by Andrea Kane
Hamilton nodded. “True.” He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t think a party at the Binghams’ home would interest Miss Holt … in light of her obviously contrary political beliefs, that is.”
The grin returned to Dane’s face. “I take credit for Jacqueline’s reluctant decision to attend. I appealed to her thirst for information … among other things.”
Hamilton stiffened. “Meaning?”
Dane shot him a puzzled look. “Meaning that Jacqueline’s curiosity won out over her stubbornness. She is a very intelligent young woman who wished to be part of something more substantial than a quilting circle. Hopefully, she also wanted to spend the evening with me … which I intend to ensure she does. What on earth is wrong with you tonight?” he asked abruptly.
Hamilton pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “I’m not certain, Dane. But I believe it could be possible that …”
“Good evening, Mr. Secretary. It is a pleasure to see you.” George Holt interrupted whatever it was Hamilton was going to say. “And good evening again, Dane. Where, may I ask, is Jacqui?”
Dane turned and gestured toward the speechless group of men who were now being instructed in the true causes of France’s revolution, Jacqui elaborating on the atrocities committed by the French monarchs. “Your lovely and fiery daughter is holding court,” Dane informed him. “Feel free to join her.”
George rolled his eyes. “Thank you, no. I believe I’ve heard this particular argument already.” He gave Hamilton an apologetic look. “If you’d like me to speak to her …”
“No.” It was Dane who answered at once, shaking his head emphatically. Seeing George’s surprised look, he added, “Soon numbers will be called and the dancing will commence. After which, I can promise that your daughter will be far too busy to indulge in political debates.” He took a sip of his Madeira. “Is Miss Brisset with you tonight?”
George nodded, gesturing toward the corner of the room. “Yes, Monique has joined the ladies. In fact, I did offer to bring her a glass of wine. So if you gentlemen will forgive me …”
“Of course,” Dane said. Actually, he was not sorry to see George take his leave, for he wanted to speak with Alexander alone. His friend’s conduct was most odd tonight; in fact, he’d not said a word the entire time George was present. Highly unusual behavior for a man known for his wit and charm. Not to mention the bizarre turn their own conversation had taken just before George Holt’s arrival.
Anxious to resolve the matter, Dane turned to Hamilton, only to realize that he too had moved off. Very strange, Dane mused silently, scanning the salon. When he didn’t immediately spot his friend, he decided to let the matter drop for now. There was plenty of time to continue their discussion tomorrow. Tonight, Dane had something else on his mind.
“Jacqueline.”
Inwardly, Jacqui groaned, recognizing not only her father’s voice, but his quiet, no-nonsense tone. She stepped away from the gaping group of gentlemen and turned to receive her lecture. “Yes, Father?” She gave him her most winsome smile.
This time it didn’t work.
George Holt was shaking his head emphatically from side to side. “Do not attempt to divert me … it won’t help. Now that you have educated the entire Federalist party in the proper way to run a country, do you think you might control yourself a bit? If nothing else, you are calling a great deal of attention to both of us.”
Jacqui studied her father’s expression, which revealed nothing of what his words might imply. Was she just imagining the warning note she heard?
Countless times over the past year Jacqui had found herself wondering if her father suspected she was Jack Laffey; countless times she had actually considered broaching the subject with him. But always something had stopped her. And that something was the fear that, if she were wrong and her father were totally unaware of the truth, her telling him could do naught but cause friction between them. Because Jacqui knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that even if her father should forbid her from penning her column, she would not obey him. Her principles would not permit it.
She took a deep breath. “I apologize, Father. I didn’t mean to cause you any embarrassment.”
“There is much more than embarrassment at stake, Jacqui, and I believe you know it.”
Jacqui’s head came up and she met her father’s pointed gaze. A current of communication ran between them. He knows, she thought, worried and relieved all at once. He must know. Keeping her features carefully schooled, she nodded. “Yes, Father,” was all she said. But she sensed that her underlying meaning was not lost to George, who smiled his approval and guided her over to greet Monique.
