Masque of Betrayal Page 5

  “Of parties in general, or only of those hosted by politicians whose views you do not share?”

  “Parties of any kind,” she qualified, raising her chin in a defiant gesture that Dane was beginning to recognize. “Quite simply, I dislike being ogled and pawed.”

  Dane’s lips twitched. “I see.” He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “Tell me what you do enjoy doing.”

  Jacqui took a sip of coffee, regarding Dane cautiously over the rim of her cup. “Are you asking what my interests are?” she questioned carefully. “If so, I must warn you that they are not the conventional things you would expect.”

  “From you I would never expect the conventional.”

  “Very well.” She placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward as if readying herself for verbal battle. “I like to read and I have an extensive library, filled mostly with the classics. I am also superb at both whist and chess.” She shot Dane a challenging look.

  “All admirable pursuits,” he answered smoothly, refusing to be baited.

  Jacqui smiled sweetly. “I am also fond of placing an occasional wager, if the horse in question seems promising enough.”

  Dane swallowed a chuckle. “As am I.”

  It was time to best Dane Westbrooke. “And I keep the ledgers for Holt Trading.”

  Rather than looking appalled, as Jacqui had expected, Dane looked positively fascinated. “Now I am impressed. You are involved with your father’s business?”

  “I am my father’s daughter, Mr. Westbrooke. The name of the company is Holt Trading, which is my name as well.”

  “Your father is a very lucky man,” Dane said in a voice that was a husky caress. He covered her hand with his. “He has a daughter who is not only beautiful and captivating, but loyal and intelligent as well.”

  Jacqui’s bewilderment showed on her face. It was not the compliment that confused her, for she had received many that were far more flowery. But they had all been delivered by men who, though handsome and effusive, wanted nothing more than to possess her and squelch her spirit. How then was she to deal with this charming rogue’s undisguised admiration, not only of her physical attributes, but of her mental ones as well? Oh, she was not naive enough to believe that she could trust him, nor that his intentions were honorable. He meant to seduce her; of that there was no doubt. But he seemed to want more … although what it was he wanted, she still didn’t know. She only knew that, whatever it was, he had not been put off by her revelations.

  Staring down at their joined hands, Jacqui swallowed convulsively.

  Dane Westbrooke might feel unthreatened. But Jacqui did not.

  “Jacqueline is a beautiful name.” Dane began to stroke her fingers in a slow, circular motion. He watched her stare, entranced, at the movements of his hand, saw her breath coming a bit faster, and it took all his control not to stand up and drag her into his arms. “Your name is lyrical and captivating and elegant. It suits you.”

  “It is French. My mother chose it.” Jacqui could barely concentrate past the heat of his touch.

  Dane traced the smooth skin of her knuckles. “Your mother has excellent taste. Is she of French descent?” He raised his dark brows as a sudden thought occurred to him. “Was that the reason for your impassioned plea on France’s behalf last Friday?”

  Jacqui shook her head. “Au contraire, monsieur. My mother was French Canadian … from Quebec. Her people were hardly sympathetic toward France. Even the English were preferable to them. No, sir, my beliefs are my own.”

  “You said ‘was.’ Is your mother no longer alive?”

  A shadow of sadness crossed her lovely face. “My mother died ten years ago,” she replied shortly.

  “I’m sorry, Jacqueline.”

  He sounded sorry, too, his deep, resonant voice filled with something curiously akin to compassion.

  For the first time, Jacqui raised her eyes to Dane’s, wondering at his reaction and simultaneously hoping that, by focusing on anything but their joined hands, she could break the sensual spell he had cast. It was a mistake. The moment her hesitant gaze met the tenderness of his, the tingling sensation in her body intensified and a warm, heavy ache began deep inside her.

  It spread like a narcotic, demanding control of her body, and she fought the feeling. Not because it was unpleasant, for, in truth, it was wildly exciting. But because it was overwhelming and left her vulnerable and unsure. She would tolerate neither.

