Thorne Brothers: With All My Heart Part 23

Grey sat in the wing chair. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, and rolled the tumbler between his palms. "So he convinced them to hire you to find Greydon."

"Almost," she said. "The last person known to be in possession of the earringa"the real onea"was Graham Denison. Decker didn't know about the earring until Graham disappeared. It turned up in the Remington mansion shortly after Graham visited there."

"So Decker and Graham knew each other."

"Yes."

"But Graham's not the brother."

"No one knows. That's what finding Graham would have helped to determine. He could have explained his connection to the earring."

Grey was quiet. He stared at the tumbler of whiskey. The slight trembling in his hands caused a ripple across the surface of the amber liquid. "If you had found him," he said slowly. "If I hadn't killed him."

"Yes." Berkeley stood long enough to cross to Grey's side. She knelt in front of him and carefully lifted the tumbler and set it aside. She folded her hands around his. "I didn't want to come here," she said. "From the beginning I tried to tell Anderson we shouldn't use the Thornes. I knew it before we met them anda and afterward I was certain. They're not the sort of men you can cross and expect nothing to come of it."

"Yet you fell in with your father's plan."

"It wasn't so simple as saying no to him. You don't know how he was. And you don't understand about my gift. I've explained before that I'm not entirely in control of it. When I met the Thornes and realized how dangerous it would be to make enemies of them, I thought I could manage to get us out of it. But the earringsa they were very powerful. Holding them was like wearing Ivory's gown. I couldn't seem to help what I said. I couldn't pretend I didn't feel anything, and I couldn't lie. I told them what I knew: Graham Denison was dead. It was mya it was my father who told them what else I tried to say before I fainted. He's the one who said we would find the proof in San Francisco."

"Then you didn't really expect to find Mr. Denison here."

Berkeley shook her head. "I didn't expect to find him anywhere. I certainly didn't expect to find his killer here."

Grey slipped his hands out of hers and leaned back in his chair. He sighed heavily. "I do wish you'd stop saying that."

"I wish I had never told you. That's how Nat found out. Not because I said anything to him," she added quickly, "but because he overheard me telling you."

"G.o.d," Grey said under his breath. "What a mess." He rubbed the back of his stiffening neck. "You may as well tell me the rest of it."

"I wrote to Decker Thorne quite some time ago and informed him of Mr. Denison's death. Of course I could offer no proof and I didn't want to bring your name into ita""

"Thank you," he said dryly.

"So I simply restated what I knew to be true: the search for Greydon Thorne had reached an impa.s.se. Something about my correspondence, perhaps the brevity of it, must have aroused their suspicions. Apparently they're here looking for the earring. I know it's worth a great deal, but it's not one of the heirloom pieces. Colin Thorne had it made with the intent of exposing me as a fraud. I knew it was a fake as soon as I held it. I thought I'd earned this one."

"They may have a different idea."

"I'm realizing that now." Berkeley pulled up a footstool and sat on that. She hugged her knees and regarded Grey over the top of them. "You can't imagine how wealthy they are, Grey. It seems odd they would want this earring so badly."

Grey was reserving judgment. "How does Nat fit into this?"

"They approached him after they located me at the Phoenix. I can't divine their reasoning, but they wouldn't do it this way without some purpose in mind."

"You're certain it's them?"

"I've never seen them here, but Nat gave me their names."

Grey's brows pulled together slightly. "Go on."

"Remember when Nat disappeared a few weeks ago?"

"Yes."

"At the time I thought he took the earring because he wanted me to come after him. He says now that he had it because the Thornes asked for it. They were going to give him a good deal of money for it."

Grey considered this, his flinty stare fixed on a point past Berkeley's shoulder. "Nat had second thoughts?"

"Yes. He decided not to meet with them, and he's stayed close to the Phoenix ever since. That seems to have forced their hand. They came here this evening looking for him."

"They were in the hall tonight?"

"No. Lurking about outside."

One corner of Grey's mouth twitched. Lurking. Berkeley presented an interesting picture. "I take it they managed to get Nat alone."

"Just briefly," she said. "While he was doing a ch.o.r.e for Annie out back. They frightened him. He told them he couldn't get the earring for them any longer. He thought that would be the end of it."

