Masque of Betrayal (24 page)

She inhaled again, submerged in the raw, virile essence that was Dane combined with the wildly exciting smells of their midnight lovemaking. Her nipples tightened at the memory, sending jolts of pure carnal sensation through the pit of her stomach to the yearning emptiness between her legs.

The thought of never again feeling Dane’s powerful body possess hers, never hearing the dark promises he whispered as he took her closer and closer to heaven … Jacqui wasn’t certain she could bear the loss. And she dared not allow herself to consider the remote chance that she was carrying his child, for that possibility wreaked havoc on her emotions.

You will wed me, Jacqueline …
Dane’s vow drifted through the turmoil of her mind
… if I have to drag you down the aisle to ensure that you do. And once you belong to me I am going to strip away all your secrets, one by one, until your mind and your heart lie as naked before me as your body does now.

Jacqui vaulted to a sitting position, her eyes wide with sudden realization. How very stupid she had been … how blind! The answer had been there all along, needing only that she see it.

Dane had known from the first what her decision would be. It was there … in the very words he had spoken, in the manner in which he had delivered them. She should have immediately understood his intent, but she’d been so caught up in her own emotions that she’d been unable to think clearly.

But now, like a bolt from the blue, Jacqui vividly recognized the dare Dane had issued … a dare he knew would be impossible for her to resist.

With a triumphant laugh, Jacqui stood, scooping Whiskey off the bed and into her arms. What had minutes ago been a noose about her neck had now become the greatest challenge of her life.

“Oh, Whiskey, this is going to be my grandest adventure to date,” she informed the sleepy kitten, who gave a huge yawn and meowed his discontent at being awakened. Unperturbed, Jacqui hugged him to her. “You and I will be making some changes in the near future, my little friend,” she informed him, her eyes dancing with excitement. “I shall acquire a new surname and you shall acquire a new home.” She tossed Whiskey onto the quilt and grinned at herself in the mirror, seeing far beyond her own tousle-haired reflection. “Yes, Dane, I am going to accept your tempting offer. I’ll become your wife … and your mistress.” She slid her dressing gown from her shoulders and let it fall into a silken pool at her feet. “I’ll marry you and enjoy your splendid charms most thoroughly,” she continued, glancing back at the bed, her lips curving into a sensual smile.

“But you’d best think again if you plan to delve into my secrets, Mr. Westbrooke. For, wife or not, they shall remain my own.” She slipped a clean chemise over her head and watched it slide along the slender contours of her body. “You believe I cannot have it all, Dane?” She raised her chin in spirited defiance. “Well, I intend to prove you wrong. Your challenge has been issued. At midday I shall accept. And our contest of wills can begin.”

Still smiling, Jacqui finished dressing and ran a brush through her tangled curls. “We’d be wise to prepare ourselves, little friend,” she informed Whiskey, “for we have a formidable battle ahead of us.” Jacqui’s gaze fell on the quill pen she kept on her nightstand and she walked over to touch it, a surge of excitement rushing through her. “In perhaps a month, Whiskey, we’ll begin our new life,” she declared. “You, I …

“And Jack Laffey.”

George folded his morning paper and tossed it onto the table beside his uneaten breakfast, rubbing his eyes wearily. He’d spent the long predawn hours mulling over what had transpired. Being a pragmatic man, George understood that to belabor the mourning of Jacqui’s lost innocence would be a total waste of time. His unique daughter had never been bound by convention; why should he expect her to behave otherwise when it came to her virtue?

No, anger and regret were not what kept George awake until daybreak. What kept him awake was worry.

Jacqui was so damned headstrong that, had he pushed her too hard, she would have staunchly refused to even consider marriage to Dane. But, under the circumstances, had he been too lenient? She was in love with Dane, despite her protests to the contrary. And although she herself didn’t recognize it, she needed Dane, badly, to exorcise the ghosts of the past and teach her how to love again.

She could be with child.

George tensed in his chair. No, he concluded with total conviction, there could be no refusal.

“Good morning, Father.” Jacqui sailed into the room, looking a bit peaked, but fresh and lovely in a lemon-yellow gown … and determined as hell, a decisive gleam in her eye that George found tremendously unsettling.