  “Come here.”

  Dane’s fingers tightened on hers as he stood, and before Jacqui could even think to protest, he had drawn her against him, lifting her face so close to his that she could feel his breath on her lips, inhale his masculine scent.

  “I’ve wanted to know the taste of your mouth from the first moment I saw you,” he murmured huskily, gliding his fingers through her hair.

  Jacqui’s heart gave an involuntary leap.

  “It’s what you want as well, Jacqueline.” He slid his hand beneath her heavy silken mane, lightly stroking the nape of her neck. Jacqui’s eyes slid closed and she made a soft sound of pleasure and protest, unconsciously leaning into his touch. “Tell me,” Dane commanded. She stared up at him slumberously, her eyes registering confusion and apprehension and untried sensuality. “I want to hear you say the words,” he whispered, tightening his grip in a definitive gesture. “This has to be both of us. Tell me this is where you want to be. In my arms. Against my body. With my mouth on yours. Jacqueline,” he breathed, running his hands across her shoulders, his thumbs skimming her throat where her pulse beat frantically, “tell me to kiss you. Tell me … and I will.”

  Physical pleasure stormed Jacqui’s senses, the skin where he’d touched her alive and tingling. Exhilaration warred with uncertainty, and control was cast to the wind. She stared up at him helplessly, knowing, as the keen silver of his eyes darkened to a deep, smoky gray, that he understood exactly what was happening to her. And yet he waited. Breathing became difficult and speaking impossible.

  “Jacqueline …” he whispered again.

  “Yes …” she managed, unable to say more.

  But Dane was relentless. “Yes … what?” He cradled her head in his hands, tugging her closer.

  “Yes … kiss me.”

  Her words were swallowed by his mouth as it covered hers, possessing her in a kiss that was unlike anything she had ever experienced, or even imagined. Dane molded his lips to hers, moving against her mouth with deliberate, insistent pressure until she parted her lips to the more intimate penetration of his tongue. He delved into the sweetness of her mouth with deep, rhythmic strokes, felt her small hands glide up his shirt and wrap around his neck, urging him closer. With a masculine sound of triumph, Dane enveloped her, crushed her to him, until she was surrounded by the hard wall of his chest and the powerful strength of his arms. His mouth slanted across hers again and again, branding her, seducing her, demanding that she do more than merely receive his kiss, but that she respond to it with a fervor that matched his own.

  Jacqui gave him what he wanted.

  She returned his kiss with a newly born passion that astonished her, accepting the lusty strokes of his tongue and giving him her own.

  The kiss blazed out of control.

  With a low groan of need, Dane lifted Jacqui from the floor, fitting her against the full length of him and tightening his hold so that she could feel every hardened contour of his aroused body. He wanted her. More than even he had known. More than he wanted his next breath. More than he could bear … he wanted this woman.

  For Jacqui, the world and everything in it faded into nonreality, as she allowed her yearnings free rein, reveling in the first-time experience of pure, potent physical desire. She threw herself into it with the same utter abandon that she did each of life’s adventures … totally and without inhibition, thrilling to the sensual awakening. The discovery in itself was enthralling.

  For Dane, it was not nearly enough.

  His hands roved restlessly over h
er back, finding the buttons that separated him from the promise of beauty beneath. His control was fast evaporating, fueled by her wildly exhilarating response. The taste of her mouth, the feel of her in his arms, was intoxicating enough, but the way she pressed her soft, lush body against his, returning his openmouthed kisses with an innocent, unrestrained ardor, was more than he could withstand. Her passion rivaled his, but he knew that she lacked the experience to control it. It was up to him, and he was fast approaching the point of insanity. In mere seconds he was going to carry her to her room and make love to her until neither of them could move. Hell, he thought, inhaling her perfume, he would take her right here, right now, were he not certain that it was her first time.

  Her first time.

  That intrusive thought forced reason to return in a rush.

  Dane raised his head, his chest heaving with the strain of slowing himself, and stared down at her with eyes still burning with hunger. “Jacqueline.”

