Masque of Betrayal (21 page)

Later, when they were alone, she’d been moody, withdrawn. Filled with an intangible sense of unease, George had taken her to bed, desperate to solidify what was between them through the joining of their bodies.

Even that was an abysmal failure. Oh, she’d whispered the same words of love as always, given herself to him with the same generous abandon that he’d become addicted to … but all the while she seemed detached, leaving him cold and empty, as if he’d possessed her body, but not her soul.

Could it be another man? he asked himself for the thousandth time. His heart protested, crying out that it was not possible.

But his mind continued its nagging doubt.

A faint scratching and a soft cry jolted him from his morose reflection. Puzzled, he followed the sound to its source, locating it just outside Jacqui’s bedroom.

Crouched on the floor, looking totally flabbergasted and thoroughly annoyed, sat Whiskey, raking his claws against the tightly shut door. Hearing George approach, he redoubled his efforts and emitted a plaintive wail.

George smiled indulgently. “What seems to be the problem, Whiskey? Has Jacqui forgotten you tonight?” He strolled over to the kitten, bending to scratch his ears. George was familiar with Jacqui’s standing ritual: to open her door a crack just before retiring so that Whiskey could slip in whenever he was ready for sleep. Obviously tonight she had neglected to perform this customary procedure. Well, that was easily remedied.

Straightening, George pressed the door handle, noiselessly admitting the impatient cat. Along with Whiskey, a shaft of light from the hallway penetrated the dark, silent room, illuminating the bed and its two occupants.

Two occupants?

For a split second George couldn’t breathe. And when he did, his breath exploded from his chest in a roar of anger.

“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, storming into the room.

Dane awakened instantly, automatically shielding Jacqui with his body. “George …” he began, wondering what the hell he was going to say. Denial was certainly not an option … not with their clothes strewn all over the floor and their bodies intimately entangled under the bedcovers.

“Damn it, Westbrooke … what the hell were you thinking of?”

Jacqui blinked sleepily and sat up, trying to focus on what was happening. “Father?”

Dane yanked the quilt up to her shoulders, and all at once, Jacqui came fully awake. “Hell and damnation,” she muttered, clutching the bedding to her. Even the bronzed width of Dane’s massive shoulders could not shelter her from the pained, accusing look on her father’s face. “Oh, Lord,” she breathed, struck by the total impact of what was occurring.

“It’s a bit late for prayers, Jacqueline.” Angry and brimming with paternal protectiveness, George stared from his naked daughter to the powerful, disheveled man beside her.

Dane tensed, instinctively defending the woman he loved. “Don’t blame Jacqueline, Holt. Blame me. She is a total innocent. It was
I
who seduced
her.
So if you’ll allow me to dress”—he reached to the floor for his breeches—“you can vent your rage at me full force.”

“That’s very noble of you, Dane,” Jacqui interrupted, her dismay rapidly transforming to annoyance, indignation overshadowing discretion. “But your recounting is most inaccurate. You hardly dragged me into bed. Or have you so quickly forgotten that it was
I
who offered myself to
you, I
who pleaded with you not to stop,
I
who—”

“Spare me the details!” George exclaimed. He turned to Dane. “Get dressed and join me in my study at once.”

Jacqui winced, wondering if she would ever learn to control her impulsive tongue and volcanic temper. “I’ve never seen him like that,” she murmured, staring after her father. “God, Dane, what have I done to him?”

Dane had been struggling to contain the shout of laughter elicited by Jacqui’s shear audacity. But the ache in her voice obliterated his smile, tore at his heart. Abruptly, he dropped his clothes and turned to her, took her shoulders in his hands. “Don’t you dare choose this moment to become conventional, Jacqueline. First of all,
you
have done nothing.
We
have. Second, there is no reason for us to be ashamed. We both know how right this is between us … how real.” He paused, drawing a slow inward breath, alerting Jacqui to the magnitude of his next words. “Jacqueline … marry me,” he said quietly.

Seeing her stupefied expression, the intent look on his face softened and he caressed the satiny skin of her shoulders with strong, tender fingers. “I did not expect that I would propose in this manner either,
chaton.
I would have preferred a more romantic setting, such as strolling in a fragrant garden at sunset or”—his teeth gleamed wickedly—“lying together before a roaring fire.” He ran his fingers through the thick waves of her hair, lifting her face to meet the warm humor in his gaze. “But, given the fact that your father is readying his pistol in preparation for my demise, I believe that to wait would be a bit imprudent.”