“Jacqueline,” he began quickly, even as she seated herself at the dining-room table, “I have had much time to think, as I know you have.” Jacqui’s chin came up and George braced himself for a battle he intended to win. “I understand how much your independence means to you, how upset you are over the prospect of relinquishing it and”—he glanced rapidly about to make sure Greta was not within hearing distance—“possibly abandoning Laffey’s column,” he finished, seeing they were alone. “Therefore, I also understand your reluctance to wed Dane. However, given the circumstances, I feel
strongly
compelled, as your father, to insist that you do.” He paused, waiting for the explosion.

“Agreed.” Jacqui helped herself to a freshly baked strawberry tart and a cup of coffee.

George blinked. “Pardon me?”

Jacqui swallowed her first bite. “I said, fine.” She dabbed at her mouth with a delicate linen napkin.

“I just announced that you will marry Dane,” George repeated, thinking that per chance she had misunderstood him.

“I know. And I concurred.” Jacqui calmly sipped her coffee. “I have every intention of wedding Dane.”

“You do?”

Jacqui gave him a brilliant smile. “Yes, Father, I do. So stop worrying and eat some breakfast. I don’t want you to become ill. … After all, I need a strong arm to lead me down the aisle.”

George leaned forward, a dubious look on his face. “What are you up to, Jacqueline?”

“I?” She was all innocence as she continued to nibble on her tart. “Why, nothing, Father. I’m simply doing what you … and my soon-to-be betrothed
requested
that I do.” She squeezed George’s arm lovingly. “So cease this unnecessary fretting. All will be well.” She finished her coffee, then rose. “Please ask Greta to fetch me when Dane arrives.”

Mystified by her uncharacteristic behavior, George watched Jacqui hurry off. A slow smile tugged at his lips. Whatever was behind his daughter’s surprising decision, he knew one thing for certain: Dane Westbrooke was about to meet the challenge of his life.

Dane would have been the first to agree.

Since leaving the Holts’ home, he had alternately paced, cursed, and drunk half a bottle of his own whiskey. Now, sleepless and troubled, he trekked the last few blocks to Hamilton’s office, hating what he was about to do, knowing that it had to be done.

He knocked briefly, entering at Hamilton’s summons. Once inside, he stopped short, surprised to see Thomas seated across the desk from Alexander.

“Good morning.” Hamilton leaned back in his chair, his keen gaze taking in Dane’s stiff stance, noting the lines of tension that surrounded his chiseled mouth.

“Alexander. Thomas.” Dane acknowledged both men with an inquisitive tilt of his head. “Forgive me, I didn’t know you had planned a meeting for this morning. Have I come at a bad time?”

Thomas cleared his throat awkwardly, coming to his feet. “No, of course not. Actually, I simply ran into Secretary Hamilton on my way to work and took the opportunity to speak with him. … It’s been a long while since we’ve seen each other.”

“Of course.” Dane accepted the explanation without question, knowing how deep Thomas’s respect for his ex-commander went. “Indeed, it is fitting that I found you together.” Dane strolled across the office, his tone hollow, his expression bleak. “After all, my two closest friends should be the first to hear my news.”

Hamilton followed Dane’s movements with shrewd blue eyes. “What’s happened?” he asked quietly.

“Yes … you look dreadful,” Thomas added, frowning at his friend’s somber mood.

“Dreadful? Why, this is an auspicious occasion,” Dane returned, pouring three early morning drinks. “One that requires a toast.” He handed each man a glass of whiskey, keeping the most generous portion for himself. “Gentlemen, you are looking at a soon-to-be married man. With a modicum of success, my betrothal will be a
fait accompli
by nightfall.”

“Your betrothal?” Thomas repeated, his eyes widening. “To Jacqueline Holt?”

“The very same.” Dane raised his glass in mock tribute.

“Dane, what do you think you are doing?” Hamilton stood slowly, placing his untouched drink on the desk.

“Doing?” Dane took a gulp of whiskey, feeling it burn a path to his empty stomach. “Why, solving all our problems, Alexander.”

Blinking in confusion, Thomas looked from Hamilton’s stony expression to Dane’s haunted one. “What are the two of you talking about?”

Dane hesitated, noting Alexander’s almost imperceptible shake of the head. “Alexander is worried about me, Thomas,” he answered in half-truth. “I suppose he never expected that I would become so utterly smitten with one woman. Especially
this
woman.”

