Masque of Betrayal (37 page)

“I was impressed by your candid and vocal advocation of a strong national government. I concurred completely … then and now.”

“There were many who did not trust my judgment. Many who still don’t.”

“You should know by now that I am not influenced by ‘many.’ I am very much my own person.”

“As am I.” Hamilton raised his head, his keen blue eyes clear, decisive. “If you believe so strongly in your Jacqueline, then so be it. I will not interfere … unless,” he quickly amended, “she gives me reason to.”

Dane approached the desk, extended his hand. “You have my thanks.”

Hamilton shook it. “And you have my sympathy.” His lips twitched. “Your bride’s redeeming qualities must be splendid indeed.”

Dane grinned broadly. “They are. And with your permission, I’m off to Westbrooke Shipping so I can return home quickly to sample those redeeming qualities.”

Hamilton watched Dane go, wondering at the powerful emotion that, drove his friend. He did not envy Dane’s predicament, nor could he imagine marriage to so hotheaded and rebellious a woman.

Still, Alexander trusted Dane’s instincts. Therefore, he accepted Dane’s unequivocal conviction that Jacqueline was innocent of treason and that her motives for writing Laffey’s column were honorable. Yet it worried Hamilton for Dane’s wife to possess so much power. Her column had a significant impact on the masses. ’Twas a pity that the column couldn’t be directed toward a more …

An idea exploded in Hamilton’s mind with all the brilliance of a lightning bolt. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier?

Fairly crackling with energy, the Secretary eased into his chair, took up his quill, and began to pen a message.

“You wished to see me, Mr. Secretary?”

Jacqui stood in the open doorway, awaiting permission to enter. For long hours after receiving Hamilton’s note, she had debated whether or not to comply with his urgent but mysterious request to see her. In the end, her curiosity had won out.

Hamilton pushed back his chair and rose. “Mrs. Westbrooke.” He walked toward her with polished grace. “How kind of you to answer my summons so quickly.” His tone was smooth, but his blue eyes danced with knowing humor. It had been four hours since his messenger had left with the note.

“I didn’t intend to come,” Jacqui asserted, her small jaw set.

“Really?” He took her hand, pressed a brief, chaste kiss to her knuckles. “Then I’m delighted you reconsidered.”

“What is this all about, Mr. Secretary?” Jacqui withdrew her hand, fingering the. folds of her lime muslin gown impatiently, her gaze fixed on Hamilton’s. “Your note said it concerned national security. Since I know you and Dane have spoken, I assume my being here pertains to that conversation.”

Hamilton rubbed his chin thoughtfully, studying Dane’s beautiful, spirited wife. Forthright, Dane had said. Well, she was certainly that. “Yes, Mrs. Westbrooke, I have spoken with Dane. And yes, that is why I’ve asked to see you.”

“Then things stand as such: you know I am Laffey and I know you despise Laffey.” She paused, her hands knotting in the soft fabric. “In all due respect, sir, if you’ve summoned me to demand that I cease writing my column, you are wasting your time.”

With a faint smile Hamilton gestured toward the chair. “Won’t you have a seat?”

Jacqui gave him a wary look, then complied. Hamilton walked behind his desk and did the same. Steepling his fingers, he rested his chin upon them and leveled his gaze at Jacqui.

“You have been quite frank with me. I shall be the same. True, I know you are Jack Laffey, although I must admit I had trouble believing it at first. However, speaking with you now, I find my skepticism rapidly fading. But no, I did not summon you here to command you to stop writing Laffey’s column. Quite the contrary, in fact. I want you to write the most controversial, jarring column you’ve ever composed in your life … or Laffey’s.”

Jacqui blinked. “I don’t understand.”

Hamilton leaned forward. “Mrs. Westbrooke … Jacqueline … may I call you Jacqueline?” When Jacqui nodded, he continued, “I don’t know how much Dane has told you of our suspicions.”

“You believe there is an American traitor furnishing the English with information,” Jacqui supplied for him. “From the evidence Dane mentioned, I agree with your assessment. However, neither my father nor myself is the criminal you seek.”

Hamilton held up his hand. “I’m not accusing you, my dear.”

“Really? What changed your mind?”