When she still didn’t reply but continued to gape at him, the tenderness faded from his eyes and he scowled. “Surely you are not
totally
dumbfounded by my proposal, Jacqueline. Lord knows, there was never anything casual about our relationship. The simple truth is that we are hopelessly unable to stay away from each other. We also cannot go on as we are.” He glanced pointedly down at their naked bodies, barely concealed by the thin layer of rumpled bedcovers. “Which leads us to but one solution … marriage.” He stroked his thumbs across her cheeks, attempting to allay her fears. “I know the way you feel … 
felt
…” he corrected, “about marriage. But surely by now you know that I have no intention of changing you, or trying to usurp your independence.” He paused meaningfully. “All I ask is for your respect … and your honesty. Both of which we already have between us, do we not?”

His words struck home, penetrating Jacqui’s dazed, cluttered mind. She swallowed convulsively.

“Jacqueline?” His hands tightened on her face.

She stared up at him, dizzied by her conflicting thoughts. She was shocked by his unexpected proposal, appalled by her own pleasurable reaction to receiving it … and sickened by the implication of his last words.

Honesty. With that sole utterance, reality descended upon Jacqui, seized her, extinguished all else that had occurred tonight. For she knew that, in truth, there could never be total honesty between them. So there could be nothing at all.

Dane saw the myriad emotions flash in her eyes: confusion, pain, conflict … and guilt.

It was the guilt that tore at him. “Jacqueline … what is it?” He wished he could climb into her stubborn head and drag out the answers he sought. “Once and for all, tell me what you’re keeping from me! I have a right to know, damn it!” He shook her, exasperation and fury converging into an onslaught of emotion.

She looked away from him, unwilling to see his blazing rage, unable to escape the accuracy of his words. Yes, as her husband he
would
have a right to know … everything. And the point was a moot one, for, even if she chose to defy him, to keep her activities shrouded in secrecy, how long would it take an astute man like Dane to guess the truth? In either case, it would mean the death of Jack Laffey. As her husband, Dane would have every right to forbid her to continue writing her column and would make certain, whatever the cost, that his orders were obeyed.

No, she could never wed Dane, nor, after being discovered with him in her own bed, could they continue as lovers. Which left no recourse but to bring whatever was between them to an end.

Slowly but firmly, Jacqui locked her fingers around Dane’s wrists and pulled his hands away. “You are right, Dane,” she said with quiet determination. “We cannot go on as we have. In truth, we cannot go on at all.” She moved away from him, wrapping the sheet around her in a dignified and symbolic gesture of separation. “Tonight was an illusion,” she told him, carefully keeping her tone matter-of-fact. “The reality is what follows—the morning … and all the mornings thereafter. I realize you are acting honorably as a result of my father’s outrage, but I assure you, your concern is not necessary. Father loves me very much and, despite his current state of mind, he will eventually forgive me. As far as marriage, it would be absurd for you and I to wed simply out of a misplaced sense of duty. I’ve told you in the past that I plan never to marry—that, as you just pointed out, my opinion on the state of matrimony is, to say the least, skeptical.” Jacqui pushed the final words past the lump in her throat. “In short, I must reiterate what I said to you last week. …” She raised her chin in apparently unwavering decision. “What happened between us tonight can never happen again. Ever.”

Dane fought the impulse to strike her, so great was his frustration at her oh-so-eloquent rejection. He didn’t believe her glib words for a moment. Then what, he was forced to ask himself, was the true motivation behind her refusal? The mere preservation of her autonomy seemed a weak excuse for the intensity of her reaction. What drove Jacqueline more powerfully than her longing for him? Compelled her to forfeit all that had grown between them?
You know how she feels about the English monarchy … and about the French Revolution.
Alexander’s implication reared its ugly head.
Now you’re telling me that she goes on mysterious excursions, alone, at night. Doesn’t it seem likely …
Dane closed his eyes, seeing the thought through to its heinous conclusion. Yes, it did seem likely; more and more so each minute. All the pieces fit: Jacqui’s political beliefs, her unexplained midnight strolls, her refusal to commit herself to him when he knew damned well that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Dane clenched his fists until his palms tingled their protest, attempting to control his rampaging emotions. Jacqueline Holt was either a terrified, proud little girl holding fast to her unraveling independence or … Dane’s blood ran cold as the alternative cruelly asserted itself in his mind … or she was no more than a prevaricating schemer and … God help him … a traitor.

