Thorne Brothers: With All My Heart Part 8

Chapter Four.

Berkeley's request brought the full force of Grey's skeptical gaze. "You know some parlor trick with palms and fortunes?" he asked incredulously. "That's your talent?"

"Please," she said, nudging the cat aside. "Sit down. I don't believe you'll be disappointed."

His short laugh scoffed her. "I can't be. I have absolutely no expectations."

She noticed that in spite of his words he still hadn't moved. One of her eyebrows arched, and she patted the s.p.a.ce beside her. "Come," she said. "You're not afraid, are you?"

It hadn't occurred to Grey that he might be hesitating because of fear. "Now you're being absurd," he told her. But he was staring at her deeply green eyes and wondering suddenly if she sensed something he was denying. Grey walked to the window bench and sat. He held out his left hand.

Berkeley only glanced at it. "Your right one, please. You're right-handed."

"How did you know?" Then he remembered she had seen him writing at his desk. This was just a parlor trick, he reminded himself.

"There are signs in your palm," she said.

"Yes, of course." His tone was clearly disbelieving, but he dutifully raised his right hand.

Berkeley took his hand is both of hers and turned it palm up. She supported the back of it with her left hand and laid her right one over the top. Her fingers trailed lightly across his skin, and her head lowered in the same motion. She inched closer.

She no longer smelled of fish. It was the wayward thought that occurred to Grey as he stared at her bent head. The faint scent of his soap clung to her skin and pale hair. Then there was something else, another fragrance, more subtle and vaguely tantalizing, one he couldn't define but that might have been just her.

Her fingertips were cool, her touch like threads of silk crossing his palm. The hand that supported his was strong. She seemed unaware of how close she held him to her breast.

"How peculiar," she said softly.

Grey waited, but she didn't enlighten him. She probably had no idea what to say, he realized. She was making this up as she went along. It didn't really matter. Berkeley Shaw could say most anything. The men who came to gamble in his house would put down gold just to have her hold their handa"especially if she took it directly to her breast.

Unaware of Grey's straying thoughts, Berkeley began to tell him what his palm revealed. "You're quite intelligent," she said quietly. "And clever. They're not the same thing at all, you know, and you're both. You're a kind man, though perhaps it is not something you wish others to know. I do not even think you permit yourself to believe it." She glanced up at him, but his expression was guarded in a way his palm could not be. The implacable blue-gray eyes were mirrorlike, drawing in her gaze, then reflecting it back. She did not see kindness there.

Berkeley's eyes dropped away. Her finger traced his heart line. "It is in your nature to help others even though you resist the notion. You have given a great deal of thought to your beliefs, and you act on them, in spite of what those close to you may think."

Grey permitted himself a small, archly satisfied smile. There was no one close to him.

"You are rather an insular man," Berkeley went on. "There is a certain amount of pride in your self-sufficiency. The secrets that you keep in your heart keep others away, and that's important to you. It has become a way of life." She paused, retracing the line lightly. "It has been this way for a very long time."

"Do you know my secrets, Miss Shaw?" Grey asked.

She shook her head. "Only that you have them."

"What man doesn't?"

Berkeley's smile was gentle. "Just so, Mr. Janeway. Do you want to know more?"

"Please, by all means."

Ignoring the challenge in his invitation, Berkeley studied the marks of his life again. His hand was large, capable. The fingers were lean and strong, and the tips were rough from hard, physical labor. There was evidence of a callus on the heel of his hand. "You have no difficulty giving orders. Other men look to you for leadership, and you take on that responsibility somewhat reluctantly. You prefer to provide it by example, working alongside those you lead."

Berkeley's fingers drew over his palm again. A small shiver pa.s.sed through her. The response was so unexpected that she almost dropped his hand. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not certain whata"''

"It's a good effect," Grey said. "You should keep it in. Adds an authentic touch."

Berkeley didn't defend herself or try to explain what had just occurred. The truth was, she didn't know. "You've had one love in your life,'' she said, keeping her voice steady. "But not a true love."

"What makes you say that?"

She pointed to the small lines on the side of his hand just below his little finger. "This first one is weak and only faintly traced," she said. "It's shallow and without purpose. Perhaps you imagined yourself in love."

"Don't all men do that?"

"I don't know," she said. Her glance was curious. "Did you?"

Grey didn't know either. He often wondered if there was a woman his damaged memory had left behind, but he had never felt compelled to find out. He had imagined that if there had been someonea"a true love, as Berkeley named hera"then he would have known somehow, and been moved by forces beyond reason and past explanation to find her. "Yes," Grey said at last. He found himself not wanting to disappoint Berkeley. She obviously believed what she was telling him. "There was a love, just as you said."

