Part 28 (1/2)

Berkeley raised his hand toward her mouth. She kissed his knuckles. ”I can accept that,” she said quietly.

Grey picked up a deck of cards lying on the gaming table in front of him and began to cut them. The ace of spades appeared on the first cut. He closed the deck and cut again. This time he revealed the ace of hearts. The third cut showed the ace of diamonds. It was only on the fourth cut that he missed finding an ace. He had to go behind Nat's ear to bring out the club.

Nat's jaw slackened a bit in amazement. ”I want to learn that, Mr. Janeway.”

Grey glanced sideways at Berkeley. She had Nat's lessons spread out in front of him. There was a slate of sums, a map of Europe, and Irving's ”Rip van Winkle.”

”Some other time,” he said, pocketing the cards. ”You have these lessons first.” It was difficult not to be sympathetic to Nat's disappointment. The best he could do was postpone them a little longer. ”Is there nothing else you can tell us about the men?” he asked. ”Are you certain you've remembered everything?”

Nat's pale brows came together in a parody of concentration. He was willing to think on it all day if it kept him from doing sums. ”I think I should be excused from lessons to consider it,” he said seriously. ”It's hard to recall things when you're expected to name all the capitals of places you've never been and ain't likely to get to.”

”And are not likely to visit,” Berkeley said, correcting him. She looked at Grey, who was not being entirely successful at keeping his grin in check. ”You can't possibly have any more questions for him. I'm satisfied that neither of the men asking after the earring is Decker or Colin Thorne.”

”I'm satisfied on that count,” Grey admitted. ”But Nat hasn't provided enough detail to identify who they might be.”

”And he can't. He's too young to establish their ages with any certainty. You heard him. He thinks you're forty-one.” She smiled sweetly when Grey winced at that reminder. She couldn't resist adding, ”And Sam, who's twenty-five years older than you, he thinks is forty-two.”

Grey picked up the slate and pa.s.sed it to Nat. ”Write down thirty and add twenty-five. That will give you Sam's age.” He chuckled at Nat's disheartened expression. ”I take your point,'' he said, turning back to Berkeley. She was looking at him oddly. His grin disappeared. ”What is it? What did I do?”

”You know how old you are,” she said. ”How can that be? Or was it a guess on your part?”

Grey sat back himself, struck by what he had said now that it was pointed out to him. ”It wasn't a guess,” he said slowly. ”I'm thirty years old. My birthday was in May. The eleventh. I was born in 1820.”

”Sam is fifty-five,” Nat said helpfully, showing his slate work. When both adults merely nodded absently in his direction he checked his addition.

”Grey.” Berkeley said his name softly, her voice awed. ”You've remembered something.” She came out of her chair and around the gaming table. She brushed his temple with her fingertips and examined his features for some sign that he was suffering. ”Is there pain? Does your head hurt at all?”

Nat slid his slate onto the table. ”I'm feeling a bit peculiar,” he said, looking hopefully from Berkeley to Grey.

Berkeley's attention s.h.i.+fted briefly. ”You may be excused, Nat. Find Sam and tell him to keep you out of trouble.”

”Yes, ma'am,” Nat said cheerfully. He almost tipped his chair over in his eagerness to be gone from the table.

Berkeley was pulled onto Grey's lap as soon as they were alone. ”Are you quite all right?”

He nodded. ”How did that happen? How can I know beyond any doubt that it's true?”

She shrugged helplessly, wis.h.i.+ng she could explain it. It would have rea.s.sured them bom. She could admit to herself that she was a little frightened by what had just happened. What if recalling his past meant forgetting the present? Was it possible that he would forget what had taken place these last five years? Berkeley felt small and selfish for wondering if he would no longer remember her. ”Perhaps you shouldn't try to force your recollections,” she said, swallowing her guilt. ”It's never been helpful before.”

”You're right,” he said. His arms circled her waist easily, and the crease between his brows disappeared. ”There's no point in rus.h.i.+ng it or even in expecting that my memory can be rushed. Not after all this time. Another five years may go by before I remember something else as trivial as my birthday.”

”I don't think that's so trivial. Trivial would be if you recalled the name of the first pony you rode or the first girl you kissed.”

Grey answered before he realized what he was going to say. ”Barbara O'Dare.”

”What?”

”The pony's name was Barbara O'Dare,” he said softly, his voice touched by awe. ”I was four, I think. No more than five. Someone set me in the saddle and led me around the paddock before we went through the garden and up to the house.” The vision in his mind's eye abruptly ended. Grey had no sense of who kd the pony or what the grounds and house looked like. The occasion of the event had been his birthday. He was certain of that.

