Masque of Betrayal (31 page)

“Good idea,” Jacqui returned eagerly … and a bit too quickly.

Dane’s eyes narrowed. “And what have you planned for the afternoon, my complacent wife?”

Jacqui gave a careless shrug. “Oh, I thought perhaps I’d pay Father a visit. I haven’t seen him since the wedding.”

“An excellent notion.” Dane straightened his waistcoat. “I’ll escort you to your father’s office on my way to Westbrooke Shipping.”

Jacqui paled. “No! That is … I’m not finished dressing.”

“You look lovely to me. But I’ll wait while you ready yourself.” Dane leaned nonchalantly against the wall, regarding his wife with noncommittal ease. “I’ll take you to your father, leave you to have a lovely visit while I finish off my contracts, then fetch you on my way home. It all works out rather nicely, don’t you think?” He flashed her a disarming smile.

Unable to extricate herself, Jacqui rose. “Very well, Dane. I’ll be down in a few moments.” Placidly, she left the room, climbed the flight of stairs, and then, as soon as she was out of Dane’s line of vision, tore off to her bedroom at a breakneck pace. She scooped up Laffey’s article, dashed off a few quick sentences, then hastily reread it, scowling as she did. There was so much she’d wanted to elaborate on, so much that needed to be said. But, given the circumstances, she hadn’t much choice. It was now or not at all.

Jacqui carefully folded the article and tucked it inside her bodice. The next challenge lay just ahead … convincing her father that he
must
help to keep Jack Laffey alive.

“Jacqueline, are you mad?” George Holt shut his office door with a firm click, determined to keep this particular conversation private. Having just shared a delightful two-hour visit with his beloved daughter, he was totally unprepared for the shock that accompanied her outrageous request.

He spun on his heel to face her, purposefully ignoring the sparks of anger that glinted in her eyes. “What you are suggesting is absurd … out of the question!”

“Why, Father? Why is it out of the question?” Jacqui fired back, raising her chin defiantly. “Did you expect Jack Laffey to quietly expire with the advent of my marriage?”

“You won’t
have
a marriage if Dane discovers what you are planning!”

“I have no intentions of allowing him to discover what I am planning. That is why I am asking
you
to do what I cannot.”

George rubbed his palms together, totally at a loss.

“Father.” Jacqui went to him, took his hands in hers. “You were the one who encouraged me to pursue both my marriage and my beliefs.”

“But I never meant for you to deceive your husband!”

Jacqui’s delicate features hardened. “I have no other choice.”

“You most certainly have. You could tell him the truth.”

“And he would demand that I cease writing my columns.”

“Yes, indeed he would.”

“I cannot accept that. Not now … with all that is happening, not only in Europe, but right here in our country, in our own state.” She shook her head in adamant decision. “No, Laffey must continue.” So saying, she extracted the folded sheet of paper from her bodice. “Here is this week’s column for Bache.”

Reluctantly, George took the paper, scanning its contents. “Many important people will be incensed by this essay,” he stated flatly.

“It would not be the first time. But I cannot remain silent when Pennsylvania’s farmers, already in dire straits, are being forced to pay taxes they simply cannot afford. Taxes levied by statesmen whose concerns are only for the rich and never the needy.” She reached up, touched George’s cheek. “Please,
mon père.
All I ask is that you deliver the column. The responsibility is entirely mine and I will suffer any repercussions that occur.” She gave him a beseeching half-smile. “Once the farmers are victorious, the need for me to air my views will not be nearly as pressing.”

“Another equally urgent cause will require your attention, I assure you,” George said skeptically.

“I will consider telling Dane the truth.”

“Will you?”

Praying for some divine act that would restrict her from fulfilling this vow without forcing her to lie to her father, Jacqui nodded. “Yes … but in the interim, will you help me?”

George released his breath on a defeated sigh. “When have I ever been able to refuse you anything,
ma petite
?”

Jacqui squeezed his fingers gratefully. “Thank you, Father.” She rushed on, before he could change his mind. “Since you’ve unobtrusively accompanied me on my past excursions, I assume you know the time and place of the meetings?”