  Her lids fluttered, then lifted, and she stared up at him, still in the throes of dazzling sensation. Her midnight eyes were dazed and far away, and she blinked, trying to understand the reason for Dane’s abrupt withdrawal.

  Seeing the honest play of emotions flash across her beautiful, flushed face, Dane experienced a queer surge of feeling in his chest. With aching restraint, he lowered her to the floor, cupping her face tenderly between his shaking palms. “I know, sweetheart. But not now … not this way. For you, it has to be perfect.”

  Reality descended upon Jacqui with a resounding crash.

  She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, her breath coming in short pants, her lips still throbbing from his consuming kisses. “Oh … my.” She inhaled sharply. “I can’t believe I just …”

  Dane covered her hands with his. “No, Jacqueline, you didn’t just. We did.” His eyes twinkled, despite the insistent throbbing in his loins. “In fact, we would have done more than just if your charming Greta were not in the kitchen.”

  Jacqui gasped and glanced over her shoulder. “Greta! Oh, Lord.” She closed her eyes, mortified … then enraged by her behavior. When her lids lifted, Dane immediately saw the warning lights that glittered at him.

  “Am I to be slapped again?” he asked, grinning. “I have not yet recovered from your first assault.”

  “What is it you want of me, Mr. Westbrooke?”

  Dane chuckled at the belated formality. “To begin with, I want to hear you use my given name. Surely, that is not too much to ask after the intimacy we shared?”

  Jacqui flushed anew. “Very well … Dane. But you have not answered my question.”

  Dane was stunned by the impact of simply hearing his name on her lips. “What question, sweet?” He was already impatient for the next time, the right time, the time when he would actually make love to her, make her his. His body throbbed its agreement.

  “What do you want of me?” she repeated, trying to disengage herself from his embrace.

  “I believe that is obvious, Jacqueline.” He refused to release her. “I want you.”

  “But I don’t want you,” she said, raising her chin defiantly, knowing, even as she spoke, that, in light of the past five minutes, her statement was absurd.

  Dane’s lips twitched. “I am sorry to hear that, love. But I’d like the chance to change your mind.”

  Before she could reply, he bent his head and kissed her again. But this kiss was totally unlike the first. Soft, coaxing, teasingly light, it was a butterfly caress against Jacqui’s feverish mouth, over as quickly as it had begun.

  Jacqui clutched his arms.

  “Let’s finish our coffee, sweet,” Dane suggested mildly, releasing her only when he was certain she could stand by herself. “And our conversation,” he added in a teasing tone.

  How could the man turn his passions on and off like that? Jacqui wondered dazedly, lowering herself into her chair.

  “Are you all right?” Dane’s gentle question reinforced her observation … and her annoyance. If he could have such blasted self-control, then so could she.

  “I am fine, Mr. Westbrooke. Dane,” she amended, seeing the amused lift of his brows. “I assure you, I am not so fragile as to shatter from a single kiss.”

  What had happened between them far surpassed a single kiss and they both knew it. But all Dane said was, “I’m glad to hear you’ve recovered, love.”

  Jacqui took a gulp of cold coffee. It was time for a much-needed change in conversation.

  “You are English,” she blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind. She recalled the name Westbrooke appearing frequently in the company ledgers, vaguely remembered her father telling her that the owner of the company hailed from England.

  Jacqui’s choice of subjects was apparently not to her guest’s liking. Angry sparks flashed in Dane’s eyes, and Jacqui had a glimpse of the predatory man she’d seen that dark night last week. A chill ran up her back.

  “I’m American.” Dane’s tone was as forbidding as his expression.

  Every one of Jacqui’s instincts warned her to leave it alone, while her curiosity compelled her to investigate further. “But you are English by birth.”

  A muscle worked in Dane’s jaw. “By birth … yes.”

  “When did you come to America?”

  “Over a decade ago.”

  The more evasive he grew, the more intrigued she became. “You were educated in England?”

