Masque of Betrayal (40 page)

Jacqui exhaled sharply, grateful for the opportunity to assess the situation. She had no idea how far her captor was traveling or how long he would be gone. She only knew that every second that ticked by brought her closer to safety.

Or to death.

She pushed that ugly possibility from her mind. Dane would find her. She knew he would. Hadn’t he promised to always be there for her?

She blinked at the implausibility of her own thought. When on earth had she become such a romantic fool? How had she allowed herself to place any faith in her husband’s unlikely guarantees? Didn’t she, of all people, know that no one could be relied upon but oneself?

She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
Please find me, Dane,
her heart called out, ignoring the dictates of her mind.
Please. I need you.

The minutes dragged by … and her bonds refused to give.

Several hours passed before Jacqui heard her captor’s approaching footsteps. She lifted her chin, watching him reenter the cabin. Exhausted, numb, and frustrated by her inability to free herself, Jacqui studied her assailant warily, wondering what he had planned.

He’d come prepared, bringing bread, cheese, port … and another round of questions Jacqui had no intention of answering.

“I thought this time alone might loosen your tongue,” he muttered, unpacking the food.

Jacqui wet her lips. “I’m so hungry I can barely think.”

He gave a terse nod. “Very well.” He seemed to consider untying her and then decided against it. Instead he walked over, stood beside her, and broke off pieces of bread and cheese, holding them to her mouth.

Jacqui ate gratefully, realizing it would be foolish to refuse the sustenance. She had eaten nothing since early morning and knew she’d need all her strength for the hours that lay ahead. “May I have a drink?” she asked.

Wordlessly he held the bottle to her mouth. Jacqui hesitated for the briefest of seconds, then took a greedy gulp of port.

“Thank you.” Reluctantly, she licked the drops from her lips. Her throat was still parched, but she dared not risk drinking too much wine and thus becoming lightheaded. She had to keep a clear mind to determine her best course of action.

“More?” he asked gruffly.

She shook her head. “No … thank you.”

He straightened and began to pace, fists clenched tightly at his sides, his movements becoming progressively more agitated.

Suddenly, he spun around to face her. “You’ve eaten. You’ve drunk. Tell me what I need to know, damn you!”

Jacqui’s heart thudded loudly. “I cannot give you information I don’t possess.”

She flinched as her captor slapped his palm furiously across the back of her chair. Apprehensively, she waited to see if he would strike her next. But instead he stalked across the room, his back turned toward her, and gulped down a half-bottle of port.

Jacqui sagged with relief. What she really wanted was to ask him what time it was, but she bit back the urge. To do so might arouse his suspicions and alert him to the fact that she was hoping to be rescued. She glanced quickly over her shoulder. Judging from the gray daylight filtering in from the small window at the rear of the cabin, she would guess it to be late afternoon.

Had she been missed? How much longer could she hold this man at arm’s length?

Dane …
Jacqui’s thoughts turned to her husband, and a surge of renewed faith flowed through her. All would be well.

“I’m right behind you, Whiskey.”

Dane wound his way through the trees, grateful that the rain had finally stopped and that, since it was August, darkness would not fall for some time. He had been following Whiskey for nearly an hour now and never once had the kitten paused in his trek. Dane doubted not that Jacqui’s pet had gone this route earlier today; the rain had made the wooded ground soft and Whiskey’s pawprints were clearly evident in the mud.

But where would the trail lead, and where was Jacqui?

The heinous possibilities made the hair on the back of Dane’s neck stand up. He refused to dwell on his fear, for every fiber of his being cried out that Jacqui was still unharmed and that Whiskey would take him to her.

So Dane followed the pawprints and Whiskey followed his nose.

Suddenly, the kitten stilled, his body taut, his back arched in warning. Crouching low to the ground, he slinked forward, rumbling deep in his throat. Dane crept cautiously behind, groping for his pistol, progressing but a short distance before he came to an abrupt halt.

It was a cabin … nestled in a clump of trees, blending so completely with its natural setting that it was nearly invisible.

Dane’s blood began to pound. He’d never known any structure had been erected in this remote section of woods, isolated from the rest of the city. One that appeared, at a cursory glance, to be totally deserted.