But it also was not lost to the Secretary of the Treasury, who stood, silent and undetected, close beside them. Thoughtfully, Hamilton watched father and daughter move into the crowd as he cautiously digested the cryptic conversation he had just overhead.
He would speak to Dane on Monday, although he had no proof to uphold his suspicions. All he had was his instinct.
But his instinct was rarely wrong.
“Jacqueline, how stunning you look!” Monique Brisset’s smile was sunny as she greeted George’s daughter … a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Thank you,” Jacqui acknowledged graciously. Out of respect for her father, she was always courteous to Monique, despite the Frenchwoman’s subtly conveyed antipathy for Jacqui. It was as if Monique sensed Jacqui’s ability to see through her loving facade and despised her for it. Time after frustrating time Jacqui was tempted to alert George to Monique’s insincerity, to shake him into seeing Monique for the hypocrite she really was. But she loved her father dearly, and George loved Monique with all the intensity of a schoolboy. So Jacqui kept her silence.
“You look very lovely as well, Monique,” she added politely.
“That is only because I am on the arm of the most handsome of men.” Monique squeezed George’s hand.
He chuckled, then gestured toward the front of the salon, where Bingham had begun calling numbers. “Your delightful praise comes at the very worst of times,” he teased tenderly. “Since I must soon relinquish you to the arms of another man.”
Jacqui’s heart sank as she wondered which dreadful male she herself would be saddled with for the duration of the ball. Automatically, she searched the room for Dane. Her heart sank as she saw him chatting with Anne Bingham. Apparently they had been paired together and were ready to begin the first set.
The musicians were tuning their instruments, and Jacqui used that time to slip out of the salon, through the hallway, and into the warm night. She had but a minute or two before she had to return and endure the remainder of the evening, but she could at least enjoy a breath of air until the dancing commenced.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dane saw Jacqui disappear. “Forgive me, Anne, but I must go and claim my partner. Evidently, she did not hear her number called.”
Anne Bingham’s lovely eyes glittered. “Why do I believe that your chance pairing with Jacqueline Holt had little to do with coincidence?” she mused aloud.
Dane’s look was pure innocence. “It could be nothing but fate, I assure you, madam.” He gave her a slow wink and bent over to kiss her hand. “Until later, my lovely hostess.”
“Of course.” Anne gave him a glowing smile and gestured grandly toward the salon door. “Go and claim your lady.”
Dane’s expression grew intense. “Oh, I intend to, Anne. I intend to.”
Jacqui was just where Dane had guessed she’d be: in the gardens, as far from the merriment as possible.
He came up behind her. “The musicians have begun, mon chaton. Shall we?”
Jacqui turned, startled. “Shall we … what?”
His eyes twinkled. “Ah, the answers I could give! But for now, all I want is to dance with you.”
Jacqui sighed. “Dane, that is impossible … at least for tonight.”
He looked mildly surprised. “And why is that?”
She made an
exasperated sound. “Because your number was called with Anne Bingh …” She broke off as Dane extended his arm and opened his hand. On his broad palm lay a piece of paper … with her number on it. “You were saying?” he inquired pleasantly.
“How did you do it?” she demanded.
“Do what?”
“Damn you, Dane Westbrooke! How did you—”
“Does it matter?”
Their eyes met and she fell silent.
“No,” she said at last, in a small voice.
Dane took her arm gently. “Good.” He drew her to him. “Then shall we go in and dance? Or would you prefer to remain out here and finish where we left off in the coach?”
He saw the indecision in her eyes and stroked her cheek slowly with his fingertip. “We can have both,” he told her quietly. “Dancing now … and each other later. How would that be?”
Jacqui nodded wordlessly and allowed him to lead her back into the salon.
After that, the evening passed on clouds of pleasure. Suggestive words, subtle caresses, and hushed conversation accompanied each breathless dance, deepening the sensual spell that held them in its web of enchantment. Jacqui and Dane moved together with a naturalness that neither of them could ignore and neither wanted to deny.
And each moment that passed led them closer to the dark magic they knew lay ahead.
The Holts’ sitting room was cast in shadows when they entered.