"It's never the end. What did they manage to get out of him? Something about Graham Denison?'' Grey knew the truth a moment before he saw it in Berkeley's eyes. "Nat told them I killed Denison."

Berkeley bit her lower lip and nodded. "I told you he'd overheard me talking to you. He didn't mean to tell them, Grey. They frightened him terribly."

Grey thought he knew a little bit about Nathaniel Corbett's developing character. It would take quite a threat to get him to say something so damaging, and Nat himself wouldn't have been the target. "They threatened to hurt you," Grey said. "Nat told them what he did because he was afraid for you."

Tears welled again in Berkeley's eyes. Her voice was raw, pained. "He was asked to make a horrible choice. Please don't blame him."

Grey reached for Berkeley and drew her onto his lap. She didn't resist him. She buried her face against the side of his neck and wept. His fingers sifted through her hair. "I don't blame him," he whispered against her ear. "How could I? He wasn't given a choice, no matter what you think. He loves you. Nat did exactly what I would have wanted him to do."

"He loves you, too."

"He respects me. He might even admirea""

Berkeley raised her head. Her eyes glistened. "It's more than that. You said so yourself. Nat could be our son. He has a son's feelings for you. I know he does. It's why he feels so terrible about what happened this evening."

"All right," he said gently. "But it doesn't change what's been done."

Berkeley impatiently dashed away several tears. "I know that. Nat does, too. We talked about it tonight. Perhaps it would be better if we went away."

"Desert me, you mean."

"No!" She shook her head vehemently. "No, it wouldn't be like that."

"It would be exactly like that because that's how I'd feel about it. And I'm not going anywhere. This is my home." He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. "Tell me something, Berkeley. When you told me a woman would complicate my life, did you know that you were that woman?"

"I haven't deliberately set about complicating things, if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't thinking that at all," he said. "I was wondering if you knew earlier than me that I would come to this."

Berkeley had the handkerchief up to her nose. "Come to what?" She blew inelegantly.

Watching her, Grey's mouth twitched. It was not an auspicious moment to make his declaration, but it did speak eloquently to the perfect madness of what he felt. "That I would come to be this hopelessly in love with you."

Berkeley's mouth sagged a little behind the square of linen. She gathered some measure of poise as she finished using the handkerchief, folded it neatly, and tucked it under the sleeve of her gown. "You might have waited," she said, striving for a dignified tone. "I was not at my best just then."

"No, you weren't, were you?"

"You needn't agree."

Grey's fingers closed around a thick rope of Berkeley's hair. He tugged lightly so that her face was angled toward him. Her beautiful mouth was lifted like an offering. "I find that arguing with you generally serves no purpose."

"Oh."

With that faint expulsion of air Berkeley found her breath was taken away. Grey's mouth covered hers and drew out an immediate response. Her hands went to his shoulders, and she arched into him. Her tongue touched his lips, the ridge of his teeth, and finally was thrust into his mouth. She tasted whiskey and peppermint. She settled herself against him as he murmured her name.

Grey's fingers trailed along the neckline of her gown. He pushed the material farther down her shoulders until her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelled above the satin bodice. He caressed her and felt Berkeley's heart beat fiercely under his palm. She laid her hands over his and held him there a moment, gathering her breath and perhaps a little of her courage. Slowly she lifted herself so the bodice was caught under his thumbs. The fabric inched lower and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelled in his hands.

She kissed him deeply, moaning at the back of her throat when his fingers circled her nipples. His touch was exquisitely maddening. She couldn't think clearly, but she could react without thinking. Her body seemed to know what to do without any conscious command. Touching him in return came to her as simply as breathing.

A trail of clothes marked the path they took to Grey's bedroom. Her gown in the sitting room. His s.h.i.+rt in the library. A puddle of petticoats indicated a considerable pause by the bedroom fireplace. Trousers. Stockings. A corset. Drawers. They tumbled into bed naked.

Berkeley was stretched out beneath him. He held her wrists lightly. His nose nudged hers as his mouth settled over her lips. He kissed her thoroughly and thought the taste of her was very much as she was, both sweet and tart. The notion made him smile.

Berkeley caught that smile as he drew back. It was more than a little wicked, perhaps just a bit self-congratulatory. She found she didn't mind at all. It was beautiful to her, as he was: proud, perhaps even arrogant, but wonderfully rakish. Gentleman pirate, she thought. And the notion raised her own compelling smile.

