Masque of Betrayal (8 page)

Dane nodded. “Once we know which of our supposed colleagues is Laffey, we isolate him, feed him highly confidential but volatile political information, and wait for him to disclose it in his column.”

Hamilton stared. “But in the process of baiting Laffey, we will be endangering our country.”

“Not if the facts we give him are false.”

Slowly, a smile of comprehension spread across Hamilton’s face. “So we provide Laffey with inflammatory but inaccurate data and wait for it to appear in the
Advertiser
.”

“Yes. Then we step forward and reveal the information as totally false, discrediting Laffey and his column before all of Philadelphia.” Dane spread his hands in a triumphant sweep. “In short,” he concluded, “Laffey will hang himself. But in order to do that, you and I must first determine who he is.”

A tentative knock interrupted Hamilton’s reply. “Yes?”

John Edgars entered the office, rubbing his hands against his breeches in a nervous gesture. “I am really sorry to intrude, sir,” he began, looking at Dane.

“John? What is it?” Dane was curious. His clerk never sought him out unless something required his immediate attention.

Edgars cleared his throat. “You received an emergency package from George Holt this morning. He requested that it be dispatched on our ship leaving for Europe today. I didn’t know how you wanted me to handle it. …”

Dane frowned. “That is highly unusual for Holt. Customarily, he makes his shipping arrangements several weeks in advance.”

“I know, sir.” Edgars nodded. “But he was insistent. Shall I tell him no?”

“I suppose not. If Holt needs to send something to the mainland, I imagine we can oblige him. Go ahead and make the necessary provisions.”

Hamilton remained silent throughout the exchange. Interestingly, this was the second time in minutes that George Holt’s name had come up in conversation. First, in connection with his daughter, Jacqueline, and now, because of a deviation in his normally precise business procedure.

Hamilton tapped his chin thoughtfully. While he himself had little direct contact with the successful owner of Holt Trading Company, he knew that Dane dealt with him often and well. He also knew that Holt traveled in powerful political circles and had friendships with both Federalists and Republicans alike. Personally, Hamilton had always found Holt to be an affable enough fellow, though a bit too pro-French to suit the Secretary’s tastes.

Now, it appeared, Holt had done something quite out of character.

“Evidently, George Holt is a bit on the impulsive side,” Hamilton mused aloud once Edgars had scurried off.

Dane shook his head in puzzlement. “Anything but. The man is painstakingly well organized. He generally supplies me with his schedule weeks in advance. This conduct is highly unusual.”

“Really.” Hamilton’s own tone was speculative. The timing of Holt’s mysterious action nagged at him. Perhaps, he reflected, he was growing overly suspicious, for there was no tangible reason for him to dwell on the incident—other than the fact that, by nature, Hamilton despised unresolved questions. That, together with his own unsettled state of mind, were probably the true culprits. He was plagued by anxiety over America’s plight with England and agitated by Laffey’s inflammatory columns. The combination had left him on edge. Still … he tucked the episode away to ponder further when he was alone.

Had Dane not been so preoccupied with the earlier subject of their conversation, he would have recognized the contemplative look on his friend’s face. But, as it was, Dane’s thoughts had already returned to Laffey and the problem of exposing his identity.

“What now?” he demanded.

“Pardon me?” Hamilton’s brows rose in question.

“How do we proceed from here? How do we determine which of Friday’s guests was Laffey?” Dane answered, exasperated. He paced the length of the room, hands clasped behind his back.

“Give me a few days to think, Dane,” Hamilton answered evasively. “The solution might show itself.”

Dane stopped short, eyes narrowed on Hamilton’s face. “I thought you had no direction for your suspicions.”

“I don’t,” Hamilton assured him. “However, I think each of us should carefully review Friday night’s guest list. It is a starting point.”

Dane fell silent, wondering what was going on in the Secretary’s brilliant mind. “All right,” he said at last. “But I don’t plan to give up, Alexander. As far as I am concerned, Laffey is a man without scruples, which is little better than a traitor. He should be dealt with accordingly … which I intend to do,” he added grimly. “That wily scoundrel is not going to best me.”

“I’m certain he won’t,” Hamilton agreed mildly. “I have not the slightest doubt that you will unmask Laffey in no time at all.”

