Masque of Betrayal

by Andrea Kane

  Hard arms wrapped around her. She opened her mouth to scream, fighting to free herself, but a strong hand smothered the sound of her startled cry.

  “Jacqueline. At last.”

  She knew it was Dane even before he spoke. How well she remembered the feel of his powerful body, the heady masculine scent that made her senses throb … the infuriating arrogance that made her blood boil. She forced herself to go completely still.

  When Dane felt Jacqui’s struggles cease, he released her … a mistake.

  She shoved herself away from him, venom in her eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

  “Waiting for you.” He was livid, enraged at her continued refusals to see him, more so at her mysterious disappearances. But right now, as he came face to face with the exasperating woman he loved for the first time since the night of the storm, all Dane could feel was a rush of emotion that obliterated all else. “Are you all right?” His voice was thick with memories, his eyes a blanket of tenderness.

  “I’m fine.” She stared past him to the old oak. Then her speculative gaze returned to Dane, realizing that he had obviously been awaiting her arrival. “How did you know …” Abruptly, she broke off.

  “How did I know your special ‘route’ to and from your house?” he finished for her. “I followed you home last week. After we’d made love.” The rich timbre of his voice was a tangible caress.

  Hot color flooded Jacqui’s cheeks. “Why are you still waiting here?”

  “Why did you leave me?” Dane responded, ignoring her ludicrous question.

  Jacqui’s flush deepened and she lowered her head to hide the telltale reaction. “You know why I left.”

  He raised her chin with his forefinger. “Yes, I know,” he said softly. “But I wonder if you do.”

  She refused to look at him. “We were finished.”

  “We had barely begun. And if you really think that’s the reason why you left, then you’re lying … to me and to yourself.”

  Jacqui stepped away. “Dane, I must go in now.”

  “Where were you tonight?”

  She swallowed. “Please … leave me alone.”

  “Jacqueline, do you really believe you can pretend nothing is changed, that your life can go on as it was?” He tugged her back into his arms, rubbing his chin, his lips against the satiny tresses of her mahogany hair. “I burn for you,” he whispered, stroking his hands up and down her spine. “I lie awake and relive every moment of the night we were together. I can see you, taste you, smell your perfume. I can remember every whimper you made, every plea for me not to stop, and, at the last, the way you cried out my name … again and again. I can feel the velvety heat of your body tightening all around me, driving me over the edge. I can feel your harsh little pants against my skin, the rake of your nails across my back, your beautiful, silky legs wrapped around my waist.”

  Jacqui closed her eyes, unknowingly gripping the cool linen of his shirt in tight, trembling fists. “Stop.”

  “No.”

  “It can never happen again.”

  “You won’t be able to prevent it.”

  “Damn you,” she said in a tortured whisper, unable to cope with the staggering emotions storming her senses.

  Dane tightened his embrace possessively. He felt her resistance … and her vulnerability. “Come home with me,” he murmured into her hair. “Fill the void inside me that you created … and only you can fill.”

  She stiffened. “I can’t. I must go inside before I am missed.”

  “Where is it that you are coming from at this hour of the night?” he asked again, this time more insistently. When Jacqui refused to answer, Dane frowned, renewed doubt, repressed but ever present, forcing its way to the forefront of his mind. “Why is it that you never want to discuss your comings and goings with me, chaton? Is it merely stubborn pride … or is it more?”

  A wave of anxiety rushed through her. “What does that mean?”

  He continued the gentle motions of his hands on her back, a gesture that was belied by the steely edge to his tone. “The hour is rather late for a stroll, sweet, is it not? Could it be that you are keeping something from me? Something that you don’t wish for me to find out?”

  Jacqui wrenched herself free in one frantic movement. “I don’t answer to you, Dane. I never will. So stop interrogating me!”

  “Interrogating you? I would hardly call my asking to know where you’ve gone, alone and unattended, in the dead of night interrogating you!”

  “Perhaps I’ve been with another man!”

