Masque of Betrayal (11 page)

Jacqui felt herself smile. “Hello, Dane.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his chin.

“Hello, Jacqueline,” he said in a husky voice. Before she could move, he brought her against him and covered her mouth with his own.

“Dane …” she protested, “Greta …”

“… is occupied with your vicious cat,” he answered against her lips. “Kiss me.”

“But …”

“Kiss me.” He stole her final protest away with a warm sweep of his tongue, feeling that incomparable instant when Jacqui let herself go and became his. He drank in her lush softness, feeling his body blaze instantly out of control. “Yes, love, like that,” he murmured, taking her mouth in a primal rhythm that made them both tremble. Months before, this would have been enough. To hold her, to kiss her, to tease her with what was to be … it had sustained him these endless weeks. But no longer. Dane wanted her …
needed
her, with an urgency that could no longer be squelched. “Jacqueline. …” He breathed her name, unconsciously lifting her to meet the instinctive motion of his hips.

Jacqui made a soft sound deep in her throat and tore her mouth from his. “Dane …” There was no fear in her voice, only reluctance, matched by the anxious expression on her beautiful, flushed face. “We can’t …”

“I have to be inside you.” He stared down into her haunting eyes, unable to retain his hold on sanity.

Jacqui felt his words unfurl within her like scalding, ribbons of fire. “Not now. Not here. Not yet.” She shook her head in total bewilderment. “Dane, please. I can’t think when you’re holding me.”

“Perhaps I don’t want you to think.”

“One of us has to.”

Dane chuckled, despite the relentless throbbing of his body. “And that someone, of course, has to be you. My ever-thinking Jacqueline.” His hands slid to her hips. “Just tell me that you want me,” he commanded.

Jacqui licked her lips. “I believe that’s obvious.”

“Say it.” Fiercely, he crushed her lower body to his.

“I want you.”

“Now tell me when.”

“I can’t, Dane. I don’t know.” She could actually feel him pulsing against her, feel the answering response within herself. Weakness pervaded her limbs, and with the weakness came fear. “Put me down.”

Dane heard the vehemence of her words, but he also recognized the strangled tone characterizing her order. For a long moment he did nothing, still holding her to him, staring deeply into her wide, midnight eyes. He read her internal struggle … but not its cause. She was unafraid of their impending physical union … of that he was certain. Nor did she give a damn for public opinion concerning her conduct. Then what?

He watched Jacqui catch her lower lip between her teeth and chew on it nervously … a typically feminine gesture. The realization hit him that, unconventional or not, Jacqueline was indeed a woman, with not only a woman’s needs but with her sensibilities as well. Perhaps what she required was the very thing Dane intended to offer her. A commitment.

Slowly, he lowered her feet to the floor, keeping her in a loose embrace. “We have to talk.”

Jacqui stepped back. “Talk? Is
that
what we were just doing?”

“No. But it
is
what we are going to do now.”

She studied Dane quietly. “All right.” Moving out of his arms, she sank down onto the settee, gesturing for him to do the same.

“Jacqueline, you’re nineteen years old,” Dane began, sitting beside her.

“Actually, I’ll be twenty next month,” she put in, wondering where on earth this was leading.

“I stand corrected.” He stared at the polished tip of his boot, aware that he was searching for words he had never before spoken, determined to say them first to Jacqueline before he even approached her father. “In any case, you are no longer a child, but very much a woman.”

Jacqui gave a deep sigh, folding her hands purposefully in her lap. “Yes, Dane, I know. I can well imagine what you plan to say.”

“Can you?” The deep timbre of his voice was a caress.

She nodded. “Yes. You are going to remind me that you cannot …
will
not … go on as we are indefinitely. I do understand. As you just said, I am not a child, but a woman grown. I recognize your needs. I am also fully aware of my own needs … probably more so than any other woman you’ve encountered.”

Something in her tone gave Dane pause. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that, no matter what should occur between us, you must clearly understand that the only person I will ever truly belong to is myself. Regardless of whether I share my thoughts, my beliefs”—she paused—“even my body with another, it will not alter that fact. My identity,” and she smiled softly at her own choice of words, “is my own.”

