by Andrea Kane
“Do you know what you’re accusing the man of?” Dane asked quietly.
Hamilton pressed his lips into a tight line of frustration. “I haven’t proof to accuse him of anything. I’m merely conjecturing aloud. But hear me out. Holt is known to be closely aligned with the Republicans in his sympathies toward France and their revolution. What if he believed that, by jeopardizing our negotiations with the British, it would propel us into an alliance with France? He might view his actions as patriotic, not treasonous.” He took a deep breath. “Which brings us to Jacqueline. You know how she feels about the English monarchy … and about the French Revolution. You’re telling me that she goes on mysterious excursions, alone, at night. Doesn’t it seem likely—”
“No!” Dane lurched to his feet, negating his friend’s words with a wild shake of his head.
But Hamilton had been prepared for just this reaction, and this time he was ready for it. “One way or another, we must be certain, Dane.” He pushed on, disregarding the pain in his friend’s eyes. Having thoroughly considered every angle prior to Dane’s arrival home, Hamilton was convinced that there was only one way to ascertain the Holts’ guilt or innocence … that was for Dane to investigate their activities, to use his relationship with Jacqueline to arrive at the truth. Given the amount of time Dane spent in Jacqueline’s company, the plan would be simple enough to execute. Simple, yes, but with one grave flaw. If Jacqueline were guilty of betraying her country, the result would be tremendous personal anguish for Dane.
In the end, there had been no choice. Hamilton had forced himself to come to terms with the guilt his decision had elicited. Dane was his friend, yes, but the truth was, neither Dane’s feelings for Jacqueline nor Hamilton’s friendship for Dane could take precedence over America’s national security.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Dane said in a cold, strained voice. “I won’t do it.”
“You have no choice, my friend.” Hamilton’s gaze was filled with sympathy.
Dane slammed his fist against the wall. “She would never do what you’re suggesting, damn it!”
“Then where is she going at night?”
“She loves her country.”
“And you love her.”
Dane drew a deep, agonized breath. “Yes. I love her.”
Hamilton laid an understanding hand on Dane’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dane. I, more than anyone, hope that I’m wrong.”
“But you think that you’re right.”
“Yes.”
Silence swelled until the room was filled with it.
“You’ve said what you came to say,” Dane managed at last. “Now I’d like to be alone.”
“All right.” Hamilton felt old and terribly tired. He walked away, pausing in the doorway. “I’ll be in my office all day tomorrow,” he said. Then he left Dane alone with his thoughts.
Jacqui stared into her bedroom mirror, seeing her own stricken expression reflected back at her. Her life had been so uncomplicated, so calm before Dane Westbrooke had stormed into it, upsetting the straightforward direction of her existence and turning her life into an emotional tempest.
She tugged her brush through the loose waves of her hair, feeling the dull throb in her body that refused to be silenced. Damn him, damn him! Why did he make her feel like a helpless leaf being blown about by a powerful wind? Why did he make it so damned impossible to forget him?
But he was right … she couldn’t forget.
Laying the brush on her dressing table, Jacqui stared at her chemise-covered body as if seeing it for the first time. She, who had thought herself to be so worldly and independent, had been no better than a silly child. Until she had become a woman in Dane’s arms.
But she was still behaving like a child.
For she had run from the tenderness she’d seen in his eyes … even more so from the surge of emotion he’d drawn from her.
No, she had forgotten nothing of those hours by the fire. Not the intensity of their union, nor the sweetness of lying in his arms when their passions had been spent.
Slowly, she raised her hands to touch her nipples, which had hardened at the mere memories of her night with Dane. What a complete and utter fool she’d been to think that one night in his arms would be all it took to satisfy her, that she could walk away and still remain whole.
She couldn’t be whole … not without him.
The realization was more than terrifying … it was paralyzing. For it meant that Jacqui was forever changed, that nothing could ever be as it was. How could she need Dane so much and still be the same self-reliant person she was determined to be?