Recalling the deserted location where he had, several times, followed his intrepid daughter as she staunchly delivered her column, George frowned. “In the alley behind the courthouse and burial grounds, just past Market Street. Tonight. At eight o’clock.” He slipped the paper into his coat pocket. “And don’t thank me, Jacqueline. I shudder to think what Dane’s reaction would be to our arrangement.”

“I assure you, he shan’t learn of it from me.” Jacqui’s nerves tensed immediately. “Father?”

“Nor shall he learn anything from me. I trust you to handle the situation with your husband.”

Dane froze, his hand poised to knock. The final words of the conversation taking place on the other side of the door cut through him like a knife, piercing his gut, his faith, his heart.

Tonight’s meeting? The situation with your husband? Our arrangement?

Slowly, Dane lowered his arm, his fist clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He had suspected this ugly truth, though he’d fought to deny its lethal existence. Lord knew, Alexander had tried to prepare him, warned him time and again. Then why did he feel so damned betrayed?

He had to hear more, to be certain … to know the extent of his wife’s treachery. Pressing his ear to the door, Dane strained to listen, but the voices had dropped down to a murmur and the occasional phrases he could make out were innocent in content.

Composing his features, he knocked.

There was a brief silence, then George’s tentative “Yes?”

Dane stepped into the office. “I’ve come to collect my wife.” Despite his best attempts, his tone was curt.

George wet his lips nervously, an odd look on his face. Guilt? “Certainly, Dane. Jacqui and I have had a lovely visit.”

Jacqui, on the other hand, was all sweetness and smiles. She stood on tiptoe and kissed her father’s cheek. “It was wonderful to see you, Father. You’ll have to come for dinner sometime soon. Oh, and Monique too, of course,” she added quickly.

Dane was silent during their walk home and Jacqui glanced up from time to time, studying his rigid profile, gauging the significance and extent of her husband’s odd, brooding humor.

“Did you accomplish your work?” she tried at last.

“More or less.”

“Problems?”

“None.”

“Then what is wrong?” she blurted out, pausing on their front walkway.

Dane came to a dead stop, staring down into her face with a predatory look that chilled her. “You tell me.”

Jacqui swallowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Storm clouds erupted in Dane’s eyes. “Don’t you?”

Slowly, apprehensively, Jacqui shook her head from side to side. “No.”

The pounding in Dane’s chest expanded into an explosion of pure fury. He wanted to shout out his agony and his betrayal, to shake the lies from Jacqui’s traitorous mouth, to hurt her as profoundly as she’d hurt him.

And yet … he wanted her to deny her guilt, to explain away the truth, to eradicate the past.

To love him as he loved her.

With a muffled curse, Dane seized Jacqui’s hand, dragging her into the house. “Go home, Stivers,” he ordered the surprised manservant, who stood, blinking, in the empty hallway. “I won’t be needing you until tomorrow.”

“Very good, sir. Have a pleasant evening.”

Dane didn’t answer. He had reached the top of the stairway, tugging a thoroughly stunned Jacqui in his wake.

“Dane, where are we going?” She struggled to free her wrist, a bit frightened by the demons that seemed to be driving her husband.

Dane shoved her into their room and slammed the door behind them. “We are going to the one place where you cannot lie to me … or to yourself. Our bed.” He ignored her protests, nearly tearing both their clothing in his haste to affirm what was real between them, what her deceit could not erase.

“Dane, stop it!” She pushed at his massive shoulders as he lowered them both to the soft mattress. “Tell me why you are so angry!”

He lifted her face roughly, forcing her to meet blazing gray eyes that scorched her with heated accusation. “You don’t
really
want the answer to that question, now do you, my love?” he asked, his voice a lethal whisper. When Jacqui fell silent, he gave a bitter laugh. “I thought not. So instead,
you
tell
me.
Tell me how much you want me, how much you crave my touch, my hands, my mouth.” He glided his fingers up her back, along her spine, smiling darkly at her inadvertent tremor of pleasure. “Give me this truth, Jacqueline … the only truth we share. Tell me what you feel when I’m deep inside you, when nothing in the world exists but my body taking yours, possessing yours, giving you pleasure so unbearable that you cry out my name, beg me not to stop. Tell me, my beautiful wife. Tell me.” He parted her lips, his own mouth violent, hungry. “Melt for me,
chaton.
Give me your passion, your fire. Show me that sole shimmering reality that is ours.” He swallowed her helpless whimper, digging his hands in her hair and rubbing his body slowly over hers. “Tell me, Jacqueline. Show me.”