Jacqui’s sarcasm elicited a dry chuckle. “Dane did.” Hamilton couldn’t help but admire Jacqueline’s spunk. “Your husband and I have been friends for a long time, Jacqueline. He possesses the finest instincts I’ve ever seen.”

“I agree.”

“Dane is convinced, beyond any doubt, that you are innocent.”

“His word is enough for you?”

Again, a hint of a smile. “Not entirely. I do trust one person’s instincts more than I do Dane’s.”

“Whose are those?”

“My own.” His lips curved into a full grin. “And after this brief meeting of ours, I must admit that my instincts are in complete accord with Dane’s.”

Jacqui’s mouth dropped open. “Oh … I see.”

“Have I rendered you speechless?”

It was Jacqui’s turn to smile. “No, Mr. Secretary. Even Dane has yet to do that.” Seeing the knowing lift of Hamilton’s brows, she blushed, lowering her gaze for the first time.

Curiously touched by the unexpected show of modesty, Alexander had a sudden glimpse of why Dane was so smitten with his young bride. Jacqueline was an intriguing combination of brazenness and innocence, of fire and femininity … an irresistible challenge to any man … especially a compelling man like Dane.

Calling upon his own gift of charm, Hamilton went on, determined to put Jacqueline at ease. “To continue with my reasons for requesting this visit,” he said, coming to his feet and walking around his desk. “I shall be direct. I need your assistance, Jacqueline.”

“
My
assistance?”

“Or, to be more accurate, Jack Laffey’s assistance.”

Jacqui’s eyes widened with interest. “What manner of assistance do you require?”

Conspiratorially, Hamilton leaned forward. “I want you to help expose our traitor.”

“I? How?”

“If Dane and I are correct, our culprit stole certain documents from my office … documents containing America’s position for Jay’s negotiations with the English. If Grenville saw those papers prior to Jay’s arrival, America’s position has been severely compromised.”

“I understand.”

Hamilton cleared his throat. “But what if our traitor were to learn we are now drafting an entirely
new
set of negotiating points, drawing up a wholly revised document which, in a matter of a fortnight, will be covertly sent to Jay in England?”

Jacqui frowned. “But if such were the case, you would keep that information secret.”

“Yes, we would. But isn’t it uncanny the way Jack Laffey seems to uncover even the most closely guarded secrets in our government?”

Jacqui absorbed this statement silently. “I’m beginning to understand,” she said slowly. “There is no new document being prepared, is there?”

“No, there isn’t.”

Jacqui inhaled sharply. “So what you want is for me to write a column comprised of false information in the hopes it will trigger some kind of action by the guilty person?”

“Exactly. You can suggest that I am penning crucial papers for Jay and that no one, other than myself, knows their contents.”

“A statement such as that would put you in grave danger,” Jacqui pointed out.

“Perhaps.” Hamilton shrugged. “But if it meant apprehending the traitor, it would be well worth the risk.”

“I would be lying to my readers,” Jacqui murmured aloud.

“But to what end? To protect your country, Jacqueline. Is that not worth the price?”

She met his eyes, saw the patriotic fire burning there, a mirror reflection of Dane’s … and of her own. Maybe they were not so very different from each other after all, she mused. Maybe, although their means were different, their goals were much the same.

“Jacqueline? Your answer?”

“Yes.” She committed herself without hesitation or regret. “Yes, Mr. Secretary, I’ll do it.”

“No!” Dane stormed back and forth across the bedchamber, shaking his head vehemently. “No, you will
not
do it!”

Jacqui gave him an exasperated look and dipped her quill in the inkstand. “I most definitely
will
do it.” She returned to her writing.

“Jacqueline …” He crossed over to her in three strides and yanked her to her feet. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this could be? What if the traitor you seek should learn you are Jack Laffey and assume you are in possession of the information you allude to in your column … then what?” Dane shook her, his mind racing with sinister possibilities. “What the hell could Alexander have been thinking of?”

“Our country.” Jacqui disengaged herself from Dane’s grasp and attempted to reason with him. “Dane, I must do this … don’t you understand? Not only for America, but for my father. Until we’ve learned the identity of the real traitor, there will always be a shadow cast on my family name.”

