Masque of Betrayal (3 page)

Betsey took her arm. “Come. Let me introduce you to our other guests.” She turned back to George. “My husband will be delighted to see you. He is with those gentlemen in the corner.” She gestured toward a large group of men, several of whom Jacqui recognized as senators whose political views were closely aligned with Hamilton’s.

“Thank you, my dear. I shall find him.” George caught the appealing look Jacqui shot him and swallowed a smile. “Mrs. Hamilton, I wonder if you would object to
my
introducing Jacqueline to the guests?” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “My daughter is not quite twenty and still somewhat shy.”

Jacqui nearly choked over the barefaced lie. She … shy?

Betsey nodded instantly. “Of course, sir. I understand perfectly.” She took Jacqui’s hands in hers. “Please enjoy yourself. If I can be of any help to you, do not hesitate to ask.”

“You are very kind, Mrs. Hamilton,” Jacqui answered softly, feeling almost guilty over the small betrayal.
Almost.

“Thank you, Father,” she said instantly, when they were alone. “I don’t think I could have withstood an evening of idle chatter.”

“So I assumed.” He looked across the room. “Actually, I see our host is deep in conversation right now. Why don’t I present you to a few of the other guests and we can find Hamilton later.”

Following her father’s gaze, Jacqui could barely make out Secretary Hamilton’s profile and could see nothing of the men with whom he spoke. She nodded eagerly, and she and George strolled in the opposite direction.

“All the guests appear to have arrived.” Alexander Hamilton spoke in low tones. “All but Thomas,” he added. “Will he come?”

“I doubt it, Alexander,” Dane replied honestly. “He has been working every night, trying desperately to find a way to recoup some of his losses.” Seeing the pained look on Hamilton’s face, Dane broke off. He knew his friend felt deep regret, as well as a twinge of guilt, Over Thomas’s business losses. Thomas had served under Hamilton in the War for Independence, had fought beside the Secretary in his brilliant siege against Cornwallis at Yorktown, and Hamilton held a special fondness for Thomas. No amount of personal sentiment, however, would deter Hamilton from his call for higher import tariffs, for he believed them essential toward making America self-sufficient.

Hamilton scanned the room. “I assume you were unsuccessful in convincing your mother to attend?”

Dane’s jaw tightened. “You know she feels awkward attending parties without my father, Alexander. And, as it is highly unlikely that he shall ever stray from English soil, there is little hope for that situation to be remedied. In any case, she sends you her regards and her regrets.”

Hamilton nodded his understanding and tactfully dropped the subject. “If we hope to accomplish our goal of unmasking Laffey, you will have little time to dance and less time to spend with but one lady, Dane. Therefore, I have arranged for lots not to be chosen pairing you with a partner for the evening. It will make it easier for you to circulate.” He gave Dane a meaningful look and concluded, “I hope the gathering proves fruitful.”

Dane finished his Madeira and placed the empty glass on a passing tray. “There is only one way to find out, isn’t there?” With a self-assured smile, he strolled into the crowd.

“Good evening, Westbrooke. Join us.” The greeting came from one of Hamilton’s congressional allies, Senator Rufus King of New York.

“Gentlemen.” Dane walked over to the small group of politicians. He had known most of them for years now and was hard pressed to believe that any of them was, in fact, the man he sought. Still, no one was above suspicion.

“We were just discussing Laffey’s latest column in the
General Advertiser.
” It was as if King had read Dane’s mind. “Rather scathing, was it not?”

Keeping his expression carefully blank, Dane replied noncommitally. “No more so than any of his previous ones. I, myself, give very little credence to his ramblings. And I have to believe that many others share my opinion.”

Six shrewd pairs of eyes studied Dane’s reaction. His close personal relationship with Hamilton was a well-known fact.

“So you don’t believe there is a real threat of war with England?” Richard Hastings, a wealthy Philadelphia merchant, fired the question at Dane.

Dane folded his arms across his broad chest. “Of course the threat exists. We are all well aware of it. However …”

But Hastings wasn’t finished. “What if there should be war … does that present you with a conflict, Westbrooke?”

Ice-gray eyes bored into the pudgy, middle-aged man. “I think it would be the worst thing for our very new, very war-weary country.”

