by Andrea Kane
“Jacqueline.” Dane kissed her hand. “You look beautiful.” He wanted to do much more than kiss her hand. He wanted to take her in his arms and bury his lips in hers, to run his hands through her thick, shining mahogany curls. He wanted to drag her to the floor and make slow, exquisite love to her.
“Dane.” Her tone was even as she greeted him in return, but her eyes promised him a far warmer greeting when they were alone.
“We had best be going.” Dane was eager to collect on that promise. He raised his head and, for the first time since he’d arrived, met George Holt’s stare. The older man was watching Dane’s reactions to Jacqui with a combination of keen insight and paternal protectiveness. Both of which Dane recognized. He felt a twinge of guilt for what he had planned … but only a twinge.
“Shall we?” He offered Jacqui his arm.
Jacqui slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, accepting his arm … and all that she suspected went with it. The die had been cast. “Father … we’ll see you there?”
George gave a definitive nod. “You most certainly shall. I’m on my way now to fetch Monique and then it’s off to the Binghams’ home.” He turned back to Dane, a trace of concern in his eyes. “Take good care of my Jacqui.” The message was clear.
“I will,” Dane assured him soberly. It was no lie. The method he had chosen was a bit unorthodox, but his final intent was as decent and honorable as any father could wish. “Come, Jacqueline, my coach is waiting.”
Dane led Jacqui out of the house, where his liveried driver waited patiently beside a light but elegant coach. Dane instructed his man as to their destination, then assisted Jacqui into the enclosed vehicle, settling himself across from her.
“This is lovely,” Jacqui murmured, gliding her hand over the fine upholstery. “I am impressed.”
“Don’t be.” He grinned easily. “At least, not with my carriage.”
“Imported directly from England, I presume?” Jacqui asked pointedly.
Dane’s grin widened. “Actually, purchased from the Clark Brothers on Chestnut Street right here in Philadelphia. They readied it for me at the same time that they prepared a similar one for President Washington. Anything further you’d like to take exception to, my sweet?”
Jacqui lowered her lashes, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “The night is young, Dane. Perhaps later I shall think of something else we might debate.”
Abruptly, Dane moved from his seat to Jacqui’s, dragging her onto his lap. “Fine. But for now, I don’t want to argue. In fact, I don’t want to talk at all.” He buried his hands in her hair, lifting her mouth purposefully to his. “This ride will be far too short for my liking,” he muttered against her lips. “I plan to use every minute to my advantage.” He caught her bottom lip lightly between his teeth. “Every minute.”
He didn’t wait for her response, but took her mouth wholly, hungrily, under his. He lifted her small, resisting hands from his chest and wrapped them about his neck, pressing her so close to him that she could scarcely breathe.
Breathing was the last thing on Jacqui’s mind. Crushed against the solid wall of Dane’s chest, plundered by the demanding pressure of his mouth, she felt surrounded by his power, possessed by the dark, enveloping, sensual allure that drove them together. The slow rocking motion of the carriage lulled her, the illusion of being utterly isolated from the world intoxicated her, and the exhilarating feeling within her built higher and higher … the relentless urge to give in to the forbidden taste of what was to come.
Dane tasted his victory. “Let yourself go,” he whispered against her trembling mouth. “Just this once, love. Let yourself go.” His open mouth slid across her cheek to the side of her neck and up, until Jacqui could feel his hot breath against the shell of her ear. “We’re finally alone, mon chaton,” he told her, sliding his hands up and down her quivering arms. “We have only a few precious moments. Please, Jacqueline, give in to it. You want more. I know you do … I can feel it. Let me give it to you.” His mouth returned to hers, urgent, coaxing. “Let me …”
Jacqui gave a soft whimper, whether of surrender or protest, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She was already sinking into a hypnotic sexual spell, tightening her hold around Dane’s neck even as he lowered her to the smooth seat of the carriage. She felt his weight on top of her and it was heaven … heaven. Giddy with newfound sensation, she arched her body upward, seeking more contact with this addictive man who held her pleasure in his hands.