Jacqui wasn’t sure if the words were an order or a plea. Nor did she care. Driven by the innate realization that whatever information Dane had gleaned would forever change the bond that had grown between them, she responded without hesitation, craving the reaffirmation of their passion as much as Dane did. And despite the rage that drove her husband, despite all that was wrong with this mating, she wanted him … desperately.

Jacqui opened her body to his and arched her back in silent invitation. She saw the flicker of surprise in Dane’s eyes, but it vanished instantly beneath the urgency pounding inside him. With a primitive growl, he wedged himself between Jacqui’s thighs and plunged deep, hard, shuddering as he felt her warm wetness close around him.

“Jacqueline …” He said her name once … in a raw, tortured voice … and then there were no more words. Governed by emotions too sharp to withstand, but too profound to express, Dane gave Jacqui the unendurable pain of his love and betrayal and Jacqui responded with all the fear and conflict warring within her.

Their climax was unbearable, endless in its intensity, speaking far more eloquently than words ever could.

A long moment ticked by, neither of them willing to relinquish the tenuous wonder of their joined bodies. Dane clutched Jacqui to him, savoring her softness, his own breathing raggedy unsteady. Then abruptly, he released her, rolling away and coming to his feet in one purposeful motion. Angrily, he yanked on his breeches and walked over to the open window, gazing moodily out into the late afternoon sky, brutally aware that their passion, no matter how staggering, could no longer annihilate all the lies looming between them.

Jacqui opened her eyes, feeling limp and sated, yet strangely void, bereft without her husband beside her. Silently, she watched Dane’s taut, bare back, bathed in the molten orange light cast by the setting sun as it filtered through the room. She shivered, frightened by the fragile tenderness that was suddenly and unexpectedly born inside her, urging her to go to Dane, to give him the truth he sought and to suffer whatever consequences might result.

More frightening was the possibility that he was already in possession of that truth.

Confused, Jacqui turned onto her side, wishing she could fathom Dane’s state of mind. Always after they made love, he’d held her, whispered words of passion and praise, taken her again before she’d even caught her breath … made her feel cherished and wanted. But this time he’d withdrawn into himself, where he clearly wished to remain.

Studying his rigid stance, Jacqui made her decision, gathering up the quilt and wrapping it about her shoulders. Now was not the time to approach him … not yet. She would wait until later, when he came back to bed. Then they would talk.

She yawned, snuggling into the bedcovers, suddenly and dreadfully weary. Her last thought before drifting off to sleep was that soon her father would be delivering Laffey’s column.

For a long time Dane listened to Jacqui’s even breathing, knowing without turning around that, deep in slumber, she was curled on her side, her hair a rich mahogany waterfall over her bare shoulders and back, her face innocent and exquisite, buried in the softness of the pillows. He gritted his teeth, trying again to separate truth from deception, to make the agonizing decision he could no longer put off. His love for his wife, consuming though it might be, could not allow him to jeopardize his integrity and his country. He had to act … immediately.

Forcing himself from the window, Dane slowly approached the bed, gazing down at the beautiful woman who held his heart. Inadvertently, he reached out, wrapped one long, silky curl around his forefinger, and, for a brief moment, considered waking her, confronting her with his suspicions. But he dismissed that idea as quickly as it had come, knowing she’d only deny the accusation, adding to the enormity of the lie underlying their marriage, making him despise her … and himself … even more. Soon enough she would learn that her father’s plan … and hers … had been uncovered, that the betrayal was at an end … that she would have to suffer the painful ramifications of her guilt.

Dane’s grip tightened around Jacqui’s lock of hair until his finger tingled its protest. Why, he asked himself, after all his wife was guilty of, did a part of him still want so desperately to shield her?

Sighing heavily, he moved quietly from the bed, dressing quickly and efficiently. With a final glance behind him, he left the bedroom and the house, pausing but once to slip his knife into the waistband of his breeches … should it be needed.