Berkeley watched him shake his head slowly as if to clear it. His blue-gray eyes recaptured their sharpness, and she became his focal point again. ”Who was the girl?” she asked. ”The one who shared your first kiss.”

Grey didn't hesitate to answer though he didn't remember a thing about it. In spite of the ache forming behind his eyes, he said cheekily, ”My mother.”

”That isn't what I meant, and you know it.”

”But it's all I know.”

Berkeley was sensitive to the tightening of his fingers on her waist. ”Your headache's returned, hasn't it?”

He nodded. ”It will pa.s.s.” Grey didn't release Berkeley from his lap. ”No, stay right here. Tell me what you want to write to the Thornes.”

She allowed him to change the subject though her own anxiety wasn't lessened by this topic. ”I want to tell Captain Thorne that I believe I've found Graham Denison and that if he wants a.s.surances, he will have to come to San Francisco. I'll explain about your memory loss and that you may be of little help ina””

”No help,” Grey interjected. ”Explain that it's likely I will be of no help. There's nothing to be gained by raising the man's hopes.”

”All right. I'll be very clear on that count. I will further explain that I can give him no a.s.surances that Graham Denison is in fact Greydon Thorne. It's not something I've ever felt when I've touched you. But that's perfectly reasonable when one considers that Greydon was only an infant when he was separated from his brothers. If you were never told that you weren't a Denison by blood and birth, then you have no means to communicate that knowledge to me. When I held your hand, I've only ever sensed that Graham Denison was dead and Greydon Thorne never existed.”

”Neither of which is true,” Grey said. He paused, considering Berkeley's choice of words. As always, her careful expression of what she felt was open to interpretation. ”And yet there's a kind of truth in both those elements.”

Berkeley's gentle smile gave him full marks for understanding the subtleties. ”I should also tell Captain Thorne that if he desires more information about Graham Denison's birth, he should make inquiries of the Denisons.”

”No!”

Grey's vehemence gave Berkeley a start. She was almost unseated from his lap. Her smile faded as she regarded him worriedly. ”I only thought I should encourage him to try again.”

”Try again? You mean they looked in that direction for information before?”

”Well, yes. It was a natural place to begin their search for Grahama for you.” This time when she placed her hands on his forearms and pressed, she was released. Berkeley stood. Uncertain suddenly, she smoothed the material of her hunter green gown across her midriff. ”I can hardly stop them from contacting the Denisons again.”

”You can discourage them.”

”I supposea” Her hands fell to her sides.

”I thought you understood last night, Berkeley. I don't want my family, if indeed they are my family, to know where I am or who I am or what's become of me. It's clear to me that's the way they've wanted it these past five years, and I heard nothing yesterday that changes what I've thought all along.”

Without conscious thought, one of Berkeley's hands went to her throat. Below the high neckline of her gown Berkeley could make out the shape of the delicate gold chain and pendant lying against her skin. ”But you can't identify the earring,” she said. ”You can't explain how the genuine heirloom came to be in your possession. It's something one of the Denisons might be able to tell the Thornes.”

”They didn't cooperate before, did they?”

”No, but I have no idea what sort of questions were asked. There may have been no mention of the earring. In fact, I would find that likely. I can't imagine that Decker Thorne would have been eager to let anyone know of its existence. The very last thing he wants is a parade of strangers presenting themselves as his missing brother. This earring represents the only link to Greydon. The fewer people who know about it, the better it is for Decker and Colin.”

”And I don't want either of them or their meddling wives raising questions with the Denisons. In fact, I've changed my mind. I don't want you to write to the Thornes at all.”

Berkeley bristled a bit at Grey's harsh description of Jonna and Mercedes Thorne. ”It is beyond my comprehension that you don't want to know the truth of this yourself. You are so bent on sparing the Denisons, who haven't made any effort to find you in five years, that you would turn your back on the Thornes, who have only made it their entire life's work to be reunited with their brother. You may be that brother.”

Grey reached for her hand, but Berkeley avoided him. He was actually hurt by her withdrawal. Anger simmered while she skirted the edge of the gaming table and returned to her seat opposite him. Pandora appeared from nowhere and jumped lightly onto his lap. He brushed the cat away, and she sought refuge in Berkeley's arms. It didn't matter that he hadn't wanted Pandora. Her leaving him was somehow traitorous now, an act of feline defection.

Grey's chair sc.r.a.ped hard against the floor as he pushed away from the table and stood abruptly. ”I'm going out,” he said shortly. ”You can expect me back before the doors open.”