“True. But, should America falter, you still have your heritage and the titles and land that go with it awaiting you at home in England.”

“Philadelphia is my home, Hastings.” Dane’s tone was deceptively quiet, masking a core of barely leashed anger. England and his noble heritage had been cast aside more than a decade ago. He had never looked back.

Hastings saw the muscle flex in Dane’s jaw and abruptly dropped the conversation, sauntering off in pursuit of more Madeira.

Dane turned back to the other men, feeling more than a little irritated. He was determined to find out what he could and then get the hell out of here. The party had, quite suddenly, lost all its appeal.

Jacqui was downright disgusted.

The only conversations she had been privy to thus far had been those of the prominent businessmen who were her father’s friends or competitors. And, since she already had a thorough understanding of the Holt Trading Company, she had no desire to listen to endless hours of praise regarding its profits.

The alternative was even more disconcerting.

Each time she strayed from her father’s side, she was immediately accosted by one of the ball’s available gentlemen and asked to dance. “Gentleman,” she quickly learned, was a complete misnomer, and “dancing” could be loosely defined as lewd and flirtatious advances under the guise of harmless frolicking about the room.

“They would welcome a conflict between us and England, despite the rivers of blood still flowing from their own revolution. Nothing would please the French more than America allying with them against their common enemy, the British.”

Jacqui’s ears perked up at the sweeping statement, which originated from a small cluster of pro-Federalists. Slowly, nonchalantly, she sidled over to their closed circle, stopping just near enough to hear what was being said, but not so near as to be observed.

“That is a certainty.” Jacqui recognized the second voice as that of William Larson, a prestigious Philadelphia banker, who was avidly pro-English. “Is it not, Mr. Secretary?”

“
Welcome
seems a rather strong choice of words.” Alexander Hamilton spoke in measured tones, seeming to consider his answer carefully before he spoke. “I do not believe they would welcome additional bloodshed, regardless of the benefit to their cause. Every day ships from the Continent bring word of another series of beheadings on the
Place de la Revolution.
I would think that restoring order to their own country would be the priority of the French.”

“I agree.” Jacqui saw her father join the group in time to respond to Hamilton’s cautiously worded reply. “But I cannot blame France for expecting our sympathy. After all, it is the English who—”

“Hopefully,” Larson interrupted with a disgusted snort, “our government knows better than to align itself with the French.” He raised bushy brows, shaking his head adamantly from side to side. “We have nothing to gain from supporting a country whose own government is in shambles. We should be concentrating instead on strengthening our trade with England … a far more advantageous goal.”

“Even in light of their seizing hundreds of American ships in the Caribbean?” George Holt sounded stunned.

“Indeed,” agreed Horace Benson, a business associate of George’s and one who shared his more moderate political beliefs. “The English did flagrantly violate our neutrality. Why, over three hundred American ships and their cargoes have been taken!”

“We need England,” Larson shot back. “We do
not
need France.”

Jacqui stiffened.

“The fact is,” Larson was continuing, “that England is doing what it must do in order to prevail. We must do the same. If that means making concessions to the English”— he shrugged—“then that is what it means.”

Jacqui’s feet were carrying her forward, moving with a will of their own. She was just on the verge of exploding into a fierce verbal tirade when her father turned in her direction. Catching her eye, he gave her a warning scowl and a quick shake of his head. Although he said not a word, Jacqui could feel his thoughts as tangibly as if he had spoken them aloud.
Do not create a scene, Jacqueline,
his expression cautioned.
Don’t even consider it.

Jacqui halted in her tracks. Her respect and love for her father warred with her rage and she inhaled sharply, counted to ten under her breath. Then she spun on her heel and stalked off. Her tolerance was gone.

As the strings fell silent, Dane extricated himself from the clinging grasp of the woman with whom he’d been dancing. She raised appealing green eyes to him, staying his exit with a touch of her hand.

“Please, Dane … I have scarcely seen you all night … all week, for that matter. Must you go?”

