Masque of Betrayal (13 page)

Not merely guests, Jacqui amended to herself. Federalist guests. It was no secret that Anne Bingham’s brand of aristocracy, so close to that of the English nobility, was shunned by most of the Republican party. Even Jefferson, a close friend of the Binghams, was reluctant to attend their glittering, ostentatious gatherings.

Imagine the information one could glean within these dazzling walls tonight.

Driven by that tantalizing thought, Jacqui’s composure returned full measure. Her small chin set, she was ready to begin the evening.

It took Dane longer to recover.

Upon joining the party, he felt out of sorts, still aching with unappeased, heightened arousal, wanting nothing more than to make his excuses, drag Jacqui from the room, and take her home to his bed.

Instead, here he was, in the Binghams’ fashionably decorated salon, oblivious to the elaborately mirrored parlors and marble hallways that admitted Philadelphia’s elite. To Dane, the evening ahead appeared endless.

He did, however, immediately approach their host and take him off to a side.

“Good evening, William.” Dane’s tone was intense.

“Good evening and welcome, Dane.” Always charming and eloquent, William Bingham was, at this moment, highly curious as to the reason for Dane’s purposeful expression and the nature of his urgent request to speak with him alone. “I’m delighted that you and Miss Holt could join us tonight.”

Dane was in no mood for small talk, not even with Bingham, who was both a good friend and a respected colleague. Immensely successful, the Federalist merchant and land speculator was, in Dane’s estimation, a likely candidate for the U.S. Senate.

But despite Dane’s high regard for their host, he wasted no time in getting to the point. “I presume you’ll soon be drawing lots?”

“Shortly … why do you ask?”

“Because I want my number to match Miss Holt’s.”

Bingham looked astonished, then amused. “I believe that must be left to chance, my friend.”

“Not if you choose to intercede.” Dane ignored William’s knowing smile, glancing around to make sure Jacqui was not in earshot. “William, you are the presiding official of the dance assembly here tonight and are therefore the only one who can … make any changes in the drawing procedure.”

“Make any changes? Am I to be bribed, then?”

Dane didn’t bat an eyelash. “I intend to be the one who dances with Jacqueline Holt.”

Now Bingham was openly grinning. Dane’s avid pursuit of Jacqueline Holt these past months was no secret. The only unanswered question was, with what degree of success? “I see. And what incentive do you believe would influence me to make these ‘changes’ for you?” Bingham goaded good-naturedly. “Perhaps
I
will be the one to select Miss Holt’s number. I would consider it a great stroke of luck. She is beautiful, intelligent, and—”

“And mine,” Dane calmly finished. “Which everyone knows with the exception of Jacqueline. So you see my dilemma.”

Bingham laughed. “I do.”

“You could provide me with the matching lot as a simple act of friendship,” Dane suggested, inclining his head thoughtfully, “or there is always the possibility of discussing my new mare, who I do recall you’ve admired once or twice. Have I mentioned that she is ready to race?”

Bingham’s mouth fell open. “You would
give
me that magnificent horse just to ensure a night of dancing with Jacqueline Holt?” he asked incredulously.

“I prefer to think of it as a trade.” Dane’s expression took on that familiar predatory look. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to get what I want. And, William, I want Jacqueline Holt.” He waited, his steel-gray eyes on his host’s face.

The other man shook his head in amazement, then handed Dane the requested folded billet. “You astonish me, Westbrooke. But I do admire your determination.” He grinned again. “Keep your mare. I have a feeling that I am about to bear witness to the most exhilarating of competitions right here tonight. I wish you luck.”

“And I shall need it.” Dane took the billet and gave a thoroughly entertained Bingham a mock salute.
“Merci,
my friend.”

Hurrying off to find Jacqui, Dane was most annoyed to discover her being fawned over by a salivating crowd of admirers and trying, unsuccessfully, to extricate herself. With a curt nod and little else in the way of preliminaries, Dane acknowledged the group and then dragged Jacqui with him.

“Who the hell suggested that we attend this party anyway?” he muttered for her ears alone.

Jacqui looked up at him and laughed. “I believe it was you, sir. I warned you of what to expect.” Her restless gaze roved the room and she inched away from Dane. “Nevertheless, I thank you most kindly for your gallant rescue. And now, if you will excuse me …”

He caught her arm. “Where are you going?”

