Masque of Betrayal (4 page)

Grinning roguishly, Dane reentered the tavern and headed for the stairs. It was time to discover the identity of
both
his quarries: the elusive Jack Laffey and the equally mysterious little spitfire with the face of an angel and the tongue of a shrew.

In the Long Room entranceway, he scanned the crowd, admitting to himself that it was not Laffey he sought but his rare and evasive hellion.

There was no sign of her. Undaunted, Dane made his way among the guests, never pausing in his search. Finally, he caught a fleeting glimpse of lilac and eagerly went in pursuit.

He was but an arm’s length from his destination when he was waylaid by William Larson, who was, by this time, so intoxicated that he could barely stand. “Westbrooke! Where’ve y’been?” he demanded, grabbing Dane’s arm. “We needed your opinion … ’specially if we’re going to war like Laffey says.”

Dane winced, seeing the flash of lilac disappear into the crowd. He wanted nothing more than to shake his arm free and sprint after her, but the name Laffey reverberated in his mind like a discordant note. He had a job to do … one he had promised Alexander would get done tonight.

He inhaled deeply. “I was out getting some air, Larson. What did you say about Laffey?”

Magically, a group of curious men materialized around Dane.

“We were discussing Laffey’s assessment of the English, Westbrooke,” Dr. Lawrence Harigan informed him. “And whether he’s right that their treatment of our ships will result in a war.”

“It is a grave possibility,” Dane returned candidly, looking from one face to the next, seeing everything from complete approval to wary skepticism. “One we had best pray we can avoid. Our country is not prepared to defend itself against the English. Nor are we able to do without her trade. Thus our course is obvious. We must find a peaceful resolution to this problem.”

“This problem, as you describe it,” Paul Jabot, who was of French descent, argued, “involves blatant, unprovoked aggression on the part of the English. Is it not enough that they are at war with France, representing, yet again, a threat to liberty? Do we lack the courage to stand up for what is right? After all, the French—”

“Have every right to expect our support.”

All eyes turned toward the clear, feminine voice that broke into their heated discussion. Flushed with anger, Jacqui stalked boldly into their closed circle, her head held high. “Well?” she continued, hands clenched into fervent fists at her sides. “Were the French not present to show us support in the time of
our
revolution? Or have we so quickly forgotten the desperate need to free ourselves of a monarchical rule? What of our quest for freedom? Is everyone not allowed that same right?” She glared at each man as if daring him to contradict her. Finally, her blazing eyes met Dane’s composed expression. “Apparently, principle is far less important than profit. How very sad.” She walked around Dane, being careful to avoid any contact with him. “Pardon me,” was all she said before she was swallowed up by the crowd.

Dead silence prevailed as all the men gaped after her, stunned that any woman would be so forthright.

“Good Lord …” Dr. Harigan breathed, turning to Dane in amazement.

“Who is she?” Dane demanded, watching Jacqui’s exit.

“I have no idea. I have never seen her before tonight.”

“Nor I,” admitted Jabot.

Dane’s lips curved into a hint of a smile. “The lady,” he said at last, “does have a point, does she not?”

“But …”

Dane interrupted Harigan with a shake of his head. “Gentlemen, I need a drink. If you will excuse me?” Purposefully, he moved away, helped himself to a brandy, and tossed it down. Through narrowed eyes he surveyed the room, more determined than ever to stalk his prey.

“Good evening, Dane.” George Holt acknowledged Dane with a courteous nod.

“Oh … George. Good evening.” Dane blinked at his ofttimes business associate, whose trading company frequently contracted with Dane’s ships to transport its cargo to and from the Continent.

George raised inquisitive brows. “You look a bit perplexed. Is something amiss?”

“Amiss?” Dane echoed, still searching the crowd. “No … but perplexed … yes. Earlier this evening, I met the most intriguing woman. She is extremely beautiful, uncommonly intelligent, and more opinionated than any female I’ve ever known.” He chuckled ruefully. “I have yet to learn her name, for she keeps escaping me. However, twice tonight I have been lambasted by her searing tongue.”

“Ah,” George commented dryly. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”

Y
OUR DAUGHTER?”

George nodded, scanning the room. He found Jacqui without too much trouble. But then, he knew where to look. While Dane had probably been searching among the ebullient dancers, George sought out the groups of debating politicians. Sure enough, just alongside them, eagerly listening, was Jacqui.

