Masque of Betrayal (36 page)

Smiling in spite of herself, Jacqui turned in his arms. “There is nothing simple about you, Dane Westbrooke. Nothing at all.”

He cupped her face tenderly. “Give us a chance,
chaton.
Trust me.”

Jacqui swallowed. “I’ll try.”

He bent his head to her mouth, but she stopped his progress, pressing her hands against the powerful wall of his chest. “Dane, I know you don’t want to hear this, but your friend, Secretary Hamilton, is
not
one to accept defeat. If he wants to prevent me from writing my column, he’ll stop at nothing until he has succeeded.”

“I agree.” Dane’s breath was warm against her lips.

“What if he should inform Bache of Laffey’s identity?”

“Then I imagine you would lose your job.” Dane brushed his lips softly against hers.

Jacqui recoiled. “Dane! You said—”

He smiled, drawing her closer to him, soothing the tense muscles of her back with knowing hands. “
I’ll
deal with Bache . … And if that doesn’t work, I’ll buy his newspaper.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “You couldn’t!”

“Couldn’t I?”

“But he would never—”

“He wouldn’t know.” He nibbled at her mouth. “I have many friends, darling, Republicans as well as Federalists. Rest assured, your job is safe.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “And so are you, now that I know what we’re up against.” His silver eyes darkened with an emotion Jacqui knew only too well. “I do believe we’ve answered each other’s questions most satisfactorily, sweet. Now I’d like to resume our frank communication upstairs in our bedchamber … if that is agreeable to you, my contrary wife?”

Jacqui felt Dane’s magnetic pull fragment her thoughts into a tumble of confusion. “We still have much to discuss,” she protested halfheartedly.

“Oh, I agree.” Dane leaned over and scooped Jacqui up, carrying her purposefully to the stairs. “We shall cover every conceivable topic … later.” His grip tightened. “Last night without you was endless.” He nuzzled her hair.

Jacqui inhaled his wonderful masculine scent, heard his husky, arousing words, and her determination slipped a notch farther. “We can’t solve our differences in bed, Dane,” she tried feebly.

“True.” Dane never broke his stride. “But we
can
make slow, magnificent love to each other in bed. And at this moment, all I want—”

“Fräulein! … Excuse me … Frau Westbrooke!”

Dane’s hungry declaration was interrupted by a loud exclamation from the hallway.

“At last … you are home!” Greta planted herself at the foot of the stairs, unperturbed by the intimate scene she’d obviously just interrupted.

“Yes, Greta, Frau Westbrooke is home,” Dane answered with deliberate emphasis on Jacqui’s proper form of address. He wedged himself determinedly around Greta’s imposing figure, taking the stairs two at a time. “Why don’t you and Stivers take the rest of the day off?” he suggested in a voice loud enough to bring Stivers rushing to the second-floor landing. “Mrs. Westbrooke and I will not require anything until tomorrow,” Dane informed the startled manservant as they passed him. Never slowing his pace, Dane chuckled wickedly when he felt Jacqui bury her flaming cheeks against his chest.

He paused when he reached their open bedchamber. “Have a pleasant day, Stivers,” he called back cheerily. “Oh, and lock the door behind you, will you please?”

“Yes, Mr. Westbrooke.” Stivers was still staring when Dane shut the door in his face and carried Jacqui across the room, gently depositing her on the bed.

“Dane …” Jacqui scrambled to her knees. “What will Stivers and Greta think?”

Dane was efficiently shedding his clothes. “The truth.” He cast aside his breeches and shirt, baring his powerful, thoroughly aroused body to Jacqui’s gaze. “I want you,
chaton
,” he said quietly, lowering himself beside her. “I’ll do whatever I must to have you. Now. Always.”

He glided his hands over the smooth curve of her shoulders, watching Jacqui’s breath quicken, tugging the sleeves of her gown down until he had access to the delicate skin of her throat and breasts. “Forget last night,” he ordered softly, slipping her buttons free one by one until Jacqui could feel the cool air on her naked back, a dizzying contrast to the scorching touch of Dane’s lips on her flesh, the heat of the seductive words he breathed against her skin. “Forget your work, our argument, the world.” He closed his mouth over hers, tugging the remainder of her clothing from her trembling body and easing her onto the thick quilt. “Forget everything … everything but this.” He covered her body with his. “Only this.” He tangled his hands in her hair. “Ah, Jacqueline … only this …”

Jacqui did.