He had told her he accepted her as she was, that he would never try to change her. But he had no idea what he was saying, for he did not really know her.
Or did he?
No, if he knew her identity he would not have been so persistent with his questions tonight. Perhaps he suspected? It was possible, although unlikely. She could never, ever let him find out, for he would immediately tell Hamilton, who would find a way to ruin her, or, at the very least, pressure Bache into refusing her work. And that she could not bear, for the people deserved to read the truth and it was up to her to provide it.
She needed her principles.
She needed Dane.
She couldn’t have both.
With a soft moan, she closed her eyes, dropping her hands to her sides. It was futile.
A soft thud sounded behind her, startling her out of her reverie. Jacqui’s eyes flew open and she stared, amazed, at what her mirror’s image was telling her.
“Hello, chaton.” Dane straightened and walked toward her, a haunted look on his face.
“Dane … what are you doing here?” She whirled around, knowing the answer to her question even as she asked it.
He loomed over her, his eyes glittering with a reckless emotion that could have been excitement or anguish … or both. “I think you know the answer to that, my love.” His burning gaze swept over her half-naked body. “I’m here to reaffirm what is real; what is mine. Since you were kind enough to leave your window ajar”—he traced one tanned finger across her shoulder and down her arm—“I simply used your covert method to gain access to your bedroom … and to you.” He seized both straps of her chemise and dragged them down, bending to press his open mouth to her throat.
Even as Jacqui shivered beneath his caress, she recognized that to allow this to happen … under her father’s roof, in her own bed … would be insane. Her mind also registered that Dane was acting oddly, that he was somehow different than he’d been earlier tonight.
“Dane …” Her voice, while breathless, demanded an explanation.
Dane didn’t provide one, but instead continued to circle his lips and tongue against her skin, tasting her, lightly drawing the sensitive flesh into his mouth.
When he reached the upper slope of her breasts, she finally gasped out her protest. “Dane … we can’t. My father …”
“Yes, your father.” His fingers dug more firmly into the smooth skin of her arms, his grip just short of punishing. “Well, chaton,” he muttered thickly against her breast, “Your concerned father is in one of several places: either hard at work at Holt Trading, out for the evening with the lovely Miss Brisset, or sound asleep in his own bed.” He raised his head, stared down at her with a tight, enigmatic expression on his handsome face. “Isn’t that right, sweet? Those are the only places he would be at this hour, aren’t they?” He searched her face for some answer he seemed not to find, then let out a low sound of masculine need. “It doesn’t matter, Jacqueline … not tonight.” His voice was thick with passion. “Tonight, nothing short of death could stop me from taking what I want. Nothing and no one.” He devoured her with his hot gaze, making the ache between her thighs intensify until it became unbearable. “I’ve been patient with you, Jacqueline … too patient. I’m finished providing you with time to accept the inevitable, finished waiting for you to relinquish your bloody independence
… and your carefully guarded secrets.” He swallowed convulsively, as if fighting some difficult, internal battle. “Now it’s my turn. My turn to take control, to find out everything I need to know. I want it all, mon chaton colereux … all you have to give, all that you are. And damn it, Jacqueline, you will give it to me. …”
Before she could speak, he’d raised his hand and, with one purposeful gesture, ripped her chemise down the middle, letting the torn pieces fall to the floor.
Jacqui stared down at herself as if doubting what had just taken place. Then she raised wide, midnight eyes to Dane’s, her own registering shock and disbelief, his a fiery silver gray. “Have you gone mad?”
Dane gave a harsh laugh and swept her into his arms. “Indeed I have.” He lowered both of them to her bed. “And do you know why?” Capturing her face, he lifted it to receive the searing brand of his kiss. “Because one night last April, I met a vision in lilac, a luscious hellion with the body of a goddess, the face of an angel … and the elusive secrets of the darkest seas.” He kissed her, deeply, possessively, forcing the response that he so desperately needed.
