Masque of Betrayal (33 page)

She shook her head wildly, backing away. “Not this time, Dane. We can’t close this gap with our bodies.” To her horror, she actually felt tears burn behind her eyes. “I won’t explain myself to you,” she vowed in a small, shaken voice. “I won’t ask for your understanding, your approval.” Her eyes grew wide, frightened. “I won’t need you,” she whispered fiercely, turning away.

Before Dane could respond, she fled, away from her husband … away from the feelings that could no longer be silenced.

Alighting from the carriage, Jacqui peered through the darkness to the faint outline that was Greenhills, wondering why, of all places, she’d chosen to run here. Absently, she dismissed her driver, moving through the tree-lined path leading to the manor.

She couldn’t go to her father … not after she’d confidently informed him she could manage on her own. Her concern for his worry wouldn’t allow it, nor would her pride.

She certainly couldn’t face Dane. So that left only Greenhills and its enchanting mistress.

But Lenore was Dane’s mother.

Jacqui paused on the steps, hanging back at the intrusive thought. Yes, Lenore
was
Dane’s mother … but she was also Jacqui’s friend. Instinct told Jacqui she would be welcome.

Lenore herself answered the door.

“Jacqueline?” Her lovely face registered surprise, genuine concern … but not displeasure. “What’s happened?”

Jacqui swallowed, lifting her chin determinedly. “Nothing’s happened.”

“Dane?”

“Dane is fine … that is … I just needed to talk and I thought …” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment. This proud young woman who had never asked anything of anyone in her life.

With one quick, insightful glance, Lenore took in Jacqui’s distress, seeing instantly that it had no physical cause, and visibly relaxed, drawing her into the house. “Of course, dear. I’m glad you came.” Wisely, she made no mention of the lateness of the hour or of Dane’s conspicuous absence. When Jacqui was ready, she would explain.

Jacqui hung back. “Your pleasure might dim considerably when I tell you the circumstances that brought me here,” she warned.

Lenore gave a faint smile, urging Jacqui along and closing the door firmly behind her. “I doubt that very much. When you’ve achieved my level of maturity, there is little left that can shock you.” She led Jacqui to the kitchen. “Come. We’ll have tea and chat.”

Jacqui sat on a stool and watched Lenore heat water for tea. “I’m so confused.”

Lenore didn’t even look up. “Most of us are, at one time or another.” She smoothed her hands down the front of her gown. “I assume this has to do with Dane?”

Jacqui stared at the tips of her shoes. “I’ve made quite a mess of things, Lenore. I don’t understand your son … I don’t even understand myself anymore.”

Lenore poured two steaming cups and guided Jacqui into the sitting room, “
I
understand Dane very well,” she put in, seating herself beside Jacqui on the sofa. “I’ve never seen him happier than he’s been since the two of you met.”

“I don’t think you’d say that if you’d seen him several hours ago when he was accusing me of treason.”

Lenore’s cup and saucer descended to the tea table with a clink. “Treason?”

“Dane believes my father and I are supplying the British with information that will lead to a war with America.”

Lenore gaped silently, then folded her hands in her lap. “I retract my earlier statement, Jacqueline. Apparently I am still capable of being shocked.”

Jacqui nodded. “I thought you might be.”

“Where in the name of heaven did Dane get such an inconceivable idea?”

Jacqui felt a pang of conscience. “I suppose my rather … irregular behavior might have contributed to his suspicions.”

Returning to her tea, Lenore held her remaining questions for later. “I think you’d better tell me the whole story, Jacqueline.”

Jacqui did, leaving nothing out, concluding with the revelation that she and the infamous Jack Laffey were one and the same.

Lenore’s cup paused but for a moment, then continued its graceful journey to her lips. “No one can accuse you of being idle, my dear,” she commented, having finished the last of her tea.

“You’re not appalled?”

“Did you expect I would be?”

“Frankly, yes.”

Lenore smiled, a gesture that registered more sadness than amusement. “You are speaking to a woman who performed the most scandalous, unthinkable act imaginable … abandoning her husband and her former life in order to begin anew in a strange country with nothing but her principles … and her wonderful, devoted son … to accompany her.”