Berkeley nodded. "But nothing came of it."

"No," he said, smiling. "Not a thing."

"I wasn't entirely certain," she admitted now. "You see, your lines are quite odd. It's almost as if you have two lives. Or have had two. I can't get any sense of the time of it all. It can be interpreted in different ways, I suppose. This lifeline is broken right here." She pointed to the distinct unmarked s.p.a.ce in his palm.

Grey found himself bending his own head. "What does it mean?"

"What it means doesn't make sense," she said. Berkeley looked up and found herself directly in the line of his gaze, his face very close to hers.

"How do you mean?" Grey asked.

"By all rights, Mr. Janeway, you should be dead."

Grey simply stared at her. It took considerable effort not to show that she had struck him this time. "As you said, it doesn't make sense. I'm quite alive."

"Yes, I know." Berkeley pulled back a little, uncomfortable with the narrowing s.p.a.ce between them. His posture hadn't changed at all. He gave the appearance of being relaxed, even slightly amused, but there was a tension in his hand that he couldn't hide from her now. She was aware of the potential strength in his fingers and the grip he could make around her own wrist. She had a sense suddenly that she held him only because he permitted it, and that it could easily have been the other way around, that perhaps he even wished now that it was.

Feeling trapped, Berkeley tore her eyes away from his and willed herself to breathe evenly. "It's only one possible interpretation," she said. "It easily could be explained by a separation of your public and private self. Two faces. Two lives. Or just that you've put some important part of your past behind you. You've obviously experienced a great deal of turmoil. There have been enormous hardships and losses. A betrayal. You're very much alone, Mr. Janeway, but it's by your own choice."

Grey frowned slightly. Intrigued in spite of himself, he said, "Explain yourself."

"Here," she said, pointing to the beginning of his lifeline. "This cl.u.s.ter of lines. Your family roots."

"I don't have any family."

"You don't recognize them," she corrected, watching him closely. "There's a difference."

Grey's remote eyes didn't flicker. "If you say so, Miss Shaw."

Berkeley lowered his hand. "You're a rather lucky man," she said. "Though it may be more accurate to say that you have the ability to recognize a change in your fortunes and use it to your advantage."

"Yes," he said dryly. "That would be more accurate."

She ignored his tone. "You can depend on a long life, though not one that will be without its difficulties. I suspect you will marry."

"You only suspect?"

"It's clear that you will have children, Mr. Janeway." She held up four fingers, paused, and then extended her thumb. "Five." Berkeley looked at him. "Do you already have a child?"

He didn't know. "No."

She frowned. "I don't know what to make of that. It's clearly there."

"I would know if I had achild, Miss Shaw." But he wouldn't, he thought, and he didn't.

"I think the child isn't yours."

That made no sense to Grey. "Do I have a child or not?" he demanded.

Berkeley started at his tone. "I can't really say. You've said you don't, and that's probably true, but your palm says one of your children won't be yours." Agitation made her voice rise a notch. "I can't do any better than that, Mr. Janeway. It's up to you to make some sense of it. I can only tell you what I see."

"You can't say whether I'll marry or not. That shouldn't be so difficult to make out."

"It has everything to do with you," she said tartly. "You could always choose not to marry the mother of your children.''

"And perhaps I'll choose to marry the mother of the child who isn't mine. That should nicely twist my life."

"She's one and the same," Berkeley told him. "And don't ask me to explain. I can't." It wasn't even what the lines of his life told her. It was what she felt. "In any event, your life will be rather complicated by her. Interesting, I think, but complicated."

"It became that this morning," he said under his breath. He surprised himself by thrusting out his hand again. "What can you tell me about wealth, Miss Shaw? If you're going to read palms to miners, then you have to be very clear about money.''

Berkeley hesitated. She really had no desire to hold his hand again. There was a certain amount of discomfort in touching him that owed nothing to reading his palm. He made her aware of herself, of her breathing, of her rapid pulse, of the tremor in her own fingers.

Attempting to hide her reluctance, Berkeley accepted his palm. She could feel him start to withdraw even as she took it. She raised her eyes curiously.

"I don't expect you to do something you find distasteful," Grey said. "It's clear you're having second thoughts."

"No," she said. "You don't understand. It has nothing to do with you, not the way you obviously think."

"Suppose you explain."

"No, I don't think I will." She would not make herself the object of his amus.e.m.e.nt by admitting he made her heart beat a little unsteadily. Berkeley drew Grey's attention back to his palm. "Wealth is the one constant in your life, Mr. Janeway. You've always been a rich man."

