Masque of Betrayal

by Andrea Kane

  “No,” she countered, unable to wait another second, “now.” She raised up and tugged insistently at his sleeves, greedy and impatient. Dane chuckled at her undisguised eagerness; but his laughter died in his throat as her small hand found its way into the opening of his robe, made its first contact with the hard wall of his bare chest. He sucked in his breath as, slowly, with wonder and curiosity, Jacqui discovered his body, gliding her fingers through the soft, dark chest hair, finding the steely muscles that defined his massive frame. Her other hand joined the search, and she eased more of the material away from his broad shoulders so that she could see as well as feel the powerful man that was shuddering beneath her fingertips.

  Dane closed his eyes, the erotic feel of her hands lighting a brushfire to his blood, driving him so dangerously close to the ragged edge of control that each tentative caress threatened to push him over the brink. His body was painfully rigid, a heartbeat from eruption, and he knew in mere seconds it would be too late.

  Tearing himself from her touch, he shrugged out of his robe in one fierce movement and dragged Jacqui off the carpet and into his arms. Swiftly, deliberately, he melded her nakedness to his, groaning harshly at the most excruciatingly euphoric contact he had ever known.

  Jacqui whimpered his name, her senses flooded with the drowning pleasure of her totally unclothed body crushed to his. It felt wonderful … unbearable … and she needed more. Now.

  Guided by instinct, she rubbed her breasts sensuously against Dane’s chest, hearing his agonized gasp. Vitally aware of his huge, pulsing erection throbbing against her soft belly, Jacqui boldly pressed herself closer still, amazed by the heat, the enormous size and power of his arousal … and by her body’s own immediate response. The ache that was building inside her grew until it became unendurable in its intensity, and a rush of wetness flowed through her, pooling heavily between her legs. Helplessly, she arched her lower body to Dane’s, silently begging him to alleviate the torment.

  Dane went wild.

  He barely heard Jacqui’s joyful cry of surprise as he pushed her backward onto the carpet, covering her with himself. He had wanted to wait, to take his time arousing her, to fully possess her only when she was openly pleading with him to do so. He had promised to love her slowly, to make it last forever. But she had made that impossible, pushing him beyond his limits with her innocent sensuality and the seductive motions of her lush, tantalizing body. At this point, he was so desperate for completion that he had to get inside her now, or spill himself waiting.

  He pressed her thighs apart with his knee, feeling her open herself still farther to accommodate his weight. With his last shred of sanity, he slid his hand between them to find and caress the warm delicate flesh he’d claimed Saturday as his own, the satiny wetness that told him she was more than ready for their union.

  With elation and triumph, he caught her face in his hands, feeling the heat of her flushed cheeks, her erratic pants, seeing his own urgent need reflected in her eyes.

  “Jacqui …” He settled his hips in the cradle of her thighs, the tip of his rigid shaft nudging the moist, heated entrance it sought. Even that teasing contact caused pleasure to course through them both in relentless waves, and Dane pressed his forehead to hers, desperately trying to bring himself under a control that had long since evaporated.

  “Dane … don’t stop … not now. …” Jacqui lifted herself to take more of him, frantic now to feel him inside her, desperate in her drive for fulfillment.

  Feeling her body’s natural resistance, Dane shook his head intently, bracing his hands on either side of her and locking his arms to hold himself away. “I won’t hurt you,” he bit out, sweat dotting his forehead. Gradually, he eased forward, an inch at a time, determined to merge his body with hers as slowly and painlessly as possible, refusing to give in to the clamoring wildness both their bodies demanded, no matter how great the urge was to do so.

  He should have known Jacqui would have other ideas.

  With a soft whimper of protest, she twined her arms around Dane’s neck, wrapped her legs about his waist, and arched up to meet him. Open and wet, she glided around him, stretching to take him deeper, and put an end to all his noble intentions.

  A red haze exploded inside Dane’s head, and with a feral growl, he gave in to the inevitable, surrendering to the flaming inferno their joining was always destined to be, burying himself inside her in one savage thrust.