Focusing on the reality and the severity of Lenore’s actions, Jacqui carefully replied, “I know very little of your … or Dane’s … life in England. Dane refuses to speak of it, or of his father.”

Reflexively, Lenore smoothed the soft brocade of the camelback sofa. “I think it is time you and I discussed it.”

Jacqui nodded, sensing that this unexpected turn to the conversation might finally answer many of her unasked questions. She leaned forward, a rapt expression on her face.

“Dane’s father is a fine man … a good man,” Lenore began. “But what the English define as proper behavior differs considerably from what you are accustomed to; it is a good deal more rigid, especially among the nobility.”

“Dane’s father is a marquis,” Jacqui voiced aloud.

“Yes … he is. The Marquis of Forsgate. And Forsgate, together with all it represents, is his life.” Lenore spoke simply and without anger. “I married Edwin because I adored him. My parents, both born of noble blood, heartily approved of the match. I was sixteen when we wed, and a year later Dane was born. I thought my life complete … I had an adoring husband and a magnificent son. What more could a woman require?”

Jacqui thought she knew the answer to that, but, wisely, she remained silent.

Lenore met Jacqui’s gaze candidly. “For many years, my life as it existed was enough … I
made
it enough. Oh, I always found Edwin’s rules with regard to my conduct antiquated. I wanted to be free to express my beliefs, to make my own choices. But the circles in which we traveled demonstrated that my husband was far from unique in his demands, and that it was I who was at fault for my unconventional ideas. So I remained a dutiful wife, remembering my role as his marchioness at all times, agreeing with everything Edwin said and did, concentrating on being a proper hostess and relinquishing my only child into the care of others.”

Lenore’s face creased with pain. “Of all Edwin’s rules, I despised that one the most.
I
wanted to raise Dane, to nurse him at birth, to share his childhood, to be the one he turned to when he was ill or afraid. Instead he was nourished by a wet nurse, reared by a governess, then sent away to school when his father deemed him ready.” She sighed. “I know Edwin meant well, but I loathed his decision just the same.”

Instinctively, Jacqui leaned forward and squeezed Lenore’s hand.

Lenore smiled her gratitude. “The situation worsened as Dane grew to manhood. Dane had always been a strong-willed, independent child, but as he matured, he discovered that his personal convictions were directly opposed to those of his father. Edwin believed in his land and his possessions, and he expected Dane to carry on in the same vein. Dane despised the idea of relying upon his title to earn people’s respect, hated the hierarchy that existed at Forsgate, the blatant difference between our mode of living and that of our servants and tenants … in short, he totally rejected his father’s ambitions that he commit himself to Forsgate and to the businesses that would one day be his. The more adamant Dane grew, the more furiously rigid Edwin became. The hostility between them intensified until neither could tolerate the other’s presence.

“The terrifying part was that I found myself sympathizing with Dane, defending him and his beliefs until Edwin and I did nothing but argue. The more I spoke my mind, the more enraged Edwin became, squelching every independent thought I expressed. And slowly, all the love, the respect, the trust were overshadowed by a chasm that grew wider every day, colder every night, until I could no longer bear it.”

Lenore closed her fingers around Jacqui’s. “It was at this time that Dane graduated from Oxford and announced his decision to leave for America. He asked me to go with him. I considered my life as it was, my goals as I saw them … and I made my choice. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make, for I knew that Edwin would never forgive me or allow me to return home once I’d gone. But I could no longer exist in the empty prison we called a marriage. So I went.” Her eyes grew damp with emotion. “I miss Edwin to this day. No other man could ever take his place in my heart.”

“You still love him,” Jacqui said softly, amazed at the depth of Lenore’s feelings.

“Yes. I always shall.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

Lenore nodded. “I have. Dane, however, has not.” A tear slid down her cheek, unnoticed. “And, without that forgiveness, my son will never know peace. You see, Jacqueline, despite his stubborn refusal to admit it, Dane loves his father and regrets the rift between them. The irony is that what Dane and Edwin fought over was freedom; but unless they reconcile their differences, neither of them can truly be free.” Pain flickered in Lenore’s eyes, but she pushed on, anxious for her own experience to benefit Dane and Jacqueline. “Edwin is a product of the world in which he was raised, and I cannot fault him for his beliefs, though I choose not to share them. So, in answer to your question, yes, Jacqueline, I forgave my husband … long ago. But love and forgiveness are not enough. For a marriage to flourish, not merely survive, there must be trust, respect, and understanding underlying love and passion. I’m not certain Edwin is capable of all those qualities …” She paused. “But I
am
certain Dane is.”