Unreasonable anger began to churn inside Dane. “And where will your husband fit into all this?” he demanded.

Jacqui looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “My husband?” She uttered the word as one would a profanity.

“Yes, your husband,” he snapped back. “The man you eventually marry.”

Jacqui laughed. “Whatever gave you the idea that I planned to marry?” she asked in an incredulous tone. “I would never even consider the idea.”

“Why the hell not?” Dane came to his feet in one fluid motion.

“Because, my arrogant sir, if you study the marriage vows you will learn that when a woman marries she must relinquish her thoughts, her opinions, her very soul to the man she weds.” Jacqui was becoming angry as well. “She becomes nothing but a piece of chattel—a belonging, an acquisition of her husband’s. None of which I intend to be.” She glared up at him, almost angry enough to blurt out the truth. Almost. “There are … aspects of my life that I would be unwilling to change … for anyone,” she said instead.

“And if you fall in love?” Dane’s thoughts were centered on but one thing. His voice was deadly quiet, his jaw clenched.

Jacqui rose, her chin stubbornly set. “I would never have expected such a fanciful, romantic question from you. But since you’ve asked, here is my answer: I hope I am never weak or foolish enough to succumb to love, but if I should, it would change nothing. Were I to marry, force myself to be a dutiful wife, my love would soon turn to hate. So, in the end, I would be alone anyway.”

Something flashed in Dane’s eyes, a distant, pained memory, that was gone as quickly as it had come. He knew firsthand what happened when marital love deteriorated into resentment and finally into dust. “I understand,” he said, his tone odd, flat.

Jacqui gave him a curious look. “Have I
so
shocked you with my opinion?”

“No. You haven’t shocked me.” Dane replied curtly. He glanced down at his timepiece. “I must be leaving, Jacqueline; I have an appointment in less than an hour.”

“All right.”

Dane studied Jacqui, his eyes hooded, his expression dark, brooding. She looked to be on the verge of questioning his strange mood shift, then abruptly seemed to change her mind.

Without a word, he went to her and tugged her to him for a series of long, thorough kisses. He didn’t release her until she was kissing him back with the same ferocity that burned inside him. Even then, he kept her in his arms, tightly held to his chest.

“We are going to the Binghams’ party on Saturday night,” he told her when their breathing had returned to normal.

Jacqui stiffened. “Oh no,
we
are not!” she shot back, adamantly shaking her head against him. “I refuse to go to one of their garish balls. Why, Mrs. Bingham is nothing more than a flaunting, haughty extension of Hamilton’s Federalists. … She and her husband are little better than English nobility!” She paled as she realized what she’d just said.

But Dane’s only response was a deep, lazy chuckle. “Try to keep that opinion to yourself on Saturday,
mon chaton
,” he advised, nuzzling her hair with his lips. “Although I do believe it has been said before.”

“Didn’t you hear me, Dane? I said I’m not going!” She pushed ineffectively at his massive chest.

“I heard.” He continued the caressing motion of his lips. “Have I told you how much I love the scent of your hair?” he breathed. “So sweet. So soft. So beautiful.” He felt her inadvertent shiver and smiled against the satiny tresses. “Think of it as an opportunity to reinforce your hatred for the cursed aristocrats of our fair city. Or think of it as an evening to accumulate more ammunition for the Republican cause. Or just think of it as an opportunity to spend the night dancing in my arms.”

Intrigued by the prospect of spending an entire evening eavesdropping on the Federalists who frequented the Binghams’ parties, and aroused by the subtle images conveyed by Dane’s words, Jacqui could feel herself weaken. “Even if I agree to go, there is little chance that we’ll be dancing together,” she managed faintly.

“Why is that?”

“Because I assume lots will be drawn. And with the number of people who attend the Binghams’ balls, I fear I shall be relegated to another man for the duration of the evening.” She raised her head and gave Dane an impish smile. “So you see, sir, that final argument is not a convincing one.”

“Do not be so certain of that, my love.” He gave her a cocky grin.

Jacqui’s hands curled into fists. “Even
you
cannot tamper with the lots!”

“Accompany me and see,” he invited, a challenging gleam in his silver eyes.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. He bent his head and nibbled lightly on her lower lip. “Not only staunch Federalists will be attending. Your father will be there, you know.”