She raised her chin. “To quote you, ‘I am off to accumulate more ammunition for my Republican cause.’ ”

Dane’s disgruntled mood eased a bit. “In other words, you are going to eavesdrop on any number of conversations, then choose the one you wish to interrupt, and do so.”

Jacqui looked impatiently about the crowded parlor. “Exactly.” She tugged her arm free. “So, if you will permit me, I will take my leave. I haven’t much time to immerse myself in enlightening discourse. Before long, lots will be chosen and I will be assigned a partner with whom I must dance.” She grimaced. “At which point one of these perfectly intelligent, polished gentlemen you see”—she made a wide sweep of her hand—“will be suddenly transformed into a lecherous, simpering fool, interested only in admiring my charms on the dance floor … and sampling them later in the bedroom. After which, all hope for a spirited political discussion will be lost.”

Dane tapped his wineglass thoughtfully, his silver eyes twinkling. “A dreadful dilemma, to be sure. But don’t give up, my love. Perhaps it will be someone slightly more deserving who has the honor of being paired with you this evening.”

Jacqui cast a skeptical glance about the room. “
That
is highly unlikely, given the choices.”

“Faith,
mon chaton colereux.
Faith.” Dane waved her off with his hand. “Your unsuspecting public awaits.”

Drawn by the allure of the night’s potential challenge, Jacqui complied, eagerly blending into the crowd, simultaneously reminding herself to be extra cautious about the way she obtained her information.

“I would suggest eliminating that very blatant, suggestive look from your face, Dane. Especially in light of the fact that the young lady in question’s father has just arrived.”

Dane’s gaze darted to the doorway in time to see George Holt make his entrance, a lovely and smiling Monique Brisset on his arm. Chuckling, Dane turned to address the warning voice behind him. “Thank you for your sage words of advice, Alexander. When did you arrive? I never saw you … or Betsey, for that matter.”

Hamilton smiled, inclining his head slightly. “Indeed? Why does that not surprise me? I don’t believe you would have noticed an armed battle taking place right before you … not when your attention was so totally consumed with the very lovely Jacqueline Holt.”

Dane averted his head to view Jacqui, who had boldly joined a group of men arguing over what John Jay should hope to accomplish in England. “Jacqueline is nothing if not consuming,” he agreed, his voice laced with tenderness and humor.

Hamilton clasped his hands behind his back “Yes, she appears to be quite a handful,” he noted dryly. “Willful, forthright, and most vehement in her political opinions, which, incidentally, are the antithesis of yours. I would watch what I say if I were you, lest you hear your own thoughts spouted back at you before a crowded ballroom.”

Dane laughed aloud at the vivid … and accurate … image Hamilton’s words conveyed. He was not offended by his friend’s admonition, for Dane understood its basis. Betsey Hamilton was as gentle and malleable a mate as any man could want … especially a man like Hamilton. “You are just unused to a headstrong woman, Alexander, nor would you choose to wed one. Jacqueline is quite different from your Betsey.”

Giving credence to his words, Jacqui’s voice rose clearly to their ears.

“Let us hope that Jay does not concede
too
much to the English. After all, they have lied to us, attacked our ships, and now expect us to compromise to suit their needs!” She paused only to take a breath.

Hamilton winced, shook his head in disbelief. “I do not envy you, Dane. Jacqueline Holt is more than a challenge; she is a brazen little hellion that I doubt even
you
can tame!”

Dane laughed even harder, watching Jacqui with unconcealed pride. He might not share her beliefs, he might question the wisdom of her blunt and forthright vocalizations, but he felt a tremendous respect for her integrity and her commitment, and he gloried in her fervent, genuine love for their country. “Perhaps I cannot tame her,” he cheerfully agreed, “but I can certainly enjoy my attempts to do so.”

Hamilton counted off Jacqui’s vices on his fingers. “She is unconventional, unrestrained, and overly spirited.”

“True. But those very traits, while agreeably irritating in politics, do have advantages.” Dane’s eyes twinkled. “Remember, my friend, how brightly those same passions must burn elsewhere.”

Hamilton digested Dane’s words carefully. “I don’t doubt that is so,” he said at last. “I wonder, however, if it is worth the price.”