Jacqui felt a prickle of fear run up her spine as the ominous meaning of his words sank in. But the fear was swept away beneath the drowning tide of desire that submerged her as Dane’s tongue took hers. And suddenly, something inside her snapped, and she surrendered in a rush, giving in to the relentless inner voices that clamored, compelling her to lose herself in the fire of Dane’s passion. She flung her arms about his neck, kissing him back with fierce, unrestrained longing, tangling her hands in his hair, desperate to escape the world and all its unresolvable complications.
Together, they tore at his clothes, frenzied now in their need to be one. With an impatient sound, Dane vaulted from the bed, kicking his breeches free of his painfully aroused body, growing harder still at the sight of Jacqui watching him and reveling in his nakedness with unashamed wonder.
“You are magnificent,” she whispered in awe. And he was … all rippling muscle over bronzed skin, his erection huge and rigid and pulsing with its need for her.
Dane said her name in an agonized growl, coming down over her, parting her legs with an insistent knee.
He took her without preliminaries … she welcomed him without restraint, biting her lip to keep from crying out as his first fiery thrust entered her, filled her, nearly drove her over the edge. Dane withdrew and buried himself again, deeper, harder, his breath coming in ragged pants, his greedy hands lifting her legs higher around him, pushing him farther into her tight, hot wetness. Jacqui matched his wildness with her own, digging her fingers into his sweat-drenched back and arching into his battering thrusts, devoured by a mating that was savage in its demand, poignant in its significance … and over in a few lightning strokes.
Seconds later, the universe exploded.
Jacqui arched back, dissolving into throbbing spasms of near painful completion, lurching upward to pull Dane as deep inside her as possible. In return, Dane crushed her into him, flooding her with huge, convulsive bursts of release, covering her mouth with his to drink in her cries of pleasure and to silence his own.
The room was quiet, but for their sharp, ragged breaths. Bathed in perspiration, Dane dropped his face into the crook of Jacqui’s neck, tasting the salt of their union and feeling physically drained … and emotionally raw. Beneath him, Jacqui shivered, and Dane became aware of how small and fragile she was, how violently he’d taken her.
All his rage drained away with the last of his seed. Softly, tenderly, he kissed the damp tendrils of hair at her temple, rolling to one side and taking her with him. “Did I hurt you, chaton?”
“No.” The one syllable was barely audible.
Dane tensed. What the hell had he been thinking of? Of course he’d hurt her. After all, it was only the second time she’d been with a man. The first time, she’d bled. “Jacqueline … are you all right?”
She sighed, a whispering ripple against his chest. “I think so.”
He forced her head back, cupped her face in his hands. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured with tender remorse. “After last week … I promised myself I’d go slowly, give you the prolonged hours of lovemaking you deserve. But it seems that every time we’re together I lose all my control, become so frantic that I behave like a callow youth.” He kissed her flushed cheeks. “Forgive me.”
A faint smile touched Jacqui’s lips and she closed her eyes, suddenly overcome by weariness. “There is nothing to forgive. It was wonderful.” She stifled a yawn. “Oh Dane, I’m so very tired …” she said in a small voice, “… tired of fighting, tired of deciding what is right … tired of being strong.” She leaned her forehead against his chest.
A wave of feeling swept over him and he wrapped his arms around her possessively. “I know, darling, I know.” He stroked her tangled curls, then reached down and drew the quilt up over them, fitting her body against the hard warmth of his. “I know you’re tired. Sleep.” He felt her slim body tense as she wrestled against her need to sink into his strength. “Don’t fight me, chaton. Not tonight. Let me hold you. Just for a little while. Let this night be ours; let’s leave the battles for morning. I’ll go before dawn, I promise. But until then, sleep in my arms. Be mine … totally mine … if only for tonight.” He touched his lips to her shoulder, joy welling up inside him as she gave up the struggle, melted against him. “I love you, Jacqui,” he whispered, feeling her breathing even out into slumber.
Asleep, she was all innocence, so incredibly young and beautiful that Dane couldn’t accept any truth other than the one he held in his arms, the one he felt in his heart.