Jacqui sighed. “Yes, I know. Father has some land dealings with Mr. Bingham. Which means that Monique Brisset will be there as well.”

“You don’t like your father’s … companion?” Dane questioned.

“They are hardly companions, and no, I don’t.”

Dane’s shoulders shook with laughter. “I would not want to be your enemy,
mon chaton colereux
.” He tangled his hands in her thick curls.

“Sometimes I feel as though you are my enemy.” The words were out before Jacqui could censor them. She felt angry and foolish—angry because it was unlike her to blurt out her feelings and foolish because it was ludicrous to refer to a man in whose arms she was clasped as an enemy.

But Dane seemed unsurprised by the bizarre statement. “No, sweet,” he murmured softly, stroking the nape of her neck, “never that. We will be many things to each other, but enemies? Never.” His penetrating silver gaze reached deep inside her. “I am going to know you as no other man ever has or ever will, Jacqueline.” He paused, weighing his words. “In many ways I already do.”

A knot of fear tightened Jacqui’s stomach. Amid the pleasure of the past weeks, she had all but dismissed the idea that Dane knew who she was, knew what she was doing. Now, with his words, her doubts returned full force. Could he possibly suspect? Was this “courtship” more than it appeared? And how on earth could she find out? The uncertainty was maddening.

“Seven o’clock,” he was saying, running his knuckles across her smooth cheek. “I’ll come for you.” He kissed her softly. “Can you be ready by then?”

Jacqui was strained from apprehension, spent from physical sensation. All she could muster was a weak nod.

Dane smiled tenderly. “Good.” He scooped her into his arms and gently deposited her on the settee. “There. Now you needn’t worry about falling.” He winked. “Until Saturday, my love.” He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.
“Au revoir, chaton.”

Jacqui watched him go, feeling a sudden shiver run through her. She was profoundly aware that she stood on the fringes of an enveloping tempest … one that had the potential to destroy her. She could confront it … or she could walk away. The decision was hers.

It appeared she had much to think about before Saturday.

So did Dane.

Strolling toward home, he devised his plan.

Obviously, Jacqueline was not ready to consider marrying him. That presented a definite problem: Definite, but not insurmountable. Other than the totally unacceptable choice of conceding defeat, Dane was left with only one option. He would have to call upon the sole advantage he had over his brilliant, headstrong Jacqueline, use the only means he had for changing her mind.

Dane was going to shamelessly, purposefully, relentlessly seduce Jacqueline Holt. He was going to heighten her need for him until it overcame all doubt, driving her into his arms. When that happened, he would teach her the mysteries of passion, bathe her senses in pleasure, love her in every possible way a man could love a woman.

Then, when she was glowing and sated, he would ask her to marry him … and she would accept.

It was an infallible plan.

Y
OU’RE RATHER MOROSE TONIGHT.
” Dane took a deep swallow of whiskey and regarded Thomas with concern. “Is it business again?”

Thomas looked restlessly about the City Tavern’s Coffee Room. “Among other things … yes.”

“Other things,” Dane repeated thoughtfully. He rolled his glass between his hands, seeming to contemplate the amber liquid. In truth, he was thinking about the deep lines around his friend’s eyes, lines that had not been there before. “What happened to that large payment you said you were expecting?”

“Soon,” Thomas replied, shifting in his chair. “But not soon enough. My debts are getting rather … extensive.”

Dane’s response was immediate. “Let me lend you—”

“No.” The last thing Thomas wanted was to take Dane’s money. He was already ridden with guilt … for betraying this fine man he called friend, for endangering the stability of his country, for disregarding every principle he had learned fighting beside the brilliant leader who had taught him the meaning of integrity … Alexander Hamilton. But there was just so much a man could take before he reached the breaking point. And Thomas had definitely reached his.

Clearing his throat roughly, he waved away Dane’s offer with a definitive sweep of his hand. “Thank you, Dane, but I have to extricate myself from my financial dilemma.” He tossed down his drink. “And I will … very shortly.” He hesitated. “Actually, the waiting would not be nearly so difficult if …”

“If?”