Quickly, he worked his way closer, until he reached Whiskey’s side, a mere stone’s throw from the cabin door: “Is Jacqui in there?” he demanded through clenched teeth. But he knew his answer. He could feel her presence as clearly as if she’d called out to him.

Then, from within, he heard the man’s voice … rough, gravelly, indistinct, but a man’s voice nonetheless … followed by a woman’s … Jacqui.

Something inside Dane snapped.

He reached the door in three strides and slammed his weight against it “Jacqueline!”

Jacqui’s heart gave a convulsive leap. “Dane … I’m in here!” she called out, heedless of the consequence.

Her assailant instantly froze, every muscle in his body going rigid. Then he jerked around to stare fearfully at the door, which had begun to give from the constant pounding of Dane’s weight. The next moment, the masked man backed away and bolted. Sprinting to the rear of the cabin, he smashed the window with his elbow, worked his way through the narrow opening, and disappeared into the woods.

“Dane … he’s getting away!” Jacqui screamed over the sound of splintering wood.

Apparently her husband either couldn’t hear or didn’t care, because the furious banging at the door continued.

With a loud crash, the wood gave way and Dane exploded into the cabin, pistol raised. His eyes instantly found Jacqui and, seeing that she was alone, he raced over to her.

“Are you all right?” He was already untying the ropes.

“Yes … I’m fine. He didn’t harm me.” She winced at the stinging sensation in her wrists as the bonds came loose, leaving her skin raw and her fingers painfully numb. “But Dane, he’s escaped.” She gestured toward the shattered window.

Dane stalked over and peered outside, seeing naught but an empty expanse of woods. To search so vast an area now, with darkness soon to fall, would be futile. “We’ll find him,” he assured Jacqui, returning to her side. “Right now all I care about is you.” Tenderly, he massaged the feeling back into her fingers, bringing each palm to his lips and scowling at the ugly red welts on Jacqui’s wrists. Then, wordlessly he untied her ankles, simultaneously colliding with a black fur ball who was rubbing against Jacqui’s legs and purring.

“Whiskey.” Jacqui smiled down at her pet. “I knew your namesake would provide you with the incentive to follow me.”

Dane heard her puzzling comment but was too busy soothing the cramps from her ankles to pursue it. The time for talking would come … later. “I want you to try to stand up,
chaton,
” he instructed. “I’ll help you.”

Slowly, shakily, Jacqui rose, holding on to Dane for support.

“Good,” he praised. “Let’s walk.”

He wrapped his arm around her, led her back and forth until her limbs began to work properly on their own.

“Dane … thank you.” She paused midway across the room, her fingers curling into the soft material of Dane’s coat. Tightening her grip, she gazed up at her husband’s strained, worried face. “I’m unscathed, truly I am.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “My captor even fed me.”

Dane ruffled her curls lightly, “
I
plan to murder you,” he told her softly. “But not just yet.” His hand slid down her neck in a butterfly caress, verifying through his touch that she was here and that no real harm had befallen her. “I’m so damned relieved, so grateful, so …” He broke off.

Tenderness clogged Jacqui’s throat, and impulsively she stepped into Dane’s arms, wrapping her own around his broad back. “I knew you would find me,” she confided in a tired whisper, resting her cheek against his shirtfront.

Her unexpected, first-time admission of trust made Dane’s heart expand with joy and a love so vast it hurt. He crushed her fiercely to him, overcome by profound emotions he no longer wished to suppress. “I’m never going to let you out of my sight again, you infuriating, stubborn little rebel.” He kissed the tangled waves of her hair.

Right then Jacqui thought his threat sounded like heaven. “Can we go home now?” she asked wearily.

Dane nodded, temporarily stemming his acute surge of feeling. Clearing his throat roughly, he leaned down and swung Jacqui into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she asked, startled.

Dane crossed the room, stepped through the space where the door had been, and walked out into the woods, Whiskey at his heels. “I’m carrying you home, sweet,” he informed her, making his way through the trees. “Predominately because you’re in no condition to walk that great a distance.”

“And …” Jacqui prompted, suspecting another motive.

“And this way I can be sure you don’t take any hazardous detours en route to our house.”

She sighed, resting her head against Dane’s broad shoulder and closing her eyes. Despite her show of bravado, the day’s episode had been harrowing, and Jacqui felt shaky and depleted. Drawing upon Dane’s strength seemed very right and absolutely wonderful.

