Masque of Betrayal

by Andrea Kane

  But Dane was wrong about one thing.

  She would never belong to him.

  Her mind made up, Jacqui dressed quickly in a gown of pale peach, which made her look soft and feminine and, hopefully, desirable. She then tied a bonnet beneath her chin and hastened off into the warm June day, bent on seduction.

  Westbrooke Shipping was on Market Street, a healthy walk from the Holts’ home. Jacqui hurried along, not pausing to catch her breath until she neared the docks. Dane’s office was just beside them, a modest brick building with large, airy windows. Cautiously, Jacqui approached, uncertain, now that she was here, of how to go about announcing to Dane that she had come to take him up on his offer, from inside the open windows, laughing voices drifted out to her, and with her usual curiosity, Jacqui peered inside. And froze.

  Dane was teasing and hugging an attractive dark-haired woman, who was, in turn, clutching him possessively and ruffling his hair. She appeared to be of middle years, but was nonetheless quite striking.

  Jacqui felt ill.

  Before she could be seen, she retraced her steps, running nearly all the way home. The delicate filaments of trust, newly formed and fragile, splintered further with each step.

  Tears were unacceptable. Jacqui chose anger.

  How stupid could she have been? she fumed. To actually think that what Dane wanted, needed, was her. When, in fact, any female body would do, had apparently been doing, if what she’d seen today was any example. Abstinence was, quite obviously, not even a consideration in Dane’s mind. Nor was faithfulness.

  She should have known better than to allow herself to care.

  Jacqui spent the day in her room, alternately pacing, cursing, and planning Dane’s demise. She called a halt to her internal tirade only long enough to finish Laffey’s column, which had to be delivered that night, and to eat dinner, so Greta wouldn’t be suspicious.

  Just after dusk, Jacqui slipped into a dark gown, slid the column inside her sleeve, and headed down the stairs. It was not a pleasant night for her weekly mission, as a severe summer storm was about to strike. The winds had picked up and occasional bolts of lightning streaked across the hot, humid skies.

  As Jacqui moved down the deserted hallway, she could hear Greta finishing up in the kitchen and scolding Whiskey, who had sprung onto the counter to sample the leftovers. George was working late. Jacqui wouldn’t be missed.

  She opened the front door and walked headlong into Dane.

  “Hello, chaton,” he said in an odd voice. “Were you on your way out? I wouldn’t suggest it … there is a bad storm brewing.”

  Jacqui blinked and hot color rose to her cheeks. How dare he come here tonight … after what she’d witnessed! “You wouldn’t suggest it?” she spat. “What I do is none of your business! So get out of my way!”

  Dane started. He had not known what to expect from her after Saturday night, had not even been certain of his own actions after all he had learned today. But this?

  He caught her elbows as she attempted to walk past him. “Jacqueline … what is it?”

  She threw back her head, her eyes flashing midnight fire. “I don’t wish to discuss it … or anything else … with you, Dane. Now let me pass!”

  She was exquisite in her rage. All the warmth and tenderness Dane had tried to suppress churned through him. It was no use.

  He dragged her back against him. “You’re angry at me.”

  “And you are a scholar.”

  He chuckled. “Care to tell me why?”

  “No, actually I don’t.”

  He lifted her up until their faces were level. “Is it because of Saturday … of what happened between us?”

  Jacqui’s flush deepened. “Nothing happened between us. For that you’ll have to go to one of your other paramours.”

  “My other paramours?”

  “Please don’t pretend. If nothing else, be honest with me, damn you!”

  Dane looked genuinely puzzled. “I have always been honest with you, love. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t even seen another woman since you and I met.”

  Jacqui bristled. “Not even today?”

  “Today?”

  “I saw you, you bastard! I saw you with her! Kissing her … holding her!” She pounded on his shoulders with her fists. “Don’t make it worse by lying to me!”

  Dane made no move to still Jacqui’s flailing wrists. He simply carried her back into the house, through to the sitting room, and sat down on the settee, placing her on his lap as she battled frantically to free herself.

