Masque of Betrayal (9 page)

Jacqui shook her head in amazement. “You would do it, wouldn’t you?” She glanced up and down the quiet street, nearly giggling aloud at the thought of the reactions she would receive if the neighbors saw her passionately kissing a man in broad daylight.

“I would.” Dane watched her, fascinated. “And it wouldn’t bother you in the least, would it?” he asked incredulously.

“The fact that you kissed me or the fact that others might witness it?” Her eyes danced with mischief.

Dane chuckled. “I
know
my kiss would bother you. I was referring to the latter.”

“Not particularly.” Jacqui shrugged. “If I spent much time worrying about what people thought of me, I would be as most other women I know: totally bored and utterly tiresome.”

Dane threw his head back and shouted with laughter. “What a delightful description of the female sex.”

“Not delightful, but accurate.”

“And you, of course, are the exception.”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “Of course.”

Without warning, her smile invaded his heart and exploded in his loins, igniting a passion so fierce that it staggered him. All humor vanished from his handsome face. “Walk with me.”

Dane’s words, their implicit meaning, washed over Jacqui like a tidal wave. There was no fighting the primitive, raw sexuality he effortlessly exuded.

Jacqui walked.

With each step, she assured herself that it was curiosity and not desire that made her agree, that it was their challenging banter and not his overwhelming magnetism that made Dane Westbrooke’s company so intriguing.

Then she was in his arms.

Sheltered by the tall pines beside her house, they came together with an urgency that was as fervent as it was natural. There was nothing even remotely tentative or teasing about this kiss. It was hot and hungry and out of control before it began.

“How I’ve missed you,” Dane breathed, lifting her off the ground, fitting her against him, pressing her close enough to feel her full length.

Jacqui wrapped her arms about his neck, welcoming everything he’d taught her the last time … the intimate probe of his tongue, the blatant hardness of his body against hers. She kissed him back, gliding her fingers through the silk of his hair, opening her mouth to deepen his presence within her body.

Dane tangled his fingers in her thick curls, bending her backward so his mouth had access to the bare skin of her neck, her throat. He nuzzled the fragrant pulse behind her ear, whispering her name, then biting on the soft lobe until she moaned aloud. He kissed his way down the side of her neck to her shoulder and lower, to the top of her breast. “I want you,” he whispered against her racing heart. “I want all of you.” He lifted his head, met the fathomless midnight of her eyes and felt triumph surge through him at the longing that was so clearly revealed to him. “Jacqueline … I have to have you.” Dane was stunned to realize that he was actually shaking.

Jacqui couldn’t quite catch her breath. “No,” she managed.

Dane kissed her flushed cheeks. “Yes,” he contradicted softly, struggling to master his rampaging desire. “But not yet. Not until you want it as badly as I do. Not until the moment is right.” He lowered his head briefly and pressed a lingering kiss on the upper slope of each breast, murmuring, “Your first time has to be as wildly intoxicating … as magnificently unforgettable … as thoroughly exquisite as you.”

Jacqui fought the flash of heat that shot through her at Dane’s explicit words, his intimate caress. She licked her swollen lips, still clutching his shoulders for balance. “How do you know it will be my first time?”

He raised his head and looked at her tenderly. “I just know.”

“Damn you, Dane Westbrooke,” she whispered, unconsciously caressing the nape of his neck. “Damn you to hell.”

“Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.” He tugged her to him for another kiss. Running his fingers up and down her back, he stroked the fine material of her gown, soothing her and arousing her all at once.

“Stop,” she ordered, her arms still locked about him, her eyes heavy-lidded with passion.

“Soon,” he promised. He continued to kiss her for long minutes; deep, drugging kisses that left them both breathless, hungry for more. When he lowered her to the ground, he kept his arms about her, her head pressed against his chest. “Don’t be afraid, sweet,” he repeated softly into her disheveled hair. “I’ll never hurt you.”

“You confuse me dreadfully.” Jacqui’s confession was muffled against his coat.

“I know I do.” He kissed the top of her head. “But that won’t be forever.”