Endless weeks later, Dane was no closer to learning the truth about Jack Laffey than he had been in Hamilton’s office. He had discreetly questioned every conceivable person on the guest list, and still … nothing. Baffled and angry, Dane was forced to acknowledge that now, more than a month after the ball, Laffey’s identity still eluded him.

Worse than that, so did Jacqueline Holt.

And if his lack of success in exposing Jack Laffey left Dane peevish, his lack of progress with the beautiful Miss Holt left him as testy as a caged tiger.

After five pointedly unanswered messages and a dozen lame excuses delivered at the Holts’ front door by an adamant and ever-vigilant Greta, Dane came to the unprecedented conclusion that, for the first time, a young woman he was ardently courting was blatantly rejecting his attentions. The irony of the situation was more staggering than the realization itself.

For never had Dane desired a woman the way he did Jacqueline. She was a consuming fever in his blood, the obsession of his days, the haunting of his nights. Despite his thriving business and the political concerns that plagued him, Dane found his thoughts returning time and again to Jacqueline … the luxuriant masses of her rich, dark hair, the bottomless blue of her eyes … even the continual challenge of her caustic tongue.

The way she’d responded in his arms.

That one shattering kiss they’d shared, more than anything, replayed itself over and over in Dane’s mind. It was just as he’d known it would be. Once he’d held her, tasted her, nothing could deter him from having her. And, even then, it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

Not for him, nor for Jacqueline.

Dane understood only too well what his stubborn little hellcat was trying to do. In her naiveté, she was hoping that, by avoiding him, by pretending he didn’t exist, she could forget what had happened … what
was
happening between them. But Dane was neither naive nor inexperienced. He knew better. He and Jacqueline were far from finished … in fact, they’d barely begun. It was time that Jacqueline knew it, too.

The May sun was high overhead when Jacqui stepped out of her house, an impatient Whiskey slithering past her ankles to scoot out into the daylight. Jacqui paused, raised her face to the sky, and inhaled deeply, reveling in the fragrant scent of the air. Spring was in full bloom, the gardens alive with the smell of lilacs, and bluebirds singing merrily as they soared about.

“Oh, Whiskey, I keep forgetting how very much I love the springtime,” she murmured, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She knew she should be wearing a bonnet, but the sun felt so good upon her bare head and it had been so long since she’d allowed herself the freedom of a daytime walk.

Lost in thought, Jacqui strolled through the garden and across the lush green grass. It was not like her to be a coward, she admitted to herself. She had faced far more threatening challenges than Dane Westbrooke, and had not permitted herself to be intimidated. Yet … she had never felt so out of control as she had when they’d kissed. Sentimental weakness was an emotion Jacqui abhorred. And, if avoiding Dane was the only way to rid herself of the unwanted feeling, then so be it.

She hadn’t expected him to be so persistent. It was only the two days past that his endless flow of notes and visits had ceased, allowing Jacqui’s life to resume as it was before Dane Westbrooke exploded into it. She’d won, she congratulated herself. Finally, he’d given up.

She despised the disappointment that her realization elicited.

“Good afternoon,
mon chaton.
”

The low-pitched male voice made her start, spin about in surprise. Just as she had at their first meeting.

Leaning negligently against the tall elm tree that had shielded him from Jacqui’s view, Dane grinned. “It is a lovely day, is it not?”

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, berating herself for allowing him, yet again, to catch her off-guard. Inadvertently, she stepped away from him. Or was it from herself? Damn the swooping sensation in her stomach! And damn Dane Westbrooke for causing it!

“I am waiting for you, sweet. Since it would seem that you have not received any of my messages nor been told of any of my visits.” He straightened, his probing silver gaze locked on hers. “Pity that your faithful Greta is not as efficient as you had originally thought she was.”

Jacqui felt herself color at his pointed sarcasm. She gripped the folds of her gown, feeling uncustomarily off-balance, a state that only Dane Westbrooke seemed to reduce her to. “I—I—I have been busy,” she managed lamely, knowing she sounded like a fool.

Dane’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower, raking her hungrily, seeming to see clear through to the internal turmoil raging inside her. “I never thought of you as a coward, love.” His voice was husky … knowing … erotic.

“I am not a coward!”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” Dane stalked her slowly, his broad shoulders eclipsing the sunlight, leaving nothing in Jacqui’s vision but his advancing, magnetic presence.