“Come.” George gestured for Dane to follow him. “I can rectify your problem by providing you with a proper introduction.” They weaved their way among the guests and across the room, pausing behind Jacqui, who was oblivious to their presence. “Jacqueline,” George murmured, taking her arm.

Jacqui whirled about, guilt staining her cheeks. If her father had heard of her earlier actions, he would be incensed. “Yes, Father?” she asked tentatively.

George moved aside to allow Dane to step forward. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Dane Westbrooke. Dane … my daughter, Jacqueline.”

Dane?
The name crashed through her in huge, biting waves of memory. By his towering height and powerful build, Jacqui had no doubt that the man who stood before her with that cocky grin and penetrating silver gaze, the man who had accosted her that night, was the same
Dane
who had nearly discovered her secret the previous week. Ignoring her trembling legs, Jacqui schooled her features, determined to appear as normal as possible.

Jacqueline.
Dane had to bite back his laughter at the expression on her face, which was a mixture of stunned chagrin and fury. She said nothing, merely stared at him with those incredible dark blue eyes.

“Miss Holt.” He took her reluctant hand in his and brought it to his lips. Her skin was soft, and the scent of fresh flowers clung to her. Dane inhaled deeply. “I am charmed.” He pressed a warm, caressing kiss upon her knuckles, lingering as long as he dared. He felt the quiver that went through her and raised his head, trying to decide if it was anger or pleasure she was feeling.

“Mr. Westbrooke.” The ice in Jacqui’s voice erased any doubts Dane might have had about her reaction. She tugged her hand, but Dane would not release it.

“Dance with me.” It was a request, an invitation, a command. Remembering himself, Dane half turned to George, holding fast to Jacqui’s unwilling grasp. “George, may I have permission to dance with your daughter?”

“Certainly,” George replied.

“No,” Jacqui blurted out simultaneously, then shot her father a beseeching look. “I apologize, Mr. Westbrooke,” she added hastily, having no idea what excuse she could give, “but I …”

“Go ahead, dear,” George broke in. He was not anxious to see Dane Westbrooke insulted, and besides, he would be grateful to see his headstrong daughter occupied. It would keep her out of trouble. “Go and enjoy yourself.”

There was little Jacqui could do but allow Dane to lead her onto the dance floor.

“So … Jacqueline … at last we meet.” His voice was laced with amusement as he led her into a minuet.

She lifted her chin. “Did you seek me out to chastise me for my earlier outburst?” she demanded.

Dane shook his head slowly, utterly taken by her fiery beauty. “To the contrary, I wanted to congratulate you on an argument well stated.”

For an instant she looked unsure. “Oh … I see.”

He chuckled. “Have
I
succeeded in shocking
you
?”

“No. But I will admit you have surprised me. I assumed you would be appalled by my behavior.”

“Consider it the first of many surprises between us,” he promised. He spun her about and brought her closer to him, keeping her there for a long moment before he eased her away.

Jacqui tensed at the suggestiveness of the remark, though not for the reasons Dane presumed. She cocked her head to one side and studied her partner from beneath thick, dark lashes, wondering if the pointed comment implied that he had, in fact, witnessed her flight home the other night. She had to find out.

“Tell me, Mr. Westbrooke,” she baited sweetly, “why else did you seek me out? Was it to apologize for
your
scandalous behavior in the street tonight?”

Dane flashed her a wicked grin, his teeth white and gleaming in his tanned face. “Oh no … never that. I would simply like the opportunity to rectify your opinion of me by demonstrating my charming self to you.”

“Your charming self,” Jacqui repeated, chewing on her lower lip, which threatened to curve into a smile. “Now, why do I not believe that is possible, Mr. Westbrooke?”

“Dane,” he corrected.

Jacqui raised her slender brows. “Really, Mr. Westbrooke. We hardly know each other well enough for that.”

“Something else I intend to rectify.”

Jacqui shook her head in disbelief, smiling in spite of her best intentions. “You surpass scandalous.”

“Among other things … yes.” He stroked her hand with his thumb. “But then again, so do you.”

Jacqui trembled. He didn’t suspect … hadn’t seen her escape that night. Why then was her heart threatening to beat its way right out of her chest?

