by Andrea Kane
“She married you, Dane,” he said quietly. “She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t care for you … would she?” He paused, casting aside his allegiance to Dane in lieu of his commitment to the future … his future. The end was so close. Any day, Jay’s deadlocked negotiations with the English would completely disintegrate. Then America would be thrown into war, forced to align with the French. Thomas’s job would be done. He would have his money, his new life … and Monique. Above all, he couldn’t risk losing her.
“I don’t know Jacqueline’s motives,” he continued, hating himself for the pained look on Dane’s face. “But I do know women. And so do you … too well to allow your wife to own your heart. Lord knows what else she’s kept from you … and why.” Thomas stood. “Were I you, Dane, I would keep a close eye on Jacqueline.” For a long moment he grappled with guilt, feeling as low as a snake. Unable to look Dane in the eye, he glanced down at his timepiece, reminding himself of what would soon be his.
“Unfortunately, I must be off. … I’m late for an appointment.” He placed an unsteady hand on Dane’s shoulder, wishing there were some other way to have all that he so desperately craved.
“Thank you, Thomas. I appreciate your concern.” Oblivious to Thomas’s internal torment, Dane finished the last of his coffee and set the empty cup on the table. “I must be going as well. I plan to have a long talk with my wife … today.”
Monique received Thomas’s message with a great show of impatience. She waved the messenger away, wondering what juvenile nonsense was on Thomas’s mind now. She had no time for his romantic drivel … not while she was contemplating the next step in her rapidly progressing plan. Between Thomas’s adolescent adoration and George’s smothering tenderness and declarations of love, it was a wonder she had enough time to accomplish her work. Her life in America was growing more suffocating by the day.
She tore open the envelope and read the note, her blue eyes widening with increasing interest. So … George’s headstrong little hellion of a daughter was that radical reporter for the General Advertiser. That altered things considerably.
Monique crossed the sitting room and dropped down on the settee, absently massaging her temples. She had to think this through. Carefully. Lifting her head, she reread the note once, then again. Thomas was correct that Jacqueline’s involvement with the Republican newspaper would cause Hamilton to believe, more than ever, that she was the traitor who was passing information to the English. That would, of course, remove Thomas and Monique from suspicion and leave them free to finish their work and send their missive off to England. It was the perfect diversion.
That settled, Monique considered the more serious problem generated by Jacqueline’s supposed guilt: that being communication with France. Monique desperately needed to transmit messages to her mother country, as she pushed America and England closer to war. For, once America aligned herself with France, a long-deserved supremacy would be realized, not only by France, but by the brilliant man who would soon lead it … the man Monique loved.
And how could her messages reach Bonaparte if not on George Holt’s shipments to the mainland?
Monique frowned, lines of concentration furrowing her brow. There was no doubt that, with Jacqueline suspected of treason, George’s activities would be carefully monitored as well. So how could Monique continue to send information to France via George’s transports?
On the other hand, how else could she contact her homeland if not through George’s shipments? She certainly could not approach Thomas for any of his contacts. She dared not breathe a word of the situation to Thomas, lest he learn of her relationship with George. No, she would have to solve this dilemma alone. For, should either George or Thomas learn of her involvement with the other, everything could blow up in her face. There had to be a way. …
“Are you sure you’re ready to face Dane?” Lenore inquired, strolling beside Jacqui to the waiting carriage.
Jacqui nodded. “Yes. I’m very grateful for all you’ve done, Lenore, but I cannot hide at Greenhills forever.” She grimaced, “Although I’m uncertain as to the reception I’ll receive when I get home.”
Lenore halted beside the attentive coachman, taking Jacqui’s hands in hers. “Remember our discussion last night, Jacqueline. Dane is a strong, principled man. He might not agree with your convictions. But he cares for you … very much. And he respects you. Do not treat those emotions lightly, for they will carry you through many a storm. By all means, stand up for who you are … but accept Dane for who he is as well. Most important, do not be afraid to feel,” she added softly, giving voice to her greater concern. “Loving and being loved are two of life’s most wonderful blessings.”