  “Now,” Dane said calmly, ignoring her struggles, “what is this all about? What woman did you see me with that I was supposedly kissing?”

  Jacqui paused to catch her breath. “Let me refresh your memory, Mister Westbrooke. A mature woman … lovely dark hair … tastefully dressed … in your office this morning?” She saw understanding dawn on Dane’s face and continued. “I see you are beginning to remember. Good. Do you also recall kissing her?”

  “I do.” Dane grinned. “Several times, in fact.”

  Jacqui’s jaw dropped. “You admit it?”

  Dane’s smile widened. “Certainly. What I don’t understand is what you were doing at Westbrooke Shipping. Dare I hope that you came to see me?”

  Mortified, Jacqui recalled the reason she had gone to Dane’s office. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.” He couldn’t help himself; he kissed her. Her very real, very artless jealousy enthralled him … for several reasons.

  Jacqui dragged her mouth away. “How dare you?”

  “Do you want to know who she is, Jacqueline?” he asked softly, bringing her lips back to his.

  Jacqui shook her head wildly. “I assume she is merely one in a long line of your women … the wife of a business associate, perhaps?”

  “My mother,” he murmured against her warm cheek. “And there is no long line of women … there is only you.”

  Jacqui grew very still. “Your mother?”

  Dane laughed softly, gliding his thumbs up and down the silky column of her throat. “I do have one, you know.”

  “Your mother,” she repeated again, feeling like a complete fool. “I had no idea your mother lived in Philadelphia.”

  “There is much about me you don’t know,” he whispered, pressing her into the cushions and following her down. “Let me teach you.”

  Jacqui took his kiss blindly, opening her mouth to his tongue and lifting her arms to wrap about his neck.

  Inside her sleeve, she felt the papers rustle against her skin and reality flooded back in a great, untamed wave.

  “Dane … not now!” She shoved him away and wriggled out from under him.

  “Why? Don’t you believe what I’ve told you?”

  “Yes, I believe you.” Nervously, she rose, fixing her sleeves and smoothing down her gown. “But Greta is in the kitchen and my father is due home from work any moment. This is hardly the time …”

  He stood and took her in his arms. “Tell me you’ve thought about what happened Saturday. Here”—he glanced meaningfully at the settee—“in my arms. Under my body, my hands.”

  “I have,” she admitted in a small voice.

  “So have I. Constantly.” He gazed down at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “Did you also think about what I said … about your coming to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?” He lifted her hands to his shoulders and Jacqui froze, feeling the papers slide up to her elbow.

  “Dane, you have to leave.”

  He looked stunned. “Why?”

  “Because … you must. I have things I need to take care of, right away.”

  “What things?”

  Jacqui thought frantically. “I need to help Greta in the kitchen.”

  “Haven’t you eaten? It’s almost eight o’clock.”

  “No … yes … I mean, she needs my help in straightening up.”

  “I see.”

  “So you’ll
have to go.” She was already tugging him toward the door.

  “When will I see you?”

  “Soon. Tomorrow,” she hastened to add when she saw the glower on his face.

  “Tomorrow,” he repeated. “And every day thereafter.”

  In that instant Jacqui would have promised him the world if he would only leave. She was already going to be dreadfully late. … She only prayed her young messenger would still be waiting. “Yes, Dane. And every day thereafter,” she vowed.

  Dane’s eyes narrowed on her, like a tiger sizing up its prey. Then he nodded. “Very well. I’ll go.” He kissed her lightly. “But I’ll be back, Jacqueline. Tomorrow. Always. Remember.”

  She shut the door behind him and let out her breath. That had been close … too close.

  She waited a full five minutes and then slipped out into the night.

  The rain poured down in torrents.

  Jacqui caught her breath, feeling her saturated gown mold itself uncomfortably to her chilled skin.

  The rain wasn’t terribly cold, but the air was so hot that the water felt icy as it struck her in relentless sheets. Thunder crashed through the heavens, heralded by the jagged streaks of lightning that pierced the skies and shot precariously close to the soggy ground.