Afterward, she lay curled beside him, worried by the magnitude of her feelings. Physically, nothing had changed: their lovemaking was as stormy and fulfilling as ever. But for Jacqui, it was no longer enough. She wanted to remain in her husband’s arms, to prolong the peace she knew there … to hear him say he loved her.

“What is it,
chaton
?” Dane rubbed his chin across the top of her head, conscious of the sudden tension in her body.

Desperate to run away, more desperate to stay here forever, Jacqui closed her eyes. “I hated when you left me last time,” she blurted out.

Dane understood … perhaps more than she wished him to. He tipped her chin up, kissed her beautiful, flushed cheeks. “I hated it as well,” he replied with sober intensity. “I won’t leave you again.” He held her gaze as poignantly as he held her soft, damp body. “I missed you,
chaton
.” His voice was like deep velvet. “Very much.”

Jacqui lowered her eyes.

Dane studied her bent head silently for long moments, wrestling with his options. At last, he gave a resigned sigh. “I should have known your mind would not be so easily conquered as your body, my unwavering wife,” he said, feigning ignorance in order to spare Jacqui the distress of examining what was in her heart. “Have you resumed pondering the affairs of the world?”

The new subject was infinitely safer than the one Jacqui had actually been grappling with. “I’m concerned about America’s future … yes,” she answered, relieved to be on sure ground.

“As am I.” Once again, Dane considered pursuing Jacqui’s
true
worry, then thought better of it. That particular conversation was one Jacqui would have to initiate herself, and evidently she just wasn’t ready to deal with her feelings for him. So be it … for now.

Dane pressed a kiss to her forehead, then settled her against him. “All right, my lovely scholar. Let’s continue our discussion.”

“Beginning with Laffey.” Jacqui propped herself on one elbow, crisply efficient as she looked into her husband’s face.

Dane grinned at the delicious contrast between Jacqui’s businesslike demeanor and her exquisite, intimate state of undress. “All right. Beginning with Laffey.” He folded his arms behind his head.

“I plan to continue writing my columns.”

“Agreed … with one condition.” Dane ignored Jacqui’s belligerent scowl. “I want you to show me your articles
before
you turn them over to Bache.”

“Why?”

“So I can be prepared for the ramifications.” Dane’s reply was equally as curt. He reached out, threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping her head tenderly. “Jacqueline, I will never deny you your independence … don’t deny me the right to protect you. You’re my wife … and I care about you … deeply.”

Jacqui’s throat constricted, autonomy warring with sentiment. “You won’t attempt to influence what I write?”

“No.”

She nodded. “I believe you. And I accept your condition.”

Dane felt a surge of elation, not at the minor victory he’d won over Laffey, but at the three little words Jacqui had just uttered.
I believe you,
she’d said. Belief was the first step toward trust.

“I understand your concern over my columns, especially the controversial ones dealing with the whiskey tax,” Jacqui was continuing. “However, I
don’t
understand what information you believed I had in my possession that could possibly interest the English.”

Dane continued to absently caress her nape. “I trust you, Jacqueline,” he said with slow deliberation, his gaze fixed on hers, “so I will tell you what has occurred, and why I believe there is a traitor in our midst.”

Quietly and without embellishment, Dane told Jacqui about the documents that had mysteriously disappeared, then reappeared in Hamilton’s office just prior to John Jay’s departure for England; about the faltering negotiations still taking place between Jay and Grenville; and about Grenville’s prior knowledge of each of America’s preset conditions.

“Your weekly nocturnal excursions and blatant pro-French philosophy made Alexander suspicious,” Dane admitted. “He assumed you were acting on behalf of your father. We already suspected George was Jack Laffey, since he had the most uncanny ability to appear at events attended by important politicians who, later that week, would be quoted in Laffey’s column. Then, the day after the papers were stolen from Alexander’s office, your father made a most uncharacteristic request.” Dane went on to explain George’s unusual and urgent need to send a shipment to the mainland. “So you see,” Dane concluded candidly, “the evidence, though circumstantial, seemed pretty damning. Your father appeared to be not only Jack Laffey but an American traitor. And you, it seemed likely, were his accomplice.”