Jacqui swallowed. “You think I should have told Dane the truth about Laffey and hoped for his understanding?”

“What I think is that you should give Dane … and yourself … a chance before you condemn your marriage to failure.” She gave Jacqui an astute look. “Or is that the very thing you fear? That your marriage might succeed?”

“What do you mean?” Jacqui’s throat constricted.

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes,” Jacqui replied, her heart screaming,
No!

“Very well.” Lenore braced herself and plunged forward. “Obviously, you take great pride in fostering your independence. The idea of caring for Dane … or for any man … would directly conflict with that and is, therefore, unwelcome. In all candor, don’t you feel somewhat relieved by tonight’s confrontation with Dane? Almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to doubt you and thereby prove true all your dismal convictions about what this marriage would effect?” Lenore caught herself up short, although she longed to say more. From various things Dane had told her, she was almost certain that Jacqui’s reluctance to love was rooted in something far deeper than a need for sovereignty. Somewhere inside Jacqueline was a young girl whose memories of love were firmly tied to her memories of loss and loneliness. But, until Jacqui was ready to reach out for help, Lenore had no right to tread on forbidden territory.

Choosing her words carefully, Lenore gripped Jacqui’s other hand. “Don’t do this, Jacqueline. Don’t push Dane away with your determination
not
to care for him, your vehement denial that he cares for you. Is protecting yourself really worth sacrificing your happiness?”

Jacqui lowered her lashes, trying to swallow past the frightened lump in her throat.

“You don’t have to answer me, Jacqueline … I have no right to pry. But please, answer yourself. You deserve to be happy. So does Dane.”

Dane.
Jacqui’s mind began to race, replaying snatches of the past months, hearing Dane’s fierce loyalties and fervent declarations, made all the more significant in light of what she’d just learned.

I’m an American, Jacqueline … as much an American as you. Who and what my father may be is irrelevant. …

I have no intention of changing you, chaton, or trying to usurp your independence. All I ask is for your respect and your honesty … and we already have that between us, do we not?
…

I love you, Jacqueline Holt. … You’re mine and you always will be.

She closed her eyes, visualizing the pain on her husband’s face earlier that night when he’d learned how little honesty she’d given him, how little trust she’d offered … how she’d inadvertently led him to believe she could be guilty of a far greater crime.

The memory of that accusation twisted a knife in Jacqui’s heart.

“But what he suspects me of … treason … to my own country …” She whispered the protest aloud.

“Dane doesn’t believe you’re a traitor, Jacqueline,” Lenore said gently. “He may have known moments of doubt, but haven’t you done your part to encourage those?”

Jacqui stared at her, a bewildered look in her eyes. “I suppose I did. I don’t know what to think.”

“Then don’t think any more tonight.” Lenore rose. “It’s late and you’re exhausted. You need to rest.” She frowned, as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Does Dane know you’re here?”

Wordlessly, Jacqui shook her head.

“Then he must be out of his mind with worry!”

“I won’t go back … not tonight,” Jacqui returned instantly, a spark of defiance reasserting itself.

“I’m not asking you to. I’m merely asking if I may send Dane a message advising him of your whereabouts and telling him you’re safe. I will make certain he understands you do not wish to have your privacy disturbed … not until you are ready. At the same time, I’ll have a similar message delivered to your father, who is most assuredly worried as well. Would that be satisfactory?”

Jacqui nodded, beyond protest. All she wanted was to sleep, to put her turbulent emotions to bed, to regain her strength.

She would need all of it when she faced Dane.

Dane paced the length of his sitting room, debating whether or not to notify the authorities of Jacqui’s disappearance. He had already stormed over to George Holt’s house, demanding that Jacqui return home, only to be met by Holt’s white-faced denial that Jacqui had come to him. Between the worry in Holt’s eyes and the stunned expression on his face, Dane had no doubt the man was sincere. Nor could Dane dismiss Holt’s repeated, heartfelt assurances that he and Jacqui were innocent of treason.