  Jacqui wiped the rain from her eyes and inhaled sharply. Thank goodness the storm had held out until her papers were safely delivered and she was well on her way home. She was now but a few blocks from her house, but the area between here and Spruce Street was lined with trees, the perfect targets for wayward lightning bolts. The last thing she needed was to be assaulted by a heavy falling branch.

  The alternative was to use the roadway. Jacqui had never even considered that in the past, for fear of being seen, but who would be about in this downpour to witness her flight?

  Hurriedly, she moved toward Spruce Street, staying along the road’s edge, but as far from the trees as possible. She was getting quite a soaking, but it was better than being hurt.

  Most of the houses were dark, their occupants abed, as it was close to ten o’clock. Sidestepping a puddle, Jacqui ran on, suddenly wondering what Dane would be doing now. Would he be asleep … or awake … possibly thinking of her?

  She had certainly been thinking of him … and the great relief she had felt upon learning that his “paramour” was, in fact, his mother. He had said there were no other women in his life, that he wanted no one but her.

  Lord knew she wanted him.

  Spruce Street appeared and she stopped, panting, running her fingers through her wet curls. She remembered from her father’s records that Dane lived on Pine Street … just one block farther south. Jacqui stared through the rain, shivering, this time not with the cold but with a new and exciting thought.

  It was late. Both her father and Greta would assume she was asleep by now. No one would visit her bedroom until morning. She was wildly curious … and absolutely unwilling to spend another restless night in solitary ignorance. Her heart began to pound furiously. Dared she?

  It was scandalous; it was unheard of; it was insane.

  It was perfect.

  Dane stared into the fireplace. It was rare for him to light a fire in June, but the air was chilled from the storm, and besides, the darkened sitting room seemed to suit his pensive mood tonight.

  He stretched, leaning back in his chair and sipping at his brandy in the hopes of shaking his intangible restlessness.

  Maybe not so intangible, he thought, finishing his drink. The ache that filled his mind, his heart, and his loins had a definite name: Jacqueline.

  Dane stood, running his fingers through his hair. Her totally irrational, thoroughly adorable reaction tonight had more than confirmed what his instincts had told him … that Jacqui’s obvious, though grudgingly admitted, feelings, her delightful and heady possessiveness, were indeed genuine. Whatever else was true, Jacqueline cared.

  The problem still existed, however, that if Alexander’s intuition proved accurate and George Holt were, in fact, Jack Laffey, Holt could be using Jacqueline to obtain information for his columns. If that were true, was Jacqui a willing or an unknowing accomplice?

  Dane knew he was too deeply involved with Jacqueline to objectively answer that question. At the same time, he was far from oblivious to the skittishness of her behavior tonight, not to mention the odd fact that she’d been going out alone at eight o’clock in the evening and was strangely unwilling to tell him her destination. Why?

  Dane wasn’t certain of the answer, but he was certain that he was going to have to keep a watchful eye on his beautiful hellion.

  The clock chimed and Dane contemplated going to bed. He dreaded the prospect. All bed seemed to represent these days was endless, sleepless nights.

  He wandered over to the sitting-room window, tightening the belt of his black silk robe. There was something exciting and forbidden about a thunderstorm, something that exhilarated Dane, fired his blood. A clap of thunder reverberated through the skies, and the very earth seemed to tremble with its wrath. Lightning followed in its wake, illuminating the saturated ground and drenched grass and …

  Dane stiffened, peering into the darkness. He’d seen a movement, fleeting but definite nonetheless. He waited. There it was again. Who the hell was about on a night like tonight?

  He was on his way to find out when the knock sounded. He yanked open the front door and found himself staring into Jacqui’s huge midnight eyes, her small frame shivering with cold.

  Wrapping her arms about herself, she inclined her head slightly and gazed up at him with her customary directness. “You wanted me to come to you,” she managed through chattering teeth. “Well, I am here.”

  For one dazed moment, Dane simply gaped at her in astonishment. Then he reached out and drew her into the house.

  “You’re drenched,” he said softly, rubbing her wet arms with his warm hands. “And freezing.” He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you? Come. I don’t want you to become ill.”