  She flinched as he dragged her against him, the look in his blazing silver eyes lethal. “Then I shall have to kill him.”

  She didn’t doubt that he was capable of doing just that. She licked her dry lips, a little afraid of Dane’s anger, but refusing to back down. “As it happens, I was alone. As to where I was … I am not obligated to tell you that, Dane. That or anything else.”

  “Aren’t you?” He breathed the demand against her lips, his handsome features still taut with fury. “After last week, don’t you feel in any way bound to me?”

  More than I can afford to be, she wanted to cry out. Instead, she shook her head. “I won’t be your mistress.”

  “I don’t recall asking you to be.”

  A shaft of pain cut through her. “True. You agree, then, that it is best for us to discontinue our … association.”

  “I agree to nothing of the kind.” He lowered his head, closing the distance between their lips.

  Jacqui tried to turn her head away, but he wouldn’t allow her to retreat. He caught her chin with a gentle but insistent hand, forcing her to receive his descending mouth. Jacqui squeezed her eyes shut, as if by doing so she could deny what was happening between them. “It’s over, Dane,” she managed in a last frantic attempt to escape.

  He kissed her, deeply, totally, refusing to stop until she was weak and clinging to him. “It will never be over, Jacqueline. Not for either of us.”

  “I won’t see you again,” she whispered.

  “Won’t you?” He drew back slightly. “And what if you discover that you’re carrying my child?” His voice was hushed, laden with emotion.

  Their gazes locked.

  Jacqui lowered hers quickly, but not before Dane had seen the intensity of her reaction. “Ah, Jacqueline, you lie so poorly,” he taunted, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. He raised her face again and buried his lips in hers.

  This time Jacqui didn’t fight it but gave in to the urgent yearning that clamored within her. She kissed him back, leaning into him, her arms wrapped around his neck. The world tilted, reality spun away.

  “I want you now more than I did before,” he told her huskily, his tongue fencing with hers, their breath mingling in short, heated pants. Slowly, purposefully, Dane swept his hands over the lush concealed curves of Jacqui’s body in a possessive and tantalizing caress that made her knees buckle. “Now that I’ve had you … it’s unbearable when we’re apart.” He cupped her soft bottom and lifted her against him. “I need you, Jacqueline. Under me. Hot and wet and pleading. Taking all of me into all of you. It’s that simple. Nothing else matters.”

  “I want that too,” she admitted shakily.

  “I know you do.” His burning gaze fixed on the revealing evidence of her hardened nipples, clearly visible through the thin material of her gown. He bent his head and closed his mouth over one straining tip, tugging lightly with his teeth, stroking the fine muslin with his tongue.

  Something akin to a sob escaped from Jacqui’s throat as raw desire shot through her. “Dane, I have to go.” She was trembling violently and in mere seconds she was going to cast aside resolve and discretion, lay down in the scented grass, and make love with him in full view of her house and her neighbors … and let the world and her earlier decisions be damned.

  Dane didn’t answer. Nor did he release her immediately, but kissed her throat, the erratic pulse fluttering at her neck, and fina
lly, sensing her turmoil, he scattered light kisses across her forehead and cheeks, ending with soft, repeated brushes of his lips against hers. Finally, he raised his head, silently gazing into her beautiful flushed face until her dark lashes fluttered, then lifted, revealing the dazed midnight blue of her eyes.

  Still, Dane didn’t speak, merely lowering Jacqui to the ground and studying her with a tender but bemused expression. He cupped her chin, gliding his thumb across the sensuous mouth that was still moist and swollen from his kisses. “Will you tell me where you’ve been?” he asked at last, his voice raw.

  Jacqui swallowed, burning from the rhythmic stroking of his thumb. “No.”

  His fingers stilled. Her answer was not the one he sought … yet it was the one he’d expected. He plunged his hands into the thick waves of her hair, anchoring her head tightly. “Is it merely your independence you are protecting, chaton, or is there some sinister secret in your life?”