“Your father?” Dane prompted softly.
“Father will spend some time with Monique before he returns home,” she said as tactfully as she could.
Dane nodded, understanding her meaning. “Greta?”
“… will be asleep.” Jacqui crossed the room and lit a small lamp on the table beside the settee. She turned at the firm click of the sitting-room door as it shut.
Dane leaned back against the closed door, looking dark and predatory in the shadowy room. Their eyes met in the flickering light.
“Would you like a drink?” Jacqui felt suddenly and inexplicably nervous.
“No.”
“Something to eat?”
“No.”
She swallowed. “Perhaps …”
“No,” Dane interrupted. Slowly, he walked over to her, placed his strong hands on the gentle curve of her shoulders. “What I want …” he said in a husky whisper, “is you.”
Jacqui tilted her head back and her eyes slid shut, anticipation coursing through her in wide rivers of sensation. Her heart pounded furiously as she felt Dane swallow her in his embrace, possess her within the circle of his arms. She had expected this, had known from the first that this whole night was leading up to it. And, with a great sigh of elation, she welcomed it.
Dane’s hair felt like thick silk beneath Jacqui’s questing fingers, his body a towering force of elegant fabric over steely muscle, crushed against her willing body. She heard the rustle of satin as he lifted her small frame off the floor with effortless ease, inhaled his wonderful, masculine scent as he molded her soft curves to his hardened contours. His mouth opened over hers with near punishing strength, forcing her head back to his shoulder, branding her with the plunging, primitive thrusts of his tongue, the echoing motion of his hips. Jacqui responded like a wild thing, her tongue tangling with his, her body instinctively cushioning his hardness, the action sending an answering pool of moisture to converge between her thighs.
Torrents of raw sensation pulsed through Dane’s blood, a madness so stark it obliterated everything in its path. Without thought or reason, he carried Jacqui the short distance to the settee, dropping with her onto the rich purple and gold brocade.
Her buttons were dispensed with in seconds, the costly gown tugged down to her waist. The straps of her chemise followed, and at last, Dane feasted his eyes on a portion of the lush, perfect body that beckoned him with every heartbeat.
“Jacqui …” His voice sounded hoarse, strained with need, his silver eyes turned smoky gray, hot with passion.
Jacqui had no time to think or react. Dane’s mouth was on her breasts, tugging, tasting, sending wild jolts of energy through her with each hard pull of his lips. She couldn’t help it … she cried out, overwhelmed by the breathtaking splendor that jolted through her at a blinding pace. Dane responded to her muted cry with hushed, erotic words; love words that only served to fuel the flames higher … higher.
Dane buried his mouth in the fragrant hollow between Jacqui’s breasts, rubbing his face slowly from side to side, inhaling the sweet floral scent of her perfume. He couldn’t get enough. Never enough. “So sweet … so soft … so perfect,” he murmured against her hot skin. He lowered himself beside her, wrapping one hand in her hair and using the other to draw her to him. “Kiss me,” he commanded, taking her mouth at the same time.
Jacqui responded instantly, opening her mouth to accept his tongue, whimpering with pleasure when his hand slid up her back and around to cup her breast. She quivered at the contact, then cried out as his thumb glided slowly back and forth across her hardened nipple, again and again, until she thought she would die from sheer bliss. “Dane …” she breathed, “that feels so …”
“I know,” he answered against her mouth. “I know, darling. Just keep feeling … keep responding to my touch. That’s right, love, like that … like that.” He kept kissing her, hot, drugging kisses that dragged her deeper and deeper under his sensual spell, until all she could do was cling to him and moan.
Dane felt her move against him, arching her breast more fully into his hungry palm. Of its own accord, his other hand left her hair, gliding down her arm, across the bunched material of her gown, over her slender hip and lower. He gathered handfuls of the rich satin and lifted it up and out of his way, until his fingers met the smooth silk of her stocking. Without pause, his hand slid up her leg, caressing, stroking, seeking more. All the while his mouth continued its relentless assault, breathing her name with each penetrating kiss.