  He went deadly still at her cry of pain, the feel of her delicate membrane tearing as he made her his.

  “Jacqui … love …”

  She clutched at his sweat-drenched back with possessive hands. “Please … don’t leave me … not yet.”

  “Not ever,” he rasped. “Not … ever. …”

  He began to move in deep, rhythmic thrusts, aware of nothing save the lush softness of her body beneath him, the tight clasp of her slick, hot passage all around him, caressing him, driving him out of his mind. The world spun away, and there was only Jacqueline and the exquisite reality that was theirs at last. Dane pushed deeper and deeper inside her, burying himself fully only to withdraw and press higher, farther into her honeyed wetness, intent on possessing her more totally than any woman had ever been possessed.

  Jacqui was lost in pure, dazzling sensation. She cared nothing for the brief, sharp pain that had accompanied Dane’s entry. … In fact, she’d welcomed it as a gateway to the dizzying pleasure that was escalating within her. She clung to Dane, feeling the powerful muscles of his back contract with each plunging stroke. Instinctively, she began to undulate her hips to meet him, intensifying the already painful pleasure that coiled tighter and tighter, until she felt sure she would die.

  Dane kissed her face, her mouth, her neck, her breasts, finally sliding his hands beneath her to lift her into his thrusts, to impale her with his fiery hardness. Again and again their bodies merged in a mating that was savage, plummeting, frenzied, urgent. Jacqui began to cry out beneath him and Dane drank in the sound as it mingled with the hoarse rasps that were torn from his chest. And then she arched, calling out his name in a shocked, wild little cry that he would remember for the rest of his life.

  They both felt the hard, gripping spasms of her body as it contracted around his, and Dane held himself perfectly still, absorbing every glorious pulsation of her climax. Jacqui dug her nails into his back, letting the ecstasy wash over her in great, untamed waves of splendor, sobbing his name over and over as the rapture spun itself out.

  Abruptly, Dane went taut above her, seized by helpless shudders that wracked his broad frame and distorted his handsome features into a mask of agonized pleasure.

  “Jacqueline … my God, Jacqui …” The words were torn from his chest, followed by a wild, exultant shout that made the tempest of sensation wash through Jacqui anew. Still reeling with her own aftershocks, she felt Dane lunge forward, onto her and into her, heard his husky voice begging her to take him, to hold him … to love him. Tenderly, she wrapped her arms around his back, closing her eyes at the unexpected feelings that claimed her in that final moment of passion. She felt the burst of wet heat within her as Dane gave himself to her, poured himself endlessly inside her, and melded their bodies so close that they were one.

  Long moments passed before the maelstrom of sensation had subsided and their breathing had returned to normal. Dane buried his face in the damp satin of Jacqui’s hair. “I knew it would be like this.” His voice was laced with wonder. “It never was before, but with us … I knew we would touch heaven … this time, every time.” He gave a deep, resigned sigh. “God help me, but I love you, Jacqueline. And I plan to have you … always.”

  His vow terrified her. For she suddenly realized, not only the enormity of her power over this commanding man … but the enormity of his power over her.

  CHAPTER

  9

  DANE KNEW SHE WAS gone before he opened his eyes.

  Jolted into wakefulness by some intangible instinct, Dane found himself alone o
n the carpet, the room cold and dark, the fire having died down to embers.

  Cursing, he raced to the window, peering into the darkness. It was past midnight and the storm had subsided, leaving behind a clear night sky and a cool breeze … but no Jacqueline.

  The emptiness Dane felt was so acute it was like a knife in his gut. Damn her, he fumed inwardly, heading for the stairs. Damn her for being such a wretched, obstinate little coward. Damn her for running away.

  She wouldn’t get far.

  Dane took the steps two at a time, snatching a pair of breeches and a shirt from his drawers, determined to go after Jacqui and beat some sense into her stubborn, willful head.

  It was then that he saw the traces of blood on his body. Jacqueline’s blood.