He was about to reply when a flash of lilac caught his eye. It was a woman … a beautiful, visibly indignant woman … who hovered, for but an instant, in the doorway, then disappeared from the room. Fascinated, Dane wondered who she was and why they’d never met before this night … an introduction he most assuredly would recall. He stared after her, pondering the reasons for her obvious upset, eagerly awaiting a second glimpse of her captivating loveliness.

The doorway remained empty.

Unable to resist the compulsion to do so, Dane went in search of his answer.

“Dane?”

Belatedly, Dane recalled his dance partner. “Forgive me, Amelia,” he said with a regretful smile. “I am not terribly good company tonight.” He glanced restlessly toward the door. “I have pressing matters on my mind.”

“Business matters?” She pouted, unwilling to so easily relinquish him.

Dane frowned, wondering where the deuce the unknown woman had gone. “Uh … yes … important business matters.” He continued to inch away. “But I shall pay you a visit just as soon as they have been resolved.” Without further explanation, he strode off.

The hallway was deserted. Dane checked each of the smaller rooms on the second level, but both were empty. That left only the lower level. His curiosity growing by the minute, he descended the staircase two steps at a time. Then he came to an abrupt halt.

She was just outside the Subscription Room, a mere twenty feet ahead, her back turned toward him. She appeared to be absorbed in the process of adjusting her bodice.

Quietly, he came up behind her.

“May I be of assistance?”

Intent on overhearing the conversation from within, Jacqui was totally taken aback by the deep baritone interruption. Not to mention the outrageousness of the question. Quickly recovering, she spun about, meeting the wicked gleam in his eye with unleashed fury.

“I beg your pardon?” she spit out.

Dane felt as if he’d been dealt a fatal blow. Never had he been so struck by a woman’s physical appearance … but never had he encountered a woman whose beauty equaled that of the stormy vision that stood before him.

Masses of curls the color of rich, deep chocolate tumbled down her back, tendrils of which framed a flawless face and crowned a still more breathtaking body that even the impediment of a gown could not disguise. But what really drew him were her eyes. From beneath thick, sooty lashes, they blazed at him, the deep, intense blue of a midnight sky, filled with the golden sparks of a thousand distant stars.

And, at the moment, as lethal as death.

“Are you quite finished?” Jacqui demanded, acutely aware of his scrutiny.

A slow smile tugged at Dane’s lips. “I don’t believe I am. In fact, I’ve barely begun.”

Jacqui started. Whoever this scoundrel was, his behavior surpassed scandalous. “If you will excuse me, sir, I was on my way out for some air.” She gave him a meaningful look. “Which I require now more than ever.” With a last reluctant glance at the Subscription Room, she stalked out of the tavern.

Second Street was deserted. Jacqui took several deep breaths, shivering, wishing she had her cloak with her. She was suddenly and inexplicably chilled to the bone.

“Would you like my coat?”

The low-pitched masculine voice brought her up short.

“No,” she retorted without turning around. “I would not like your coat. Nor your company.”

He chuckled. “There are many who find my company quite pleasant. But, be that as it may, you should not be out here alone at night. It isn’t safe for a lady.”

“Oh really?” She spun about to face him. “Just what makes you think that I am a lady?”

Dane’s silver gaze smoldered, taking in her expensive clothing and jewelry, then lingered on the expanse of creamy skin above her bodice. “Your appearance tells me so.”

“Appearances are often deceiving,” she countered.

“So they are,” he agreed in a husky voice. “Very well then, if you are
not
as you appear to be …” Without warning, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against the fragrant pulse at her throat.

Jacqui wrenched away, drew back her hand, and slapped him resoundingly across the face. “You lecher! If the streets are
unsafe
for ladies such as myself, it is because
gentlemen
such as you make them that way!” With all the regality of a queen, she raised her chin, lifted her skirts, and swept past him. The tavern door slammed shut behind her.

Dane rubbed the smarting edge of his jaw, reeling from the impact of her blow. He was stunned by his own impulsive actions. Whatever had possessed him to take such outrageous liberties with an obviously well-bred young lady? He considered the question with bewildered amusement. Well-bred, yes, but unlike any young lady he’d ever met. Forthright, independent, and disturbingly immune to his charm. All of which added up to one thing: a challenge. Something Dane Westbrooke could never resist.