Dane had thought he was in control of his passion. He was not.
Feeling Jacqui’s soft beauty, even separated from him by layers of clothing, he went taut, desire crashing through his being with the force and intensity of a tidal wave. He tore his mouth from hers, blindly tugging down the sleeves of her gown, kissing her shoulders, her collarbone, the upper swell of her breasts. He said her name in an agonized whisper, slid his hands beneath her, his fingers shaking so badly that he could barely get past the first button of her gown.
He had just managed to free the last of her buttons, his hands gliding inside to touch the warm satin skin of her back, when the carriage came to an abrupt halt.
Lost to everything save the exquisite ecstasy of having Jacqueline beneath him at last, Dane was slow to respond to her urgent plea for him to stop.
“Dane!” The second time Jacqui pounded her fists on his shoulders, frantic with the knowledge that their carriage had arrived at the Binghams’ grand mansion and that Dane was making no attempt to release her. “Damn it, Dane, we’re here!”
This time her words penetrated his passion-drugged haze. With a low groan of pain, Dane lifted his head, his breathing harsh, his jaw clenched with the discipline of bringing his body under control. He met the startled, vulnerable look in Jacqui’s eyes, and all at once nothing mattered but the self-censure, the bitter regret he knew she must be feeling.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He hoisted himself back to a sitting position, appalled at his own lack of restraint or discretion. He had planned to seduce her slowly, gradually, this short coach ride merely the first step toward completion, a skimming of the surface. Instead, he had all but tossed up her skirts and taken her in a five-second frenzy of need. So much for his iron control, his reputation as the consummate lover. Dane scowled, cursing under his breath. He could hear his driver preparing to dismount, and, determined to save Jacqui further embarrassment, Dane hastily drew her up, refastened her buttons, and adjusted her gown. “I’m sorry, love,” he repeated softly as he completed his task.
“I’m not.”
Dane froze at Jacqui’s blunt admission, uttered with absolute candor.
“You’re not … what?” He must have misunderstood.
Jacqui reached up to rearrange her disheveled curls. She felt marvelous, on the brink of some incomparable sensual discovery; vital, alive. “I’m not sorry,” she qualified, tucking the loosened pins back into her thick tresses. She lifted her head and gave Dane a dazzling smile. “It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”
Dane stared at her in amazement, hopelessly captivated … and, yes … wildly aroused, by her startling, uninhibited spontaneity. “Yes, chaton,” he managed, “it was wonderful. But I was concerned—”
“The Binghams’, sir!” the driver called loudly from the other side of the carriage door.
Jacqui flushed. “I believe we have arrived at our destination.”
Dane caught her hand, brought it to his mouth. “We are not finished,” he told her, his voice raw, his gaze probing her haunting midnight eyes. “In fact, we have barely begun.”
Jacqui met his penetrating look without shyness or hesitation, letting her fingers brush the warmth of his lips. “I know,” she returned quietly. Then, without another word, she turned to alight from the coach.
Taking a deep, calming breath of the scented June night, Jacqui forced herself to focus on the splendid Bingham residence, its formal gardens running the full length of the ground from Fourth Street to Willing’s Alle
y. Escorted by her father, she had attended but one of the Binghams’ renowned balls, but their lavishly decorated home, modeled after that of the Duke of Manchester, was not easily forgotten. Tonight, it was fully lit, bidding entry to scores of powerful and affluent guests.
Not merely guests, Jacqui amended to herself. Federalist guests. It was no secret that Anne Bingham’s brand of aristocracy, so close to that of the English nobility, was shunned by most of the Republican party. Even Jefferson, a close friend of the Binghams, was reluctant to attend their glittering, ostentatious gatherings.
Imagine the information one could glean within these dazzling walls tonight.
Driven by that tantalizing thought, Jacqui’s composure returned full measure. Her small chin set, she was ready to begin the evening.
It took Dane longer to recover.
Upon joining the party, he felt out of sorts, still aching with unappeased, heightened arousal, wanting nothing more than to make his excuses, drag Jacqui from the room, and take her home to his bed.