  He took her into the sitting room, where he left her in front of the fire while he went in search of towels. When he returned, she was huddled on the rug, letting the blazing flames warm her, and looking about with open curiosity.

  “Your home suits you,” she said, taking in the elegant Chippendale furniture and walnut-carved easy chairs. “It’s sophisticated and charming … and powerful.”

  Dane enfolded her in the towels and drew her against him. “Thank you, chaton.” He kissed her hair. “My wet little kitten … whatever possessed you to come out in this storm?”

  Their eyes met.

  “I ache,” Jacqui admitted with breathless candor, taking the irrevocable step and never looking back. “Make love to me.”

  Silence reigned … taut, charged.

  “Jacqueline …” Dane enveloped her in his arms, absorbing her cold, wet body with his warmth. He knew he should ask if she was certain, but the question lodged in his throat, refused to be spoken. Instead, he searched her expressive face, saw the undisguised longing written there, and, with the knowledge of how utterly right this was, he gave them what they both so desperately craved. Tenderly, totally, he took her mouth under his, telling her without words that the gnawing hunger that consumed them would, at last, be satisfied.

  Jacqui pressed closer still, clutching the soft silken folds of Dane’s robe, closing her mind to everything but the magnificent man who was already making love to her with the lusty strokes of his tongue, the restless movements of his hands as they roamed her body. She met his tongue with her own, feeding their passion, wanton and unafraid.

  Small puddles of water pooled onto the floor beneath them and were absorbed into the plush woven carpet, but neither Jacqui nor Dane noticed. With a swift, purposeful motion, he lifted her and placed her on her back, tugging her wet clothes off even as he continued to kiss her with bone-melting thoroughness. Jacqui gave herself to the magic, wanting it as much as Dane did, trusting him to give her body the blissful relief it soug
ht.

  The fanning heat of the fire spread through Jacqui’s limbs as Dane peeled her soaked chemise away and tossed it aside. Her pulse racing, she watched him kneel beside her, gaze at her nakedness with a scorching intensity that singed her blood and drove all traces of the remaining chill into burning oblivion.

  “Breathtaking …” he said in a ragged whisper, barely able to speak past the tightness in his chest. She exceeded his every dream, put to shame his most erotic fantasy. He wanted to drink her in all at once, to forever etch upon his memory the sight of her flawless nudity as it was diffused by firelight, the elegant curves softly aglow, the sleek hollows concealed by shadows. Reverently, Dane’s eyes caressed her, beginning with her heavy, mahogany tresses, over the flawless perfection of her face, down the slender column of her neck to the rounded fullness of her breasts. Her nipples responded as if they’d been touched, hardening and throbbing beneath his consuming stare. Dane drew a deep, ragged breath, trying valiantly to control the passion that threatened to beat its way outside his body. But control it he would. He’d waited an eternity for this, and now that it was finally here, he wanted it to last forever.

  Slowly, his hot gaze traveled lower; lingering on Jacqui’s small waist, the gentle curve of her hips, the long, tapered legs and silky thighs, and, at last, the soft, dark nest that was the haven of all he sought.

  Jacqui lay absolutely still, as Dane’s openly carnal scrutiny swept through her like a narcotic. She wanted nothing more than to pull him down to her, to beg him to fill the void he’d created inside her. She shifted restlessly, feeling no modesty or shame in her nakedness, but totally urgent in her need.

  Dane heard her silent plea.

  “I know, darling,” he murmured in a raw voice, reaching down to lightly caress her breasts. “I feel it, too.” He defined her softness with his fingertips, letting his hands learn the beauty that his eyes had only just uncovered: the silken weight of her breasts, her warm, smooth abdomen, the quivering wonder of her inner thighs. He watched her lips part, the rapid rise and fall of her labored breaths, the glazed, unfocused look in her dark blue eyes as she writhed beneath his touch, and he felt that he would surely go up in smoke. “Soon,” he promised in a dark whisper, gliding his palm down to graze the tight curls between her legs. His hand shook, tightened possessively. “Very soon, mon chaton.”