“Which can be snatched away at any time … and without warning,” Jacqui replied with sad resignation.
“Perhaps. But the alternative is bleaker still.” Lenore was thankful to be given the chance to penetrate Jacqui’s carefully erected walls. “For without love, Jacqueline, life would be hollow and barren, creating a void far worse than any pain our hearts might endure.”
Jacqui considered Lenore’s words in pensive silence.
“Remember, Jacqui,” Lenore proffered, giving Jacqui a tender smile, “should you need it, you shall always have a place at Greenhills.”
Jacqui swallowed past the lump in her throat. These emotions were new, and she wasn’t quite sure how to express them. “Thank you, Lenore,” she said, a trifle unsteadily, wishing there was a way to better convey her gratitude.
Lenore hesitated, then took the final plunge. “Dane told me you lost your mother when you were quite young,” she began, praying the risk she was taking would not be too costly. “I know that no one can ever replace her in your heart. Still, I hope someday you’ll be able to think of me, never as the precious mother you recall from childhood, but as the loving friend and mother you’ve acquired in adulthood.”
Jacqui’s expression grew haunted with long-repressed memories. Then she met Lenore’s sensitive, uncertain gaze, and a current of warmth seeped through her. “I hope so.” As she spoke the words, Jacqui was startled to find they were true. She wanted to care for Lenore … desperately.
And, all at once, Jacqui knew just how to reciprocate Lenore’s kindness, to bring joy to her life … and to Dane’s life as well.
She could hardly wait.
Impulsively, Jacqui gave Lenore a quick hug, then gathered up her skirts and climbed into the carriage.
“Give Dane my love,” Lenore called.
“If we’re on speaking terms.” Jacqui’s retort was dry.
Lenore chuckled. “Good luck!”
“I shall need it.” As the carriage moved off, Jacqui waved to Lenore and settled herself on the cushioned seat. She had an hour’s ride to the city … an hour to prepare herself for her confrontation with Dane.
An hour to pen the missive she was itching to send.
“I’ve had enough … I’m going after her!” Dane muttered the words to nobody in particular, as no one was about to see him wearing out the sitting-room carpet with his pacing.
Stivers, ever diligent, was hard at work on the second level of the house, while Greta, who had done no work at all, was five minutes away from her next quarter of an hour ritual. Every fifteen minutes she would stomp into the sitting room, gaze accusingly out the window, violently fluff sofa cushions that Dane suspected were a substitute for his head, and mumble something about Fräulein under her breath. Then she would throw Dane a withering, vicious look and storm out, only to repeat the process a quarter hour later.
Dane had withstood the wait for as long as he could; it was time to reclaim his wife.
He stalked into the hallway and promptly came to a screeching halt. Several yards away, the front door opened, admitting the very object of his quest.
When she saw him, Jacqui paused, running her tongue over dry lips. “Hello, Dane,” she said at last.
Dane drew a slow, inward breath. “Are you all right?”
> Jacqui inclined her head. “Didn’t you receive the message from Greenhills?”
“Yes … it arrived last night.”
“Then you know I was with your mother.” Jacqui managed a small smile. “Lenore took excellent care of me.”
“We have to talk.” Dane wasn’t wasting another minute.
“Yes, we do.”
He gestured toward the sitting room and Jacqui moved past him, avoiding his eyes as she sank down into the sofa.
She frowned, attempting to extricate herself from the seemingly endless cushions. “I don’t recall this sofa being quite so … full.”
Dane closed the door behind him, crossing the room and seating himself in the chair beside her. “It wasn’t. … Your housekeeper has been pounding on it all day, presumably because she was restraining herself from bashing in my head.”
“Oh … I see.” The picture Dane painted would have been comical had the prevailing mood been less somber. As things were, neither of them laughed.
