by Andrea Kane
Dane stroked his thumb over Jacqui’s stubborn chin, ignoring her defiance, perceiving her fear. “You’re a reporter, chaton,” he reminded her softly. “Haven’t you learned not to make assumptions without verifying your facts first?