She licked her lips, making a concerted effort to bring herself under control He was just a man … an ordinary man like any other. Immediately, her mind negated that fact. Dane Westbrooke could be described as many things, but ordinary? Never. Unlike the other men in the room, Dane’s hair was cut short at the nape and was an unpowdered raven black. His features were hard, carved in granite, which, combined with his imposing height and build and piercing silver eyes, made him even more formidable up close than he had been from a distance.

“Like what you see?”

Jacqui lifted her startled gaze to meet Dane’s teasing look, and she blushed scarlet. “I don’t know what you mean. …”

“Yes you do.” Dane spoke softly so only she could hear, his words a warm whisper in her hair. “And I’m pleased that you find me appealing. Because I happen to find you exquisite.”

For the first time in her life, Jacqui was speechless. She stepped away, attempting to break the magnetic pull of this powerfully enigmatic man. Caught up in sensations she had never before experienced and did not understand, she could do no more than stare up at him, wishing only for this dance to end.

The music complied with her prayers.

The strings fell silent, leaving only the laughter of the guests and the clinking of the crystal in its wake. Yanking her hand free of his, Jacqui uttered something indistinguishable and turned away. She was desperate to be alone.

Dane caught her arm. “It is useless to try, Jacqueline.” Her name was a resonant caress. “You cannot escape me … not again.” His choice of words made Jacqui dizzy, as she once again pondered their meaning.

Watching her unsettled reaction, Dane captured a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers, giving Jacqui a slow, meaningful wink. “Until later, my blue-eyed enchantress,” he murmured. He brought the tendril to his lips, then released it. “Until later.”

Jacqui stared at his retreating back, feeling her throat constrict. Whatever Dane was, he was trouble. Handsome as sin and cunning as the devil himself … and well aware of both … Dane Westbrooke was a complication to be avoided at all costs.

“Don’t leave.”

Thomas propped himself up and reached for the beautiful, blond-haired woman who was easing out of his bed.

She turned and gave him a dazzling smile. “I must go,
mon amour.
After all, a lady does need to consider her reputation, does she not?”

Thomas didn’t answer but watched her stretch gracefully and begin to dress. She paused, the moonlight glistening on her half-naked body, and picked up the documents that had been sitting on the nightstand. Reverently, she stroked her fingers across the pages. The first step toward her future … and the future of the brilliant man she adored.

“We must arrange for copies of these papers to be sent to England immediately,” she stated adamantly. “Then you must find a way to restore them to Secretary Hamilton’s office so they will not be missed.”

“It will be taken care of, love.” Thomas had come up behind her, looping his arms about her waist and nuzzling her neck. “Tomorrow.” He bit lightly on her soft earlobe. “But, for tonight, let us just enjoy each other.”

She sighed, leaning back against him, watching a patch of moonglow illuminate the pages in her hands. “Very well, Thomas. How can I deny you after you have done so fine a job?” She turned in his arms. “How did you manage to get the papers so easily?”

He buried his face in her hair, wondering which meant more … the money or holding her in his arms. Five months had passed since their chance first meeting on the grassy banks of the Schuylkill, and still his craving for her was incessant. “Hamilton is hosting a party tonight. I knew his office would be empty. It was simple enough.”

She kissed his shoulder. “But how did you get in?”

“I borrowed Dane’s key. He did not take it with him tonight.”

The woman tensed. “But won’t he notice?”

“No, my love.” Thomas was lost in her scent “I slipped through Dane’s kitchen window and returned the key. I knew he wouldn’t be home. … He is attending Hamilton’s ball, so he will never suspect a thing.”

She smiled against his lips. “You are very clever.”

“Yes.” He gathered her to him. “I don’t wish to discuss Hamilton or Dane any longer. In fact, I don’t wish to talk at all.”

She gave a throaty laugh as he carried her back to the bed.

Dane was whistling as he strolled into the office of Westbrooke Shipping Monday morning. Hearing himself, he stopped short, shaking his head bemusedly. In truth, he had nothing to whistle about. The party Friday night had proven to be an abysmal failure. Despite hours of intense probing and equally intent listening, neither he nor Alexander was any closer to learning the true identity of Jack Laffey than they had been before. Dane was convinced the man was invisible.