Common sense be damned.

“Come quickly! They’re home!”

Greta’s joyous shriek echoed through the Westbrooke house.

An instant later, a sea of faces appeared in the hallway, mouths agape as a triumphant Whiskey led his master and mistress into the house.

George reacted first, literally shoving Greta aside in order to reach his daughter. “Jacqui …
ma petite
… are you all right?”

Jacqui eased herself down from Dane’s arms until her feet touched the floor. Then she went into her father’s waiting embrace. “I’m fine,
mon père,
truly I am.”

“Thank God.” He hugged her, meeting Dane’s gaze over Jacqui’s head, his own eyes damp. “Dane … I’m deeply grateful to you.”

Dane had no time to respond before Greta, having assessed Jacqueline’s condition as good and the hour as late, began issuing orders to Stivers and Redding. The two men hurriedly accompanied her to the kitchen to assist in the preparation of a hot meal for Herr and Frau Westbrooke.

Alone with the family, Lenore moved forward to gently stroke Jacqui’s hair. “I’m so relieved you’re home. When I received your father’s message …” She shot an intuitive glance at her son. “This incident goes far deeper than a mere disappearance, doesn’t it, Dane?”

Dane frowned. “I’m not free to divulge anything more at this time, Mother,” he replied truthfully. “Suffice it to say that Jacqueline’s life was in danger and I intend to make certain it never again is.”

Jacqui smiled at Lenore, squeezing her arm. “Your son was very heroic in his rescue. You would be proud, had you seen him.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She kissed Jacqui’s forehead. “I’m proud of you both.” She took in Jacqui’s pale face, the lines of exhaustion around her eyes, and turned to George. “It’s been a long evening and I, for one, am spent. If I have my carriage brought around, would you be kind enough to see me back to Greenhills, George?”

“Now?” George blinked. “Forgive me, Lenore, but I want to remain with Jacqui until I feel assured …” He broke off, grasping Lenore’s reasons belatedly. “Oh … I see.” He hesitated.

“Father, I
am
well … truly,” Jacqui assured him. “But I’m dreadfully tired.” She rubbed her throbbing temples. “Would you mind very much if we were to talk tomorrow? I really need to lie down for a while.” She cast a glance toward the kitchen. “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you would deal with Greta; explain to her that I promise to eat huge portions of her meal … tomorrow.” She yawned. “After I’ve rested.”

George relented. “Of course. You go off to bed. I’ll see Dane’s mother to Greenhills and then go home myself. This has been a harrowing day for all of us.”

“Thank you,” Jacqui said gratefully.

Dane wrapped his arm around her waist. “Come,
chaton
,” he murmured. “I’ll take you up.” He led her toward the stairs, calling to his mother and George, “We’ll expect you both tomorrow.”

“Not until around noon,” Lenore said firmly to their retreating backs.

George turned to her with a frown. “Do you believe Jacqui is so badly afflicted as to sleep all night and half the following day?” he demanded, once Jacqui and Dane were out of hearing range.

“On the contrary, I believe Jacqueline will be much herself in a matter of hours,” Lenore said, patting his arm. “And while ’tis true I do not know the full circumstances of today’s upsetting disappearance … in fact, I suspect you know far more than I”—she coughed discreetly—“Jacqueline appears to be merely worn out, nothing more.”

“Then why are we delaying our visits?”

Lenore’s smile was filled with joy and wisdom. “Because, sir, I believe our children need some time alone together. My instincts tell me that Jacqui and Dane are on the verge of a glorious discovery, one I’ve been praying they would make.” She looked up toward the second-floor landing and nodded decisively. “Yes, I do believe that noon tomorrow would be an excellent hour to arrive.”

George followed her gaze, then broke into a broad grin. “I begin to suspect from whom Dane inherited his fine instincts.”

A commotion from the kitchen interrupted them.

“I
refuse
to argue over my tarts again, Herr Stivers!” Greta was roaring.

Lenore winced and George laughed aloud.

“I am more accustomed than you to Greta’s … rather forward ways,” George said gallantly. “So, while you send for your carriage,
I
shall break the news to her that the ten-course meal she has by now prepared must wait until morning.”