Instead, here he was, in the Binghams’ fashionably decorated salon, oblivious to the elaborately mirrored parlors and marble hallways that admitted Philadelphia’s elite. To Dane, the evening ahead appeared endless.
He did, however, immediately approach their host and take him off to a side.
“Good evening, William.” Dane’s tone was intense.
“Good evening and welcome, Dane.” Always charming and eloquent, William Bingham was, at this moment, highly curious as to the reason for Dane’s purposeful expression and the nature of his urgent request to speak with him alone. “I’m delighted that you and Miss Holt could join us tonight.”
Dane was in no mood for small talk, not even with Bingham, who was both a good friend and a respected colleague. Immensely successful, the Federalist merchant and land speculator was, in Dane’s estimation, a likely candidate for the U.S. Senate.
But despite Dane’s high regard for their host, he wasted no time in getting to the point. “I presume you’ll soon be drawing lots?”
“Shortly … why do you ask?”
“Because I want my number to match Miss Holt’s.”
Bingham looked astonished, then amused. “I believe that must be left to chance, my friend.”
“Not if you choose to intercede.” Dane ignored William’s knowing smile, glancing around to make sure Jacqui was not in earshot. “William, you are the presiding official of the dance assembly here tonight and are therefore the only one who can … make any changes in the drawing procedure.”
“Make any changes? Am I to be bribed, then?”
Dane didn’t bat an eyelash. “I intend to be the one who dances with Jacqueline Holt.”
Now Bingham was openly grinning. Dane’s avid pursuit of Jacqueline Holt these past months was no secret. The only unanswered question was, with what degree of success? “I see. And what incentive do you believe would influence me to make these ‘changes’ for you?” Bingham goaded good-naturedly. “Perhaps I will be the one to select Miss Holt’s number. I would consider it a great stroke of luck. She is beautiful, intelligent, and—”
“And mine,” Dane calmly finished. “Which everyone knows with the exception of Jacqueline. So you see my dilemma.”
Bingham laughed. “I do.”
“You could provide me with the matching lot as a simple act of friendship,” Dane suggested, inclining his head thoughtfully, “or there is always the possibility of discussing my new mare, who I do recall you’ve admired once or twice. Have I mentioned that she is ready to race?”
Bingham’s mouth fell open. “You would give me that magnificent horse just to ensure a night of dancing with Jacqueline Holt?” he asked incredulously.
“I prefer to think of it as a trade.” Dane’s expression took on that familiar predatory look. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to get what I want. And, William, I want Jacqueline Holt.” He waited, his steel-gray eyes on his host’s face.
The other man shook his head in amazement, then handed Dane the requested folded billet. “You astonish me, Westbrooke. But I do admire your determination.” He grinned again. “Keep your mare. I have a feeling that I am about to bear witness to the most exhilarating of competitions right here tonight. I wish you luck.”
“And I shall need it.” Dane took the billet and gave a thoroughly entertained Bingham a mock salute. “Merci, my friend.”
Hurrying off to find Jacqui, Dane was most annoyed to discover her being fawned over by a salivating crowd of admirers and trying, unsuccessfully, to extricate herself. With a curt nod and little else in the way of preliminaries, Dane acknowledged the group and then dragged Jacqui with him.
“Who the hell suggested that we attend this party anyway?” he muttered for her ears alone.
Jacqui looked up at him and laughed. “I believe it was you, sir. I warned you of what to expect.” Her restless gaze roved the room and she inched away from Dane. “Nevertheless, I thank you most kindly for your gallant rescue. And now, if you will excuse me …”
He caught her arm. “Where are you going?”
She raised her chin. “To quote you, ‘I am off to accumulate more ammunition for my Republican cause.’ ”
Dane’s disgruntled mood eased a bit. “In other words, you are going to eavesdrop on any number of conversations, then choose the one you wish to interrupt, and do so.”