“I see.” Jacqui considered Dane’s explanation carefully and objectively. Hamilton’s suspicions had certainly been founded … founded but flawed. It was up to her to identify the defects and clear her family name by discovering the true felon. “Obviously, Secretary Hamilton’s theory is correct,” she acknowledged, her fine brows drawn contemplatively. “Information is being supplied to the English. I presume you believe this is being done in order to draw us into war with them?”

“Exactly.”

“Then the remaining question is, Why? Is our traitor propelled by a desire for English supremacy or is he concerned with forging America’s ties with France? The latter goal is no longer a certainty, since we’ve determined that my father and I are not the guilty parties.”

Dane’s hand stilled. “Your brilliance never ceases to amaze me,
chaton
,” he murmured, his voice laced with pride. “I salute your keen perception … you are quite right.”

Laying her hand on Dane’s chest, Jacqui propped her chin upon it. “Give me some time to think,” she said matter-of-factly. “After which, I’ll determine the most effective way to unearth the culprit and his motive.”

Dane nearly catapulted them both off the bed. “You’ll do
what
?” he bellowed.

Jacqui blinked up at him in astonishment. “I said that I’ll—”

“I heard what you said.” Dane seized her shoulders, glaring at her with blazing silver eyes. “And the answer is
no
! No, you will not determine the plan we will enact to catch the offender, and no, you will not take part in that plan once we determine it!” He shook her gently. “Don’t even consider it, Jacqueline … not for a minute. I want you to stay the hell out of this. Do you understand?”

Jacqui raised her chin defiantly.

“Jacqueline … I’m warning you,” Dane said in a chilling tone that brought to Jacqui’s mind her father’s words about Dane’s overwhelming, carefully leashed power. “I’ll tie you up if I must, keep you under lock and key, but I will
not
allow you to endanger yourself. Is that clear?”

She didn’t answer.

“Jacqueline!”
There was no arguing with
that.

“All right … yes,” Jacqui replied reluctantly.

“Damn … you drive me crazy.” He jerked the quilt out from under them, yanking it over their naked bodies. “Enough talking. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. … The only sleep I got last night was when I passed out in a drunken stupor.” He settled himself in the bed, then pulled her to him, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“Dane, it’s the middle of the day. We have to—”

“Go to sleep, Jacqueline.” He tightened his grip around her waist, muttering, “You bloody impossible, unyielding woman.” He closed his eyes, his final words muffled by her fragrant cloud of hair, slurred by his fatigue. “Lord only knows why I love you.”

Jacqui was certain she’d never been so arrogantly chastised.

Nor so arrogantly pleased.

I
CANNOT BELIEVE I’M
hearing this!”

Rarely was the Secretary of the Treasury at a loss for words. He was now. Pacing the length of his office, he came to an abrupt halt before his desk, slamming his hands on the walnut surface until it vibrated from the impact. “Dane, have you taken complete leave of your senses?”

Dane stood stiffly. “My senses are quite intact, Alexander. I simply will not forbid my wife from writing her columns. … They mean far too much to her.”

“What about what they mean to America?”

“I made Jacqueline aware of the inflammatory nature of certain political issues. I trust her to temper her articles accordingly … but without compromising her standards.”

Hamilton exhaled sharply. “You trust her? After all her deception, you can still use that word?”

“I can.”

Their gazes locked.

“I could make certain of Laffey’s demise by revealing his identity,” Hamilton said quietly.

“You could. But you won’t. And if you tried, I would do everything in my power to thwart you.” Dane’s reply was equally quiet.

“You believe in her that much?”

“I love her that much.”

Hamilton shook his head slowly. “I don’t understand a love that makes a man weak.”

“Not weak, Alexander. Whole. And not blind either. I know my wife’s flaws; Lord knows I’ve been subjected to them often enough. But I also know her virtues. She is forthright, principled, and unquestionably loyal to her country.”

“And to you?”

Dane’s lips curved into a smile. “And to me. Fight it though she will.”

Hamilton fell into a thoughtful silence. Finally he said, “We’ve known each other a long time now, Dane.”

“More than seven years,” Dane agreed.

“When I first met you I had only just arrived from New York to attend the Continental Congress. I had grown disheartened, for it seemed I stood alone in my convictions. Many called me monarchical, when in truth I was merely being practical.” He smiled faintly, remembering. “You approached me at the City Tavern to offer your support.”