They both tensed when his hand reached the warm, bare skin of her inner thigh. Jacqui tore her mouth from his, her breath coming in short, hard pants, her eyes glazed with passion. “Dane?” she whispered in hushed uncertainty.
“Sh-h-h, let me,” he answered, massaging her breast, his thumb moving against her nipple even as his other hand crept higher … higher. “Just let me touch you … let me show you.” He brushed her lips softly with his. “Don’t be afraid, mon chaton. I’d never hurt you. I just want to love you.” His hand moved that last tantalizing inch to claim the warm wetness between her legs. “Jacqui … let me love you.” His demand ended in a harsh growl, his breath forced from his chest in a rush. Nothing had prepared him for this moment, this shattering feeling that erupted in his soul. He listened to Jacqui’s sharp cry of pleasure, watched her eyes widen with ungovernable sensation, and knew he was lost. He had never held a woman, never touched a woman, never loved a woman before this night. No other woman could feel this soft, this incredibly warm, this velvety wet.
Overcome with emotion, Dane drew Jacqui close, feeling her tremble against him as he gently stroked her delicate swelling flesh. He closed his eyes, all thought concentrated beneath his caressing fingertips, wondering who was more profoundly affected … he or she.
“Dane …” As if she had read his mind, Jacqui caught at his shoulders, the swamping sensations suddenly more than she could bear.
He bent to taste his name on her lips, drowning in the midnight blue of her eyes. “Feel …” he murmured softly, “feel me, my love. Feel your body awaken to my touch. Feel how right we are together. Just feel … and know that this is but the beginning.” With his words, he slowly entered her with his fingers, immersed himself in the very essence of her, only to withdraw just as slowly and repeat the motion.
“Oh … God …” Jacqui arched upward instinctively, alive and afraid as she had never been. “Dane … stop … I can’t …”
He heard her frightened protest, felt her struggling, and he shook his head, gentling her with his kiss. “No, dar
ling, don’t fight it. Don’t fight me. Let yourself go.” He slid his fingers deeper inside her, stroking the sensitive bud of her passion with the pad of his thumb. “I’ll catch you,” he promised in a forbidden whisper, feeling her nails dig into his coat. “I won’t let you fall. I promise. Jacqui …” He could feel her inner muscles tighten, knew she was close. And he wanted this for her, wanted it desperately. “Let it happen, sweetheart. Let it happen.”
He felt her peak even before she called out his name, and he silenced her cry with his mouth, cradling her close, sharing in the glory of her climax. Reveling in the hard spasms that gripped his fingers, Dane was suffused by joy and tenderness and a profound sense of pride that he was the first, the only man, who would ever share this intimacy with her. The elation of this absolute knowledge, together with the ecstasy of experiencing Jacqui’s newly awakened passion, was so acute that Dane’s own rampaging desire, though excruciatingly intense, became insignificant.
He waited until the final tremors had subsided, until she was limp and still in his arms, before he lifted his head, looked tenderly into her stunned, sated eyes. “I love you, Jacqueline Holt,” he told her quietly. “And all I want right now is to have you under me, wrapped around me, surrounding me with your warmth, your softness.” He hardened at his own words, the image they conveyed. “I want that more than you will ever know.” He shook his head, pressed his forefinger to her lips when she tried to speak. Very gently, he smoothed down her skirts, rebuttoned the back of her gown, and eased away from her. “When you want that as much as I do, come to me. Come to me, mon chaton colereux, and I promise you … I’ll make love to you until there’s not a doubt in the world that you belong to me.” He kissed her lightly, smiling a bit at the dazed expression still on her face. “You’re mine, Jacqueline,” he whispered. “You always will be.”
CHAPTER
8
DANE STRODE DOWN CHESTNUT Street, a besotted smile on his face.
Under normal circumstances, he would have been troubled by the unusually ominous tone of Alexander’s terse message, the urgency of the Secretary’s command to see Dane first thing Monday morning. Not to mention the fact that the summons had been delivered on a Sunday, a rarity indeed. Yes, this uncustomary occurrence would typically cause Dane great concern.