  Dane closed his eyes, choked by a myriad of conflicting emotions: tenderness, anguish, rage. He wondered if Jacqui had discovered the bloodstains, and if they had frightened her. He wished he could have been there … to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be all right, be as it was destined.

  Tugging on his clothing, he tore out into the night. He had to find her, to assure himself of her safety.

  After which, he planned to kill her himself.

  He circled the Holts’ house quietly, knowing that knocking was out of the question at this hour. Still, he was determined to find evidence that Jacqui was safely abed.

  He found the scrap of material on the tall oak beside the house. Following the height of the tree with his eyes, Dane saw a weak light coming from the second-floor bedroom; a room that could easily be reached by scaling the oak. Jacqueline’s room.

  Weak with relief, Dane realized that it was the middle of the night and that their altercation could not take place here and now, much as he would have wished. But tomorrow morning he planned to march into Jacqueline’s sitting room and put an end to this ridiculous cat-and-mouse game. Tonight had sealed her fate. Whether she liked it or not, Jacqueline Holt was his.

  “She won’t see you, Herr Westbrooke.”

  Greta’s ample frame filled the doorway while something surprisingly akin to sympathy filled her voice.

  “Yes, she will see me, damn it!” Dane raked his fingers through his hair, his silver eyes ablaze. “Because I’m not leaving until she does!” He slammed his fist so hard against the door frame that the wood vibrated. “Give your mistress a message for me, Greta,” he told the undaunted housekeeper, who was calmly smoothing her severe bun into place. “Tell her that I’ve put up with her childish nonsense for as long as I plan to. Tell her that my patience has run out. Tell her that I’ll stand here all bloody night if I have to. If that doesn’t work, I’ll break down the blasted door! But I am going to see her … today!”

  “Very well, Herr Westbrooke.” Considering how formidable Dane was when he was angry, Greta sounded not at all intimidated by his wrath. She tucked a last stubborn strand of hair into place and took herself off to do his bidding, leaving behind a heavy trail of spicy perfume whose pungent smell made Dane’s eyes water.

  To escape the irritating odor, Dane waited in the garden, pacing its length until he’d worn an indelible path in the grass. For the hundredth time since the night of the storm he lambasted himself for allowing Jacqui to escape him. He should have known that she would bolt at her first given opportunity … especially after the hurtling intensity of their lovemaking, which had doubtless left her feeling vulnerable and afraid. But he hadn’t been thinking clearly, his guard lowered, stripped away by the engulfing tenderness that had followed in the wake of their passion. With Jacqui still warm and soft in his arms, the fanning heat of the fire against his back, he had felt so peaceful, so utterly replete and sated, that he had dozed off, content in the knowledge that, at last, she was his.

  What a stupid fool he’d been.

  Knowing Jacqueline as he did, what had ever possessed him to believe that she would allow the giving of her body to represent anything more than a physical joining; that, despite their growing emotional involvement, she would surrender the one part of herself she guarded far more fiercely than her virtue?

  Yet she had relinquished more than her lush innocence, Dane reflected with absolute conviction. During those dizzying minutes when they had been one, she had belonged to him. In every way. Dane knew it. And so did Jacqui. That was why she was running away.

  Damn. He had to see her, to convince her that she had nothing to fear.

  “He is still out there, Fräulein.”

  Jacqui let her bedroom curtain fall back into place, turning to where her housekeeper loomed in the doorway, an accusatory look on her face. “I know he is, Greta. I can see him.”

  “What do you plan to do about it?”

  Jacqui rubbed her eyes, which burned from a week of sleepless nights. “I shall deal with Mr. Westbrooke.”

  “When?” Greta persisted. “It is nearly dark and Herr Westbrooke hasn’t strayed a step from the garden all day! Nor does he intend to. Eventually, Fräulein, you must resolve this misunderstanding. …”

  “Enough!” Jacqui had reached her emotional breaking point. “This misunderstanding, as you put it, is between Dane and myself … so stay out of it, Greta!” Jacqui heard the housekeeper’s shocked gasp, but was not deterred. This time Greta had definitely overstepped her bounds. “Please go and see to your duties now. I do not need a lecture on my behavior, no matter how well-meaning. Although,” she added pointedly, “I ofttimes wonder who your sympathy is truly with, me … or Dane.”