Jacqui looked impatiently about the crowded parlor. “Exactly.” She tugged her arm free. “So, if you will permit me, I will take my leave. I haven’t much time to immerse myself in enlightening discourse. Before long, lots will be chosen and I will be assigned a partner with whom I must dance.” She grimaced. “At which point one of these perfectly intelligent, polished gentlemen you see”—she made a wide sweep of her hand—“will be suddenly transformed into a lecherous, simpering fool, interested only in admiring my charms on the dance floor … and sampling them later in the bedroom. After which, all hope for a spirited political discussion will be lost.”
Dane tapped his wineglass thoughtfully, his silver eyes twinkling. “A dreadful dilemma, to be sure. But don’t give up, my love. Perhaps it will be someone slightly more deserving who has the honor of being paired with you this evening.”
Jacqui cast a skeptical glance about the room. “That is highly unlikely, given the choices.”
“Faith, mon chaton colereux. Faith.” Dane waved her off with his hand. “Your unsuspecting public awaits.”
Drawn by the allure of the night’s potential challenge, Jacqui complied, eagerly blending into the crowd, simultaneously reminding herself to be extra cautious about the way she obtained her information.
“I would suggest eliminating that very blatant, suggestive look from your face, Dane. Especially in light of the fact that the young lady in question’s father has just arrived.”
Dane’s gaze darted to the doorway in time to see George Holt make his entrance, a lovely and smiling Monique Brisset on his arm. Chuckling, Dane turned to address the warning voice behind him. “Thank you for your sage words of advice, Alexander. When did you arrive? I never saw you … or Betsey, for that matter.”
Hamilton smiled, inclining his head slightly. “Indeed? Why does that not surprise me? I don’t believe you would have noticed an armed battle taking place right before you … not when your attention was so totally consumed with the very lovely Jacqueline Holt.”
Dane averted his head to view Jacqui, who had boldly joined a group of men arguing over what John Jay should hope to accomplish in England. “Jacqueline is nothing if not consuming,” he agreed, his voice laced with tenderness and humor.
Hamilton clasped his hands behind his back “Yes, she appears to be quite a handful,” he noted dryly. “Willful, forthright, and most vehement in her political opinions, which, incidentally, are the antithesis of yours. I would watch what I say if I were you, lest you hear your own thoughts spouted back at you before a crowded ballroom.”
Dane laughed aloud at the vivid …
and accurate … image Hamilton’s words conveyed. He was not offended by his friend’s admonition, for Dane understood its basis. Betsey Hamilton was as gentle and malleable a mate as any man could want … especially a man like Hamilton. “You are just unused to a headstrong woman, Alexander, nor would you choose to wed one. Jacqueline is quite different from your Betsey.”
Giving credence to his words, Jacqui’s voice rose clearly to their ears.
“Let us hope that Jay does not concede too much to the English. After all, they have lied to us, attacked our ships, and now expect us to compromise to suit their needs!” She paused only to take a breath.
Hamilton winced, shook his head in disbelief. “I do not envy you, Dane. Jacqueline Holt is more than a challenge; she is a brazen little hellion that I doubt even you can tame!”
Dane laughed even harder, watching Jacqui with unconcealed pride. He might not share her beliefs, he might question the wisdom of her blunt and forthright vocalizations, but he felt a tremendous respect for her integrity and her commitment, and he gloried in her fervent, genuine love for their country. “Perhaps I cannot tame her,” he cheerfully agreed, “but I can certainly enjoy my attempts to do so.”
Hamilton counted off Jacqui’s vices on his fingers. “She is unconventional, unrestrained, and overly spirited.”
“True. But those very traits, while agreeably irritating in politics, do have advantages.” Dane’s eyes twinkled. “Remember, my friend, how brightly those same passions must burn elsewhere.”
Hamilton digested Dane’s words carefully. “I don’t doubt that is so,” he said at last. “I wonder, however, if it is worth the price.”
While the words themselves were teasing, something about Hamilton’s tone struck Dane as pointed.
“Is that supposed to mean something?” he demanded.
Hamilton studied his friend, then shook his head. “I was merely noting that you seem to be rather taken with the lady.”
“I’ve made that no secret, especially from you.”