Grey watched her with darkening eyes. His voice rasped. "Open for me."

"Yes," she said simply.

Her wrists were released and she circled his neck. Berkeley's thighs parted around him. She raised her knees and lifted her hips. He would find her body was prepared for him, that she was warm and moist and aching to take him in her. She almost cried out when she felt his first slow thrust. Instead she pressed her lips together and closed her eyes.

"Sweet, sweet Berkeley," he whispered. "Still so shy. Let me see you."

Her lashes fluttered as he settled deeply inside her. She searched his face.

"And let me hear you." He began to withdraw. Her tiny moan made him sink himself inside her again. "Just that way," he told her. His mouth hovered above hers. "Just that way."

Berkeley's fingers ran down the muscled ridges of his back.

She felt a tremor go through him that was taken up by her own body. They matched rhythms and heartbeats. The same rush of blood dulled their hearing and made their pulses pound. It was more than the movement inside her. He seemed to move through her.

It would have been the hardest thing she had ever done, not to fall in love with him.

Grey felt Berkeley's inner thighs tighten against his hips. Her feet skittered across his calves. She was sipping the air now, drawing in breath a little at a time as she rose up to meet him. He held himself back waiting for her release, and when it came he gathered her up in his arms and held her tightly, rocking powerfully against her, harder and faster, until his hoa.r.s.e cry rent the silence.

Berkeley stroked the back of his neck. Her fingertips flicked his dark hair, smoothing the perpetually ruffled strands. She kissed him softly, her lips damp, her mouth warm, as he withdrew. She felt herself contract around him a final time, a movement she couldn't help and wouldn't have wanted to. A s.h.i.+ver caught them both unaware. He closed his eyes as the vibration rippled through him.

Grey lifted himself away from Berkeley and rolled onto his back. His heartbeat slowed. His forearm lay across his eyes. He felt her nudge him with her knee but didn't stir. She wasn't insistent about getting his attention. She didn't seem to require anything but to remain close to him. Grey obligingly let her drape one arm across his chest. The crook of his shoulder cradled her head.

Several minutes pa.s.sed. He thought she had fallen asleep. He was surprised when she asked softly if he had.

"No," he said. "I'm awake."

"Hmmm."

Grey waited. Berkeley didn't say a thing. "Was there something you wanted?"

"No."

"I see," he said slowly.

She smiled. "No, you don't. You say that when you're confused."

"I see," he said again. "You know me so well."

Berkeley levered herself up on one elbow. "That's exactly what I was thinking. But the opposite."

"Exactly the opposite." Grey lifted the arm that covered his eyes and gave her an arch look. "I see."

She poked him in his chest with her index finger and was quite unrepentant when he winced. "It's true," she said. "I know a lot of important things about you, but very little of the details."

"Give me an example."

"I know you're a careful man, for instance. But I don't know where you were born."

"You can't tell by my accent?" he drawled softly.

"It's a practiced accent. You know it is. Soft as honey one moment, clipped and cool in another. Very deliberate. You could be a plantation aristocrat or a Yankee trader."

"Perhaps I'm both."

"Are you?"

Grey frowned a little. "You know what I am, Berkeley. I operate a gaming house and hotel. I own some prime San Francisco real estate I plan to develop someday, and I have shares in the railroad ventures. That makes me a businessman, as dull and steady as all the other bankers and merchants in the city. You're right. I'm a careful man."

"And you were borna"

"On a s.h.i.+p," he said.

Berkeley's leaf green eyes widened a little. "On a s.h.i.+p," she repeated softly.

He nodded. "In the Middle Atlantic a few hundred miles from Charleston. I've been to harbors in London and Paris. Boston. Shanghai. Buenos Aires. Rome. I grew up on that s.h.i.+p. Perhaps that explains my accent."

"I suppose," Berkeley said, not entirely convinced. "Your parents weren't simply pa.s.sengers then."

"No. They weren't pa.s.sengers."

Berkeley waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she didn't press. "How did you come to San Francisco?"

"Chance. Our hull was damaged by a whale. We had to put ash.o.r.e, and this is where we limped in. News of the gold strike had just reached the cove. The tents and shanties were almost all deserted. Our s.h.i.+p was the first one abandoned in the bay."