  Greta’s lips were pressed so tightly together that her mouth nearly disappeared. “You’ve made your point, Fräulein. If you will excuse me, I shall see to the duties you referred to.” With her spine so rigid Jacqui feared it might snap, Greta marched out of the room, closing the door—a little too loudly—behind her.

  Sighing, Jacqui turned back to the window and gazed out, standing to one side so she could not be seen from below. The final rays of sunlight were cloaking the city in a fiery orange glow, illuminating the garden … and its imposing occupant.

  Dane looked no closer to departure than he had ten hours ago when he had begun his vigil. And Jacqui felt no readier to deal with her careening emotions than she had this morning … or last week in Dane’s arms.

  She closed her eyes, struggling again for the control she never lost; control, not only of her thoughts, but of her life and its components. What happened between her and Dane during the thunderstorm should have been so simple … learning the mysteries of passion, exploring the forbidden, exciting yearnings of her body, satisfying the relentless cravings that consumed her. Well, she had done all that.

  Only it had been replaced by something even more incomprehensible and far more threatening.

  So she cared for him, her logic countered. That was to be expected. After all, she wasn’t a prostitute … it was only natural that she should have feelings for the man she chose to share her body with. But, a small voice acknowledged, it was the intensity of her feelings that terrified her. They were deep, eddying, making her breath catch and her throat constrict each time she relived those moments by the fire, creating a never-before-known longing that welled up inside her, slid easily beneath the protective wall that sheltered her from the world.

  She sat down heavily upon the bed, uncertain and afraid and alone. Mother, if only you were alive, she mused wistfully, you would know what I ought to do; you’d make some sense out of what I am feeling. … Jacqui gave her head a hard shake … forced the painful reflection away. For beneath it, she knew, lay too many repressed emotions that she had never been strong enough to face, much less conquer.

  Gathering Whiskey against her, she stroked her cheek against his soft fur. “Whiskey, there is only one answer. I cannot allow this relationship to continue … for many reasons. It is just too dangerous. I must end it … now.”

  Whiskey purred his agreement and swatted at a sheet of paper on the bed.

  Idly, Jacqui watched him, feeling the emptiness of loss well up inside her
at the course of action she must take, to protect herself … and her secret. Giving up Dane would be the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but …

  Suddenly, Jacqui tensed, focusing on the paper that Whiskey was now raking with his claws. “Lord … it’s Monday!” She dumped Whiskey onto the floor and snatched up the page of writing. “I must deliver the column!”

  One glance out the window told her that darkness had fallen. It also told her that Dane was still maintaining his post … but not without assistance. Reinforcements were in the process of being provided by Greta, who was handing Dane a tray laden with roast mutton garnished with horse radish, boiled potatoes, and cauliflower. It was obvious to Jacqui that, with her traitorous housekeeper’s help, Dane was settling in for the evening.

  “Damn!” she exclaimed, frustration replacing sentiment in the blink of an eye. Her thoughts raced over her choices; She could miss tonight’s meeting … which would result in her column’s absence from this week’s General Advertiser. That possibility was ruled out before it had even been considered. One choice remained. She had to get to her messenger, which meant slipping by Dane without being seen. And there was but one means for that accomplishment. The back entrance.

  Jacqui tucked the damp tendrils of hair behind her ears, trudging the last steps home. It was after ten and quite dark, for there was no moon at all tonight. Not that she needed the light to guide her. After making the same weekly excursion for over a year, she could find her way blindfolded.

  Glancing surreptitiously about, she saw that her garden was deserted. Acute disappointment mingled with vast relief when she realized that Dane had finally gone. Following her customary ritual, she rounded the corner of Spruce Street to the side of her house. She ran the last few steps, lifting her skirts as she sped to the old oak … and collided with a solid wall of muscle.