled it threateningly as they pa.s.sed her table. A dollop of b.u.t.tercream icing landed on the sleeve of Martin's jacket. Berkeley didn't wait for more to follow. She jerked him by the elbow and hustled him to the base of the stairs.

"Ignore her," Berkeley said, referring to Annie's bellowing. "She's not going to follow us, and I require your help."

Martin Reade rose to the occasion. He helped Berkeley steady herself by offering his arm so they could climb the narrow stairs together. It was a satisfactory arrangement for half the trip. Martin carried her the remainder.

"I think I should get Grey," he said as he lowered her feet to the floor in front of her door.

"No. There's really no need." She turned the handle. "If you'd just come inside a moment in the event I need you. Perhaps you would help me out of this gown?'' Berkeley pulled on his hand, not giving him time to refuse her. "It won't take long. Here, this way. My bedroom's through here."

Martin stumbled after her, bewildered by her insistence and more than a little uneasy by the possible consequences. He looked over his shoulder several times, expecting to see Grey Janeway standing in the doorway with loaded pistols.

It wasn't Grey who eventually appeared but one of Sam Brannan's bodyguards. The man's broad shoulders filled the doorframe. He had a thick neck and legs as solid as pier pilings. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, but there was nothing in his posture to indicate patience. His squarely cut chin lifted aggressively as he indicated Martin should leave.