There was only one way to find out.

His decision made, Dane came to his feet and pulled on his breeches with quick, violent movements. He was livid, despising himself for his well-founded doubts, despising Jacqueline for her possible deceit, despising the whole damned situation and what was necessary to resolve it.

With an outward calm that was far more chilling than his anger, Dane turned to face Jacqui, moving toward the bed with slow, pantherlike strides until he towered over where she sat watching him apprehensively from amidst the disheveled bedding. Wordlessly, he sank down beside her, every corded muscle of his commanding physique taut with leashed restraint. After an endless moment, he raised his hand, just brushing the pulse at her throat with his thumb, gliding his fingers down over the delicate edge of her collarbone, running the back of his hand over the swell of her breast. Jacqui quivered, helpless to control her potent response to his touch.

Dane’s course of action instantly took shape.

“Never again, Jacqueline?” he murmured, leaning over to nibble at her lips. “Was that not what you just said?” He felt the inadvertent shiver that ran through her body like a pinpoint of fire and rewarded her with a deeper, more thorough kiss that took her breath away … and gave it back. “Are you certain … never?” he whispered. With tantalizing skill, he cupped her breast through the sheet she still clutched like a lifeline, teasing her hardened nipple with a caress so feather light that Jacqui moaned and leaned closer, seeking more.

In one fluid motion Dane tore the sheet from her unresisting hands, arching Jacqui back against his arm and bending his head to answer her silent plea. Without prelude, he drew the entire pleading crest of her nipple deep into his mouth, simultaneously tugging with his lips and lashing with his tongue until Jacqui emitted a strangled cry, pulling him closer with trembling fingers.

Dane lifted his head, triumph glittering in his eyes.

“As I said earlier, you are the very worst of liars, Jacqueline,” he taunted softly, ignoring the bewildered look on her face and the heavy ache in his loins. “I defy you to tell me now … with your nipples hard and wet from my mouth and your seductive little whimpers begging me for more … tell me that this is not what you want, that I couldn’t take you right here, right now, even with your father waiting in his study and the sheets still drenched from our earlier passion. Tell me!”

Shocked by the vehemence of his tone, Jacqui lifted an instinctive hand to slap him, but Dane caught it, holding her wrist in a viselike grip, his silver gaze boring through her like steel. “All right, sweet, let us discuss the truth … something you are very adept at distorting. The truth is that you have as little desire to end the wildness that is between us as I do. Isn’t that right,
chaton
?” He stopped her other hand in midflight, lacing his fingers tightly through hers and holding her captive. “You believe you have won, Jacqueline, but I assure you that the battle has only just begun. You say that what happened tonight was an illusion. I say it is the only reality that exists between us. But there will soon be another. Would you like to hear what that reality will be?” He dragged her against him until her naked breasts burned into the hot skin of his bare chest. He felt her breath, her body quicken, and his lips curved into a dark smile. “You
will
marry me,
mon chaton colereux.
That is not only a reality, but a promise. And as you know, I always keep my promises, don’t I?”

Jacqui responded with another unsuccessful attempt to break away from his iron hold.

Dane pressed her closer still. “No answer? Then let me refresh your memory. Do you recall my promise that one day it would be
you
who asked
me
to make love to you?
You
who came to
me?
And you did, didn’t you, my sweet? You came to me, asked me … no,
begged
me”—his cold silver gaze swept her exquisite nudity in insolent appraisal—“to love you. Repeatedly, as I recall.” He ignored her furious gasp, the blazing flames in her dark blue eyes. “Hear this promise and hear it well. You
will
wed me, Jacqueline, if I have to drag you down the aisle to ensure that you do. And once you belong to me I am going to strip away all your secrets, one by one, until your mind and your heart lie as naked before me as your body does now.” He took her lips in a punishing kiss that sealed his vow, dared her to contest it, branded her as his.