She looked up at him. “You are so sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Absently, Dane rearranged her tousled curls in the hopes that Greta wouldn’t notice her mistress’s rather rumpled state. Even if Jacqueline cared nothing for her reputation, Dane was determined to spare it. At last he shook his head. “It has nothing to do with being sure of myself, love. What I’m sure of is that you will belong to me. That is innate knowledge, not conceit.”

“But only if I come to you,” she reminded him.

He grinned. “Yes,
mon chaton colereux.
Only if you come to me.”

“That is quite a challenge you are issuing, sir,” Jacqui said, silently promising herself that he would never win, then assuring herself that she would pull free of his arms … in just a moment.

Dane kissed the tip of her upturned nose. “But one I do not plan to lose.” He eased her away from him, keeping one arm locked about her shoulders.

Jacqui glanced down at his gesture. “I assume you believe that by continuing to hold me you will influence my decision?”

Dane chuckled. “No. I believe that by continuing to hold you I will keep your knees from giving out and tumbling you to the grass.”

Bristling, Jacqui slapped his arm away and promptly teetered unsteadily, forced to grab hold of his forearm to regain her balance.

“Better, love?” Despite his resolve to the contrary, his lips twitched. He tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. “I shall assist you to your front door.”

He took a step forward, only to trip over a solid object in his path. Looking down in surprise, Dane saw a small black ball of fluff that sprang to life, hissing and arching its back in response to the unappreciated assault.

“Who is this?” Dane appeared unintimidated by the less-than-pleased kitten.

“This is my cat.” Jacqui leaned over and scooped Whiskey into her arms, kissing his soft fur with an uncharacteristic warmth Dane had never seen her display. Deeply touched, he watched, fascinated.

“It’s all right, little one,” Jacqui murmured, her customary guard lowered. Unaware of Dane’s tender scrutiny, she spoke softly into Whiskey’s fur. “I know he is quite large and the impact of his feet must be painful, but he did not intentionally harm you.” She stroked the tiny length of the kitten, which began to purr contentedly.

“I most assuredly did not mean to hurt you,” Dane solemnly concurred, bending over to scratch Whiskey’s ears. “Next time I shall be more—”

Dane never finished his sentence. The moment his hand touched Whiskey’s fur, the kitten sprang into action, leaping forward with an angry hiss and slashing his claws across Dane’s cheek. Ignoring Dane’s furious expletive, he bounded to the grass and raced off, like a naughty child who did not intend to remain for his punishment, and disappeared around the front of the house.

“Whiskey!” Jacqui called after him, appalled.

“Bloody hell!” Dane cursed again, pressing his fingers to the deep gashes now covering his left cheek.

Jacqui went to him, still stunned, staring after her now-vanished pet. “Dane, I apologize profusely for my cat’s actions.” She removed Dane’s hand, standing on tiptoe so she could see the ugly wound. “Whiskey has never done anything like this before. He’s always so friendly with people.”

“Well, he obviously does not feel friendly toward me,” Dane grumbled back, feeling the sharp sting of the cuts.

An image flashed through Jacqui’s mind … an image of the night she’d adopted Whiskey. She fought back a smile, remembering. This was not the first time Whiskey and Dane had met … nor the first time Whiskey had attacked Dane.

“What the hell is so funny?” Dane demanded, further irritated by Jacqui’s amused reaction.

“Nothing,” she assured him. She frowned at the blood now trickling along Dane’s jaw. “Come into the house and I’ll treat those scratches.”

Instantly, Dane’s irritation vanished. “All right.”

He allowed himself to be led into the Holts’ spacious sitting room, leaning back and closing his eyes as Jacqui tended to his cheek. The brush of her hands was heaven.

“Am I hurting you?” She paused, assuming that his tightly closed eyes implied pain.

“No, sweetheart.” Dane gave her a slow, devastating grin. “If this is the only way to convince you to continue touching me, it was well worth the price.” He opened teasing silver eyes and caught her hand in his. “In fact, I only wish that your wretched little cat had done his minor damage to those portions of my anatomy that
truly
require your attentions.”

Jacqui flushed and yanked her hand free. “You are not supposed to say such things to me,” she informed him.

One dark brow lifted in amusement. “Really? And why not? You obviously liked hearing them; your face is flushed and your eyes are sparkling.” He dragged her hand back to his face, this time bringing her fingers to his warm, open mouth.