  Dane’s demanding words and hard, possessive grasp were like a temporary douse of frigid water on the fires raging inside her, and Jacqui’s resolve returned in a rush. “Goodbye, Dane.” She twisted out of his grasp, lifted her skirts, and marched to the oak, securing her hands on the first sturdy branch within her reach.

  “Good night, Jacqueline,” he corrected. He ambled over and raised her effortlessly to a spot midway up the trunk. “Allow me to make your task easier,” he offered in a deceptively silky tone. He held her firmly about the waist, ignoring her protests and waiting until she had a solid grip on the branch before he released her. At which point he did not retreat as Jacqui had expected, but remained where he was, watching her from beneath hooded lids, a mixture of hunger and accusation in his steel-gray eyes.

  Jacqui felt the power of that penetrating stare down to the soles of her feet. Desperate to escape his dangerous, magnetic presence, she willed herself to reach upward for the next branch … but her body refused to obey the dictates of her mind. All she could do was cling helplessly to where she was, terrified … not of falling, but of the man she knew would catch her.

  As if reading her thoughts, Dane leaned slowly forward, sliding his hands beneath her hindering skirts to caress the length of her legs … gliding up and down, again and again, lingering a bit longer each time, until he felt the tremors run through her and into him. “Dream of me, chaton,” he said in an enigmatic whisper, more determined than ever to reaffirm the intensity of his effect on her. “For I promise that I shall dream of you.” He met her wide-eyed stare with triumph, purposefully easing his hands higher … higher, until Jacqui let out a soft moan. “I’ll dream of the next time we’re together,” he continued softly, “ … the next time you give yourself to me.” His thumbs grazed the bare skin of her inner thighs and, with flawless skill, found the very heart of her, opening her to his seductive exploration. He smiled darkly at the wetness that told him of her vulnerability and her need. “You made the choice, my love,” he reminded her huskily, lightly stroking the soft, delicate folds. “You came to me.” He was being a bastard and he knew it. But, damn it, he wanted all of her … her body, her heart … and whatever it was she was withholding from him.

  “Dane … stop …”

  It was the defenseless sound of her plea that reached past his primal need for possession. He saw the turmoil, the warring emotions on her face, and he felt ashamed. The reasons for his actions might be sound, but the method was unfair. He, better than anyone, knew that Jacqui was a complete innocent when it came to matters of seduction, so using his experience to break her resolve was beneath him … beneath what he felt for her. He wanted her fairly, willingly, and with her spirit intact.

  Gently, he withdrew his hands and smoothed down her gown, watching her struggle for control, feeling a mixture of guilt and satisfaction. “Don’t fight me, chaton,” he told her, his own breathing unsteady as he backed away. “You can’t change our fate. Like it or not, you are mine.”

  He waited, hands clasped behind his back, until she had regained her bearings, sent him a bitter, scathing look, and shot up the tree like a frightened squirrel attempting to escape from a hungry wolf, disappearing through her bedroom window.

  “Mr. Westbrooke!” Stivers, Dane’s manservant, flung open the door to the house, looking harried and concerned.

  “What is it?” Dane asked in surprise, stepping into the front hallway. Stivers had usually gone home by this hour, since Dane required his services only during the day. Living here by himself, Dane saw no need for a live-in servant.

  “You have a visitor, sir. He’s been waiting for some time now. I didn’t want to leave until you arrived home.”

  “A visitor? At this hour?” A quick look at his timepiece told Dane that it was after eleven o’clock. “Who is it, Stivers?”

  “It’s the Secretary of the Treasury, sir. He said that it is extremely important he see you tonight.”

  Dane digested this information carefully, and with a sinking heart. If Alexander were here at nearly midnight, it could mean naught but ill. “Thank you, Stivers,” he said aloud. “I appreciate your waiting. Go home and get some sleep.”

  “Very good, sir. Good night.”

  “Good night, Stivers.” Dane closed the door behind him, then went into the sitting room where Alexander was pacing beside the fireplace.

  Hearing Dane’s footsteps, he turned. “At last.” He looked haggard, lines of strain about his mouth.