  Dane gave her a measured look. “I attended Oxford.”

  “Oxford! Your father is a Tory?”

  “My father is a marquis.”

  It took a moment for Dane’s words to sink in. Then Jacqui sat up straight, a look of stunned horror on her face. “Your father is a marquis?” She might just as well have called him an ax murderer. “That makes you an earl … an English nobleman.”

  Dane slammed his fist down on the table, rigid with an anger he fought to control. “I’ve said it once, Jacqueline, and I do not plan to say it again. I am an American … as much an American as you. Who and what my father may be is irrelevant. In case you failed to notice, I am very much my own person. I would appreciate your remembering that in the future, since I do not wish to discuss either my father or his titles again. Am I making myself clear?”

  Jacqui considered arguing, saw the furious light in the steel-gray eyes, and thought better of it. “Perfectly clear.”

  “Good. Now, do you have any other questions pertaining to my upbringing?”

  Jacqui’s own temper flared. “I have no intention of allowing you to bellow at me, Mr. Westbrooke. Perhaps you should go. We seem to incite one another despite our best attempts to the contrary.” She stood, ready to show him the door.

  Dane stood as well, catching her hand and tugging her back to him. “Honesty and forthrightness work both ways, my love,” he said in a dark, perceptive tone. “If you want to be candid and speak your mind to me, I demand the same right of you.” His expression softened and he kissed the inside of her wrist. “As for our effect on one another, it cannot be avoided, my beautiful Jacqueline. That is the way it will always be between us. And, mon chaton colereux, my fiery little kitten, you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  Jacqui considered smacking that damned knowing smile from his magnificent, arrogant face.

  “Such a look, sweet!” Dane chuckled. He released her hand. “Before you do me bodily harm, I believe I shall take my leave.” He strolled toward the door. “Thank Greta for the delicious breakfast. I shall return to enjoy many others.” He turned in the doorway and winked. “Until next time, my lovely Jacqueline.”

  “I am not your Jacqueline,” she retorted, knowing she sounded like a petulant child and not giving a damn.

  Dane surveyed her tousled mahogany curls and soft, swollen mouth with a look that said otherwise. Then he gave her a slow, devastating smile. “Ah, but you will be, mon chaton colereux. You will be.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  THAT WAS A WONDERFUL dinner, George, an
d a welcome change from dining at home. Thank you.” Monique Brisset gave George Holt a brilliant smile, placing her half-finished cup of coffee firmly in its saucer and sitting back in the inn’s beautifully carved walnut chair. “I could not manage another morsel.”

  George smiled indulgently, his heart in his eyes. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, love. You deserve only the finest in everything: food, wine …”

  “… and men?” she teased, her blue eyes dancing. “For, in that case, I already have the finest. You.” She reached across the table and took his hand.

  George lifted her fingers to his lips. “I don’t see you often enough,” he murmured. “I missed you terribly at Secretary Hamilton’s party last week.”

  Monique stroked his cheek. “I’m dreadfully sorry, mon amour,” she answered with a pout she knew George found irresistible. “But I simply could not gather the strength to attend a ball. Not after having been abed for two days.”

  “Certainly not, my dear.” He gave her an anxious look. “But you are feeling yourself again, are you not?”

  A shadow of a frown crossed her face, then was gone. “Of course, George. I am splendid.”

  But, as she intended, George had seen the flicker of sadness, heard the hesitation in her voice. Triumphantly, she noted the transparent concern on his face and silently congratulated herself. He was so very easy to manipulate, she thought smugly. As was Thomas. Two stupid, smitten fools, both perfect for her purposes. But then, she had carefully selected them many months ago for those very reasons. George … lonely, vulnerable, owner of a busy trading company … just the access she needed to France. Thomas … young and greedy, predictably susceptible to seduction, closely connected with Hamilton and his Federalist government.

  Yes, her two liaisons were ideal.

  George was leaning forward, his heart in his eyes. “Monique … are you unwell?”