Thomas absorbed that information with a crooked grin. “From what you’ve told me, Jacqueline is completely different from all your previous entanglements.”

The rigid lines of Dane’s face softened momentarily. “Thankfully, yes. Jacqueline is refreshingly direct and spirited.”

“And honest?” Hamilton added softly.

Thunderclouds seemed to darken the room in silent threat.

“That has become my job to find out, has it not?” Dane replied bitterly.

Thomas pressed his lips together, aware of the veiled aura that surrounded the conversation. “Is Jacqueline displeased about your impending marriage?” he tried.

Dane drained his drink in one gulp. “I could safely wager that Jacqueline would prefer wedding Satan himself.”

“You’ve argued?”

“Constantly.”

“Then why in the hell are you marrying her?” Thomas burst out.

Dane regarded his empty glass with a smirk, as if enjoying some private joke. “Let’s just say that Jacqueline and I share a mutual … passion. For each other and for our country.” A look of pain cut across his face, revealing the naked emotion he hid beneath his scornful veneer. “Or so I pray.”

Understanding slowly dawned in Thomas’s eyes. Obviously, something about Jacqueline Holt rendered Hamilton suspicious and Dane uneasy and vulnerable. Knowing Dane as long and as well as he did, Thomas sincerely doubted that Jacqueline’s emotional involvement was at issue. By nature, women adored Dane, were drawn to him like moths to a flame. It was unlikely that Jacqueline would be the first to remain immune to his charm. So if her passion for
Dane
were not the question, that left but one thing … her commitment to her country.

Thomas’s heart gave a leap of hope. “You care very deeply for Jacqueline.” He knew he had to tread carefully.

Dane nodded. “Very deeply.”

“And she for you?”

A dark smile tugged at Dane’s lips. “To her chagrin … yes.”

“You are troubled that her political views are so different from yours … rather, from ours?” Thomas quickly amended.

Apparently he was nearing his mark, for Dane and Hamilton exchanged brief glances.

“That in itself is not a problem,” was Dane’s guarded answer. “Unless Jacqueline carries the difference in our convictions to an unforgivable extreme.”

The underlying agony in Dane’s qualifying statement, together with the pointed, charged look he leveled at Hamilton, confirmed Thomas’s suspicions.

He had his answer.

“Let me be the first to congratulate you, Dane,” he said abruptly, suddenly eager to be gone. He shook Dane’s hand, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “The best of luck to you … and Jacqueline. I look forward to meeting your bride-to-be in the very near future.”

Dane nodded. “Thank you, Thomas. As for meeting Jacqueline, I plan to make this wedding happen as soon as possible … for many reasons.” He paused briefly. “I’d be pleased if you would act as my groomsman.”

“I’d be privileged to stand up for you.” Thomas clapped Dane on the shoulder, then extended his hand to Hamilton. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Secretary. It’s been an honor, as always.” He headed for the door. “I’d best be off. I cannot afford to neglect my business. … It’s not exactly thriving.” He forced a smile. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Dane waited until the door had closed behind Thomas before he addressed Hamilton, no longer disguising the intensity of his feelings. “In light of your misgivings, Alexander, I find myself relieved that your married state prevents you from serving as my groomsman. There is already too much hypocrisy surrounding this marriage.”

Hamilton leaned forward, assessing his friend with understanding and concern. “Are you sure this is what you want, Dane?” His voice was gentle.

“Yes. Very sure.”

“Have you considered—”

“Damn it, Alexander!” Dane slammed his fist onto the desk, his control splitting in two, the cords of his neck taut and straining. “I’m doing what you asked of me … investigating the Holts. Let that be enough!” He strode to the door, turning back with blazing silver eyes. “But remember this. Regardless of what I uncover, no matter what the outcome of my search, Jacqueline Holt will be my wife. God help anyone who forgets it.”

Thomas was breathless with anticipation as he hastened up the steps of Monique’s modest home on Walnut Street. He knocked impatiently, pacing on the narrow walkway until Monique opened the door.

“Thomas?” She looked stunned, holding the sides of her dressing gown together, glancing uncomfortably up and down the street. “Why are you here? It’s daylight!”

Thomas eased past her and into the hallway. “Then you’d best let me in at once!” he teased. Seeing her distress, he kissed her hand softly. “Stop worrying, love, it’s barely morning. No one is about to witness my arrival,”