He cradled her gently, filled with intense emotion that refused to be quieted. She couldn’t be guilty of treason … not even for the most honorable of causes. Despite her political convictions, she would never betray her country … nor would she betray him.
With drowsy tenderness, Dane wrapped Jacqui tighter in his embrace, and, secure in his faith, he drifted off, joining her in slumber.
Neither of them heard George Holt arrive home.
CHAPTER
10
PREOCCUPIED, HIS STEP HEAVY, George climbed the stairs to bed. Something was troubling Monique. He had suspected as much for weeks now, but after her behavior tonight, he was certain. He’d escorted her to the elegant New Theatre on Chestnut Street, in the hopes that an evening of opulent entertainment would erase the faraway look in her eyes. Yet, throughout the splendid performance of Richard III, she’d fidgeted in her seat, scanning the room restlessly, her hand growing cool and limp in his.
Later, when they were alone, she’d been moody, withdrawn. Filled with an intangible sense of unease, George had taken her to bed, desperate to solidify what was between them through the joining of their bodies.
Even that was an abysmal failure. Oh, she’d whispered the same words of love as always, given herself to him with the same generous abandon that he’d become addicted to … but all the while she seemed detached, leaving him cold and empty, as if he’d possessed her body, but not her soul.
Could it be another man? he asked himself for the thousandth time. His heart protested, crying out that it was not possible.
But his mind continued its nagging doubt.
A faint scratching and a soft cry jolted him from his morose reflection. Puzzled, he followed the sound to its source, locating it just outside Jacqui’s bedroom.
Crouched on the floor, looking totally flabbergasted and thoroughly annoyed, sat Whiskey, raking his claws against the tightly shut door. Hearing George approach, he redoubled his efforts and emitted a plaintive wail.
George smiled indulgently. “What seems to be the problem, Whiskey? Has Jacqui forgotten you tonight?” He strolled over to the kitten, bending to scratch his ears. George was familiar with Jacqui’s standing ritual: to open her door a crack just before retiring so that Whiskey could slip in whenever he was ready for sleep. Obviously tonight she had neglected to perform this customary proc
edure. Well, that was easily remedied.
Straightening, George pressed the door handle, noiselessly admitting the impatient cat. Along with Whiskey, a shaft of light from the hallway penetrated the dark, silent room, illuminating the bed and its two occupants.
Two occupants?
For a split second George couldn’t breathe. And when he did, his breath exploded from his chest in a roar of anger.
“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, storming into the room.
Dane awakened instantly, automatically shielding Jacqui with his body. “George …” he began, wondering what the hell he was going to say. Denial was certainly not an option … not with their clothes strewn all over the floor and their bodies intimately entangled under the bedcovers.
“Damn it, Westbrooke … what the hell were you thinking of?”
Jacqui blinked sleepily and sat up, trying to focus on what was happening. “Father?”
Dane yanked the quilt up to her shoulders, and all at once, Jacqui came fully awake. “Hell and damnation,” she muttered, clutching the bedding to her. Even the bronzed width of Dane’s massive shoulders could not shelter her from the pained, accusing look on her father’s face. “Oh, Lord,” she breathed, struck by the total impact of what was occurring.
“It’s a bit late for prayers, Jacqueline.” Angry and brimming with paternal protectiveness, George stared from his naked daughter to the powerful, disheveled man beside her.
Dane tensed, instinctively defending the woman he loved. “Don’t blame Jacqueline, Holt. Blame me. She is a total innocent. It was I who seduced her. So if you’ll allow me to dress”—he reached to the floor for his breeches—“you can vent your rage at me full force.”
“That’s very noble of you, Dane,” Jacqui interrupted, her dismay rapidly transforming to annoyance, indignation overshadowing discretion. “But your recounting is most inaccurate. You hardly dragged me into bed. Or have you so quickly forgotten that it was I who offered myself to you, I who pleaded with you not to stop, I who—”