She didn’t deny his words, nor did she reclaim her hand. “That is not the point.”

“Then what is?” He kissed each of her fingertips, then her palm, letting his tongue stroke her soft skin. “You have already informed me that you are nothing like other women, nor do you care what people think of you.”

“Yes … but …”

“But?” he prompted, feeling the pulse in her wrist throb frantically.

“But this is totally irrational,” she tried, tingles running up her spine as Dane’s warm breath caressed her arm.

“This?” he questioned softly.

“Yes, this.” She gestured from herself to him. “What is occurring between us. We hardly even
know
each other.” Her token protest was uttered in a small, bewildered voice.

Dane kissed the delicate veins on the inside of her wrist, then lifted his head, giving her a look of tender understanding. “Some things, my beautiful little scholar, defy logic. Our attraction”—he frowned at his own choice of words—“our mutual fascination,” he corrected, “is one of those things.”

“But it is only a physical fascination,” Jacqui qualified.

Dane pressed her hand to his cheek. “Is it?”

For a long moment there was silence as he held her gaze with his.

Acutely aware of Dane’s warm skin beneath her hand and mesmerized by the intensity of his probing silver stare, Jacqui could barely remember what they’d been talking about. She licked her lips nervously. “Would you like a drink?” she blurted out.

Taking pity on her, Dane released her hand. “A drink would be splendid, both for pleasurable and medicinal purposes.” He moved his jaw gingerly. “Not only will I be able to enjoy your exceptional company, but perhaps a drink will take my mind off my injuries.”

Jacqui rolled her eyes heavenward. “It is only a scratch, Dane, not a fatal wound.” Seeing his disappointed expression, she smiled. “You will find that my sympathy is not so easily attained.”

“Nor is your affection,” he noted with a mock sigh. He leaned forward, catching a soft fold of her gown and using it to tug her closer to him. “Tell me then,” he asked, tracing the contours of her slender waist with teasing, suggestive fingers, “what will you offer me, if not sympathy or affection?”

“
I
will offer you a glass of brandy,” Greta announced loudly, stalking into the room and thrusting a drink at Dane. She stood, glaring, until he had released Jacqui’s gown and taken the proffered glass. Then, without waiting for thanks, Greta slapped a newspaper down onto the table beside Dane and placed a small tray of food next to it. “Your newspaper, Fräulein Holt,” she barked. “Also some homemade white gingerbread, still warm, for you and your guest.” She shot Dane a pointed look. “The refreshment should appease both your pain
and
your voracious appetite, Herr Westbrooke.” With a reproachful sniff, she left the room.

“I believe I have just been duly chastised,” Dane said dryly. “Also put in my place by yet another female in the Holt household.” He took an appreciative sip of brandy and reached for a slice of gingerbread. “Ah, well, at least this offending woman feeds me.”

Jacqui couldn’t argue his point, and its truth astounded her. Greta, who
never
doted, who rarely even smiled, had for the second time indulged a flagrant, notorious rake who was a stranger in their home and who was taking unprecedented liberties with Greta’s mistress. It was nothing short of astonishing.

Unaware of Jacqui’s bafflement, Dane took another sip of brandy, then placed his drink on the table. The newspaper caught his eye.

“The
General Advertiser
,” he murmured. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Instantly, Jacqui retaliated. “What does
that
mean?”

“It means that I should have expected it would be Bache’s Republican newspaper, and not the
Gazette,
that would appeal to you.”

“Just as I would expect it to be the
Gazette
that you advocate and not the
Advertiser,”
she returned. “After all, it is your friend, Secretary Hamilton, who kept the
Gazette
alive and in business this year past. Without his financial support, it would have collapsed, and with it much of the Federalists’ influence.”

Dane looked incredulous. “The influence of great men does not depend on the survival of one newspaper, Jacqueline. Alexander’s voice would be heard with or without the
Gazette
.”

“But not nearly as loudly,” she countered. “Are you going to deny that Hamilton uses the
Gazette
to promote his own ideas?”

“Are
you
going to deny that Jefferson does any less in the
General Advertiser
?” Dane shot back, coming to his feet. “My God, Jacqueline, Jefferson has tried for years to influence the country into a pro-French stance.”