“Nor am I a fool.”

He stopped. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that I do not intend to be seduced. Is that clear enough for you, Mr. Westbrooke?”

Dane chuckled at her intentionally formal address. “Very clear. Miss Holt,” he added with a twinkle. He closed the space between them, placing his hands on her narrow shoulders and stroking his thumbs over the fine material of her lime-green gown. “You are frightened by what is between us. I understand. But you have no cause to be afraid. I have no intentions of harming you, sweet. Not ever.”

Jacqui could feel his words, his touch, burn a path straight through her to an unknown place deep within. “But you do plan to seduce me,” she clarified in a guarded whisper.

“No.” Dane cupped her face tenderly between his hands, wondering at the ferocity of his craving for her, aware, on some level, that it transcended the mere physical. “To the contrary, love. I plan to allow you to seduce me.”

Jacqui caught his wrists and shoved them from her face, nearly sputtering with indignation. “You plan to … what?”

Dane wrapped his fingers around hers, holding her still so she was forced to hear his words. “I won’t let you go, Jacqueline. I want you too much. What’s more, you want me too.” He ignored her furious protest. “But I do not intend to take what you don’t willingly offer. So you see, love,” he freed one of her hands to bury his fingers in the soft masses of her hair, “you have nothing to fear. I won’t coerce you into my bed. However, if you choose to come to me on your own, I could never turn you away.” He brushed her lips with his. “And you will come to me, love. I promise you, you will.”

Jacqui jerked free of his iron grasp. “You are the most arrogant, conceited, contemptible blackguard I have ever had the misfortune to meet!” She massaged her wrist, trying to eliminate the tingling that was a result, not of pain, but of Dane Westbrooke’s touch.

Dane smiled slowly. “But I excite you.”

“You infuriate me,” she shot back.

“That too.” He lifted her hand and gently kissed the wrist she had been vigorously rubbing. “Did I hurt you?” he murmured.

“You insulted me.” She snatched her arm away.

Dane’s dark brows rose. “By telling you that I want you? By saying that you are, by far, the most breathtaking, desirable woman I’ve ever known?” He raised her chin with a strong, tanned forefinger, forcing her to meet penetrating silver eyes that branded her with burning possession. “By confessing that I actually dream of making love to you?” he added softly, brushing her lower lip with his thumb. “No,
mon chaton,
that is not an insult, but the highest of compliments.”

Jacqui swallowed, caught between the heat of her fury and the telltale truth revealed by the accelerated beating of her heart. She loathed the fact that Dane’s words alone could affect her so powerfully; still she drank in the excitement accompanying the stirrings of her newly awakened body. The conflict tore at her, clouding her reason, yet she could no longer deny that Dane forced her to feel things she’d never before experienced. But was it desire she was feeling? Or was it simply anger coupled with the clever manipulations of a very charming, very experienced man?

Only one thing was certain … Jacqui was in way over her head.

Dane felt a wave of sympathy at the utterly bewildered look on her expressive face. He was pushing her too hard, too fast, and he knew it.

Reluctantly, he released her chin. “You were on your way out?”

“O-Out?” Jacqui stammered. The man’s technique for dropping her from the height of an emotional precipice to the mundaneness of a casual conversation was incredible.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Dane repeated gently, “out.”

Jacqui licked her lips, battling her way back to reality. “I was just going to get some air. I haven’t strayed from the house since …” She broke off, flushing, as she realized that he knew exactly how long it had been since she’d left the house. He also knew why.

Seeing her discomfort, Dane resisted the urge to taunt her. “Then may I join you?” he asked instead.

She sighed. “Dane …”

“At least you recall my name,” he teased. “So there must be hope after all. I am, indeed, a fortunate man.”

She tried, unsuccessfully, not to laugh. “You, sir, could charm a serpent into sacrificing its prey.”

“In that case, can I charm you into taking a simple walk with me?” he pressed, grinning a sly, devilish grin. “Think carefully before you refuse. For if you do, I shall have no choice but to convince you in the only way I know how … to continue where we left off scant weeks ago.” His grin widened at her blush. “This time, however, we will not be able to savor the privacy your dining room afforded us, but be forced to … enjoy each other right here on your front lawn,” he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, “in plain view of the whole neighborhood.” His look was pure innocence. “The choice, my love, is yours.”