  “What is it?” Dane minced no words.

  “We’ve received word back from Jay.”

  Dane tensed. “He’s met with the English?”

  “He has.”

  “And?”

  “And the negotiations will probably go on for weeks, if not months. However, the manner in which Jay was received by England’s Minister of Foreign Affairs …” Hamilton raked his fingers through his hair. “It was as if Grenville had anticipated all our demands and was thus prepared to negotiate them in England’s favor.”

  Dane looked stunned. “Jay said that?”

  “Not in so many words. But Grenville’s reaction makes it perfectly obvious. He countered us, point by point, skirting the issue of compensation for our seized ships, limiting our free trade in the West Indies, and putting forth a preliminary outline of a treaty of commerce that diverges greatly from the one our cabinet drafted in April.”

  Dane’s head was spinning with thoughts of the consequences of the English response. “Republican sentiment is openly hostile toward England at this time and vehemently opposes these proposed terms,” he said grimly.

  “Exactly. Thus we must work toward a healthy compromise that will satisfy both countries and prevent a war between us. However,” Hamilton went on somberly, “the immediate implications are more pressing … in fact, urgent.”

  “How is it that England anticipated Jay’s proposal?” Dane supplied, his tone severe.

  Hamilton began to pace again. “There is no conceivable way the English could have made their counter-demands so quickly without prior knowledge of America’s bargaining position.”

  “But how could they possibly have known our terms? That could only have happened if someone had passed along the information you had drafted for Jay to take with him.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Hamilton came to a dead halt, his bleak gaze meeting Dane’s. He waited.

  He knew precisely when the dreadful realization dawned on his friend.

  “The documents that we couldn’t find,” Dane said slowly, the color draining from his face. “The ones we thought you misplaced in your office.” Sickened by his own words, he lowered himself onto the sofa, his hands tightly gripping his knees.

  Hamilton gave a terse nod. “The ones that reappeared in a different drawer than I remember placing them.”

  Dane swallowed convulsively. “You believe that someone took those papers and used them to inform the English before Jay’s arrival.”

  “I do.”

  Dane knew there was more. “You have an idea who that might be
.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  Hamilton drew a deep breath and prepared himself for what was to come. “Do you recall the conversation we had last week regarding Laffey?”

  Dane stiffened. “I remember.”

  “Have you given it any thought?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes … but what has that to do with Jay?”

  Hamilton didn’t answer the question. “What was your verdict concerning my suspicions about George Holt?”

  Dane frowned, wondering what the link was between Laffey and the far-more-threatening issue at hand. “It is possible that Holt is Laffey,” Dane reasoned, confident that Alexander would supply him with the answer he sought. “Your reasons for believing him guilty are sound, given Holt’s political inclinations. Although I do not believe Jacqueline is involved,” he added quickly, ignoring Hamilton’s skeptical look. “Not only because I care for her, Alexander, but because it makes no sense. Holt loves Jacqueline dearly. He would never endanger his daughter by sending her out alone in the dead of night to gather information for a political column—”

  “Jacqueline goes out alone at night?” Hamilton’s response was immediate. “Are you certain?”

  “I’ve seen her,” Dane answered reluctantly. “But, as I said, there is not enough justification—”

  “Unless the Laffey column is but a small part of what Holt is involved in,” Hamilton interrupted.

  Dane stared. “What …”

  “Do you recall the day after my social gathering in April?” Hamilton pressed on, hoping to defer Dane’s explosion long enough to complete his train of thought. “When you and I met in my office to discuss Laffey’s identity? Your clerk interrupted us, arriving to inform you that George Holt had requested an emergency shipment be sent to the mainland.” He continued, an intent look on his face. “I was puzzled … no, bothered, by what appeared to be an uncharacteristic action from a man you yourself described as painstakingly well organized. At the time, I dismissed my reaction as extreme and unwarranted. Now I’m not so certain. For if the shipment he was sending included something more treacherous than …”