“Jacqueline,” Dane began, “I have two questions for you. The first is, Are all your secrets now in the open? And the second is, Why did you keep your column from me?” He pushed on, seeing that she meant to interrupt. “I know my first question angers you, but if you examine your actions, I believe you will agree that it is justified.”
Jacqui folded her hands in her lap. “Since last night, I’ve thought about little else but my actions. I intend to address both your questions. But first, I want you to answer one of mine.”
“Anything.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, Jacqui met Dane’s gaze directly. “Do you believe I am guilty of treason?”
There was no trace of hesitation. “No.”
Her face softened considerably. “Thank you for that,” was all she said. “As to your questions … yes and isn’t that obvious?”
“You thought I would forbid you to continue your work.”
“Wouldn’t you? Is Laffey not why you’re so furious at me?”
“No, it isn’t.” Dane leaned forward, his expression intense. “I’m furious because you refuse to have faith in me, refuse to believe I mean what I say. How can our marriage succeed if you are so damned unwilling to trust me?”
Jacqui stared down at her laced fingers. “Trust does not come easily to me, Dane.” She glanced curiously at him from beneath her lashes. “You wouldn’t have forced me to stop writing?”
“I would have argued with you, just as I intend to now. But not for the reasons you think. I’m proud as hell of your capabilities … and your integrity in stating your views.”
“But …”
“But I’m also worried … about our country’s stability and about you. Your columns infuriate many people. Should anyone learn your identity, you could get hurt.” He scowled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Now that I know I can protect you.”
Jacqui started. “You plan to support me in my writing?”
“That surprises you?”
“It staggers me.” She shook her head in total bewilderment.
“I don’t know why. I believe I made it very clear that I would not attempt to squelch your column.”
“Tolerating my work differs greatly from giving it your blessing … especially in light of our conflicting views. I just never imagined—”
“Well, you were wrong, weren’t you?”
Jacqui’s mind was in a whirlwind. “Dane, what if Secretary Hamilton and all your Federalist associates find out?”
“I’ve already told Alexander.”
“You what?” she gasped. “What did he say?”
“He instructed me to order you to cease writing Laffey’s columns.”
“You would blatantly disregard his demand?”
Dane’s eyes twinkled. “Did you think yourself the only person with independent convictions?” he inquired mildly.
“Of course not. I simply thought …”
“That I would stand beside my friend rather than my wife.”
Jacqui rose, turning away from Dane. “You’re confusing me,” she muttered, fingering the folds of her gown.
Dane stood as well, wrapping his arms about her waist and resting his chin atop her bright head. “You’ve been telling me that for months now,” he teased huskily. “But, actually, I’m quite easy to understand … a most simple man.”
Smiling in spite of herself, Jacqui turned in his arms. “There is nothing simple about you, Dane Westbrooke. Nothing at all.”
He cupped her face tenderly. “Give us a chance, chaton. Trust me.”
Jacqui swallowed. “I’ll try.”
He bent his head to her mouth, but she stopped his progress, pressing her hands against the powerful wall of his chest. “Dane, I know you don’t want to hear this, but your friend, Secretary Hamilton, is not one to accept defeat. If he wants to prevent me from writing my column, he’ll stop at nothing until he has succeeded.”
“I agree.” Dane’s breath was warm against her lips.
“What if he should inform Bache of Laffey’s identity?”
“Then I imagine you would lose your job.” Dane brushed his lips softly against hers.
Jacqui recoiled. “Dane! You said—”
He smiled, drawing her closer to him, soothing the tense muscles of her back with knowing hands. “I’ll deal with Bache . … And if that doesn’t work, I’ll buy his newspaper.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “You couldn’t!”
“Couldn’t I?”
“But he would never—”
“He wouldn’t know.” He nibbled at her mouth. “I have many friends, darling, Republicans as well as Federalists. Rest assured, your job is safe.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “And so are you, now that I know what we’re up against.” His silver eyes darkened with an emotion Jacqui knew only too well. “I do believe we’ve answered each other’s questions most satisfactorily, sweet. Now I’d like to resume our frank communication upstairs in our bedchamber … if that is agreeable to you, my contrary wife?”
Jacqui felt Dane’s magnetic pull fragment her thoughts into a tumble of confusion. “We still have much to discuss,” she protested halfheartedly.
“Oh, I agree.” Dane leaned over and scooped Jacqui up, carrying her purposefully to the stairs. “We shall cover every conceivable topic … later.” His grip tightened. “Last night without you was endless.” He nuzzled her hair.
Jacqui inhaled his wonderful masculine scent, heard his husky, arousing words, and her determination slipped a notch farther. “We can’t solve our differences in bed, Dane,” she tried feebly.
“True.” Dane never broke his stride. “But we can make slow, magnificent love to each other in bed. And at this moment, all I want—”
“Fräulein! … Excuse me … Frau Westbrooke!”
Dane’s hungry declaration was interrupted by a loud exclamation from the hallway.
“At last … you are home!” Greta planted herself at the foot of the stairs, unperturbed by the intimate scene she’d obviously just interrupted.
“Yes, Greta, Frau Westbrooke is home,” Dane answered with deliberate emphasis on Jacqui’s proper form of address. He wedged himself determinedly around Greta’s imposing figure, taking the stairs two at a time. “Why don’t you and Stivers take the rest of the day off?” he suggested in a voice loud enough to bring Stivers rushing to the second-floor landing. “Mrs. Westbrooke and I will not require anything until tomorrow,” Dane informed the startled manservant as they passed him. Never slowing his pace, Dane chuckled wickedly when he felt Jacqui bury her flaming cheeks against his chest.
He paused when he reached their open bedchamber. “Have a pleasant day, Stivers,” he called back cheerily. “Oh, and lock the door behind you, will you please?”
“Yes, Mr. Westbrooke.” Stivers was still staring when Dane shut the door in his face and carried Jacqui across the room, gently depositing her on the bed.
“Dane …” Jacqui scrambled to her knees. “W
hat will Stivers and Greta think?”
Dane was efficiently shedding his clothes. “The truth.” He cast aside his breeches and shirt, baring his powerful, thoroughly aroused body to Jacqui’s gaze. “I want you, chaton,” he said quietly, lowering himself beside her. “I’ll do whatever I must to have you. Now. Always.”
He glided his hands over the smooth curve of her shoulders, watching Jacqui’s breath quicken, tugging the sleeves of her gown down until he had access to the delicate skin of her throat and breasts. “Forget last night,” he ordered softly, slipping her buttons free one by one until Jacqui could feel the cool air on her naked back, a dizzying contrast to the scorching touch of Dane’s lips on her flesh, the heat of the seductive words he breathed against her skin. “Forget your work, our argument, the world.” He closed his mouth over hers, tugging the remainder of her clothing from her trembling body and easing her onto the thick quilt. “Forget everything … everything but this.” He covered her body with his. “Only this.” He tangled his hands in her hair. “Ah, Jacqueline … only this …”
Jacqui did.
Afterward, she lay curled beside him, worried by the magnitude of her feelings. Physically, nothing had changed: their lovemaking was as stormy and fulfilling as ever. But for Jacqui, it was no longer enough. She wanted to remain in her husband’s arms, to prolong the peace she knew there … to hear him say he loved her.
“What is it, chaton?” Dane rubbed his chin across the top of her head, conscious of the sudden tension in her body.
Desperate to run away, more desperate to stay here forever, Jacqui closed her eyes. “I hated when you left me last time,” she blurted out.
Dane understood … perhaps more than she wished him to. He tipped her chin up, kissed her beautiful, flushed cheeks. “I hated it as well,” he replied with sober intensity. “I won’t leave you again.” He held her gaze as poignantly as he held her soft, damp body. “I missed you, chaton.” His voice was like deep velvet. “Very much.”
Jacqui lowered her eyes.