While the words themselves were teasing, something about Hamilton’s tone struck Dane as pointed.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” he demanded.

Hamilton studied his friend, then shook his head. “I was merely noting that you seem to be rather taken with the lady.”

“I’ve made that no secret, especially from you.”

Hamilton nodded. “True.” He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t think a party at the Binghams’ home would interest Miss Holt … in light of her obviously contrary political beliefs, that is.”

The grin returned to Dane’s face. “I take credit for Jacqueline’s reluctant decision to attend. I appealed to her thirst for information … among other things.”

Hamilton stiffened. “Meaning?”

Dane shot him a puzzled look. “Meaning that Jacqueline’s curiosity won out over her stubbornness. She is a very intelligent young woman who wished to be part of something more substantial than a quilting circle. Hopefully, she also wanted to spend the evening with me … which I intend to ensure she does. What on earth is wrong with you tonight?” he asked abruptly.

Hamilton pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “I’m not certain, Dane. But I believe it could be possible that …”

“Good evening, Mr. Secretary. It is a pleasure to see you.” George Holt interrupted whatever it was Hamilton was going to say. “And good evening again, Dane. Where, may I ask, is Jacqui?”

Dane turned and gestured toward the speechless group of men who were now being instructed in the
true
causes of France’s revolution, Jacqui elaborating on the atrocities committed by the French monarchs. “Your lovely and fiery daughter is holding court,” Dane informed him. “Feel free to join her.”

George rolled his eyes. “Thank you, no. I believe I’ve heard this particular argument already.” He gave Hamilton an apologetic look. “If you’d like me to speak to her …”

“No.” It was Dane who answered at once, shaking his head emphatically. Seeing George’s surprised look, he added, “Soon numbers will be called and the dancing will commence. After which, I can promise that your daughter will be far too busy to indulge in political debates.” He took a sip of his Madeira. “Is Miss Brisset with you tonight?”

George nodded, gesturing toward the corner of the room. “Yes, Monique has joined the ladies. In fact, I did offer to bring her a glass of wine. So if you gentlemen will forgive me …”

“Of course,” Dane said. Actually, he was not sorry to see George take his leave, for he wanted to speak with Alexander alone. His friend’s conduct was most odd tonight; in fact, he’d not said a word the entire time George was present. Highly unusual behavior for a man known for his wit and charm. Not to mention the bizarre turn their own conversation had taken just before George Holt’s arrival.

Anxious to resolve the matter, Dane turned to Hamilton, only to realize that he too had moved off. Very strange, Dane mused silently, scanning the salon. When he didn’t immediately spot his friend, he decided to let the matter drop for now. There was plenty of time to continue their discussion tomorrow. Tonight, Dane had something else on his mind.

“Jacqueline.”

Inwardly, Jacqui groaned, recognizing not only her father’s voice, but his quiet, no-nonsense tone. She stepped away from the gaping group of gentlemen and turned to receive her lecture. “Yes, Father?” She gave him her most winsome smile.

This time it didn’t work.

George Holt was shaking his head emphatically from side to side. “Do not attempt to divert me … it won’t help. Now that you have educated the entire Federalist party in the proper way to run a country, do you think you might control yourself a bit? If nothing else, you are calling a great deal of attention to both of us.”

Jacqui studied her father’s expression, which revealed nothing of what his words might imply. Was she just imagining the warning note she heard?

Countless times over the past year Jacqui had found herself wondering if her father suspected she was Jack Laffey; countless times she had actually considered broaching the subject with him. But always something had stopped her. And that something was the fear that, if she were wrong and her father were totally unaware of the truth, her telling him could do naught but cause friction between them. Because Jacqui knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that even if her father should forbid her from penning her column, she would not obey him. Her principles would not permit it.

She took a deep breath. “I apologize, Father. I didn’t mean to cause you any embarrassment.”

“There is much more than embarrassment at stake, Jacqui, and I believe you know it.”

Jacqui’s head came up and she met her father’s pointed gaze. A current of communication ran between them.
He knows,
she thought, worried and relieved all at once.
He must know.
Keeping her features carefully schooled, she nodded. “Yes, Father,” was all she said. But she sensed that her underlying meaning was not lost to George, who smiled his approval and guided her over to greet Monique.