“That’s preposterous!” Dane shot back. “
I
know you’re innocent … and that’s all that matters! You have to prove
nothing,
Jacqueline …
nothing
!”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, tenderness softening her features. “Your faith in me means … a great deal. But I also have to do this for me.”

“Bloody hell!” Dane clenched his jaw, plagued by apprehension that refused to let go. All he knew was that he
had
to keep Jacqui safe, to protect her from whatever ills could befall her.

Jacqui leaned into her husband, firmly gripping his biceps. “Dane, don’t you see? I finally have the chance to do something meaningful: to make a difference, to take on a challenge that is unheard of for a woman.” She caught her breath, knowing by the indecision in Dane’s eyes that she had reached him. “I will be safe,” she pledged in an attempt to allay his fears. “The only person who might be in danger is the Secretary, not I.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“I know you don’t. But I must do it anyway.” She inclined her head slightly. “You did promise not to interfere with what I write in my column, remember?”

His scowl deepened. “I remember.”

She gave him a questioning look. “And?”

Dane cursed under his breath. If he allowed Jacqui to follow through with this foolish plan, she could be exposing herself to grave danger. But if he refused, if he revoked his original vow to her, it would eradicate all the trust he had worked so hard to earn. Either way he was damned.

He cursed again.

Jacqui smiled, the smile of a woman who knew she had won. “Thank you, Dane.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his taut mouth, searching for a way to convey how deeply his show of support had moved her. “I know I am not what one would call an exemplary wife,” she confessed. “But in the future … I shall try.”

Despite his worry, Dane chuckled. “Will you? How?”

She slid her arms around his neck. “Once this ordeal is behind us, I shall master the wifely duty you so constantly crave.”

His strong hands encircled her waist. “I’m intrigued. What is it you have planned?”

“Why, to learn to bake Greta’s strawberry tarts, of course.”

Dane stared down into her beautiful, teasing face and abruptly sobered, drawing her tightly into his arms.

Her own amusement vanished, and Jacqui regarded her husband with searching gravity. “I’ll be fine, Dane. I promise.”

But even Jacqui’s vow and the warmth of her body did little to ease Dane’s worry. Nor, in the days that followed, could they silence the warning bells that continued to clamor in his head.

The lone figure of a woman slipped through the night and entered the deserted alley, unseen. She paused, glanced furtively behind her, and, spotting no one, hastened along, her breath coming in short, shallow pants. Then she stopped, waited.

The man stepped out of the shadows, moving to her side. “Monique?” It was a whisper.

Monique threw the dark hood from her head and faced Thomas with blazing eyes. “Of course it is I,” she snapped. “Why did you summon me here so urgently in the middle of the night?”

Thomas frowned, but did not comment on her cold, brusque manner. Instead, he thrust a newspaper at her, then struck a match so she could make out the words on the page. “Read.”

Impatiently, Monique snatched the paper from his hands and did as he bid her. Within minutes, the furious spark in her eyes was transformed into stark disbelief. “What does this mean?” she demanded.

“Exactly what it says,” Thomas returned in a tight voice. “Obviously Hamilton is making another attempt to negotiate with the English.”

“But what new points could he raise that his original documents did not already address?”

“How the hell should I know?” Thomas bit out. He jabbed a finger at Laffey’s words. “You’ve read the column. The only one who knows what’s in those papers is Hamilton himself.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “The question is, How do we divest the Secretary of this information?”

Monique frowned, tapping her foot nervously. She had already prepared the missive to Paris describing America’s internal strife as escalating and their negotiations with England as futile. Nothing was going to stand in Monique’s way now … nothing. “We must take action.” She pursed her lips. “However, we cannot break into Hamilton’s office again. … It is too risky.”

“Then what do you suggest we do? We
need
those papers! And no one else—”

“Ah, but there is someone else,” Monique interrupted, a smile curving her lips.

“Who?”

“The very person who has kindly provided us with this news … Jack Laffey.”

Thomas blinked, staring at Monique’s triumphant expression. “You plan to question Jacqueline?”

“No.
I
don’t plan to question her …
you
do!”

“I? But how can I …”

Monique waved his protests away. “I know Jacqueline far too well to get involved, Thomas. She would recognize me. You, on the other hand, have met her but once … at her wedding. With the proper disguise”—Monique fingered the edge of her hood—“Jacqueline would never know your identity.”