Grey almost laughed aloud. It hadn't been very many years ago that he had been fighting for food sc.r.a.ps. If the hardtack had only one wormhole, it was fit for eating. He could have been moved to kill for a mouthful of biscuit that wasn't mealy, if there had been such a thing. "You may want to look at that again," he said.

She did. "No, I'm not mistaken. You have quite a lot of money. You always have." She put down his hand again. "I find it odd that you came to San Francisco at all."

"Oh? Why odd?"

"I imagine that most men come here for the same reasons as mya my father. Because they entertain some hope of a rich strike and wealth beyond what they can spend in their own lifetime. You have that already. I would say you were born into it."

"You're wrong there," Grey said. "But I've made my fortune, so I won't quibble with your interpretation. Can I expect not to lose it?"

"I believe it's safe to say that."

Now Grey did laugh. "You don't want to give away the game, do you? Too many particulars might spoil it for some people, is that the way it works?"

Berkeley didn't deny it. What would have been the point? she thought. "Something like that," she offered.

"Another enigmatic reply," he said approvingly. "I rather think you do have a talent, though what can be made of it remains to be seen." Grey stood. Without explaining himself, he left the bedroom, then the suite.

Berkeley heard the door of the sitting room open, and his footsteps receded in the hall. She looked at the cat in bewilderment but the tabby accepted her notice as an invitation and launched herself onto Berkeley's lap. Her claws dug painfully into the satin dressing gown, causing Berkeley to give a little yelp. She pulled the cat away, held her at eye level, and spoke to her sternly. She was developing the finer points of her lecture when Grey returned.

"Oh," she said softly, lowering the much chastised cat onto her lap. "I didn't hear you come in."

"So I gathered." He remained just inside the doorway. "I've asked Shawn to come up here. And we're also going to get some food. I a.s.sume you're hungry."

She was almost sick with hunger, but it was of little consequence to her. Berkeley looked down at herself, men at Grey. "I'm not dressed to receive a visitor."

Grey watched her yank the robe's sash more tightly around her. It caused the lapels to part again and presented a glimpse of the high curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. No, she was not dressed to receive a visitor. "See what you can find in my trunk," he said. Grey checked his pocket watch. "I would have thought Sam would have been back by now."

Berkeley barely heard him. Cat in tow, she hurried into the dressing room and shut the door. Knowing that Grey would probably consult his watch as she performed her change, Berkeley flung open the trunk and rooted through it quickly. She appeared in the bedroom a few minutes later wearing a blue-chambray shirt, denim trousers, and a pair of thick socks. The long tails of the shirt were bunched inside the trousers, while the trouser legs were bunched inside the socks. Her hair was once again tucked inside a hat, this time one of his.

Grey stared at her. "You looka" He paused, searching for an adequate description. "Thick."

Berkeley flashed him an uncertain smile. "Yes, I do rather. I can't help it though. You really have nothing suitable."

"Yes, well, Sam can't get here soon enough to my way of thinking." He turned as he heard Shawn's approach behind him. "This way, Shawn."

Berkeley had hoped to see a tray of food in the worker's hands, but they were empty. Her stomach rolled again, this time with dread.

Grey directed them both to sit down on the window seat, then motioned Berkeley to take the bewildered worker's cal lused hand. "Miss Shaw has a bit of a trick, Shawn. I'd like to hear your opinion of it."

Berkeley lifted Shawn's palm, supporting the back of his hand in the same manner she had Grey's. "You've had a hard life,'' she said quietly, "but no harder than you expected. There was an important loss early on. One of your parents." She shook her head. "No, that's not quite right. It was your grandmother who was raising you; she's the one you miss." Berkeley didn't look up to see Shawn's astounded expression. "You can expect to live a long life and marry again but you won't have any children. Any more children, I should say. You'll prosper here in San Francisco though not in the goldfields." She raised her face and smiled at him. "Watch Mr. Janeway," she said. "And learn from him. He can make you a rich man."

Shawn Kelly s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand back and cradled it against his chest as if he had suffered an injury. "She's bewitched, Mr. Janeway, and that's a fact."

"Yes." Grey sighed. "I suspect she is."

The thickly muscled laborer stood up, clearly stunned by what he'd heard. "Not a soul here knows about my grandmother," he said. "I never said a word."

"Are you married?" asked Grey.

Shawn shook his head. "I was though. My Meg died. And we have two children, just like she said. A boy and a girl. Meg's mother's bringin' them up, and I'm to send for them when I'm settled myself." He looked down at Berkeley. "And you think if I take my cue from Mr. Janeway, I'll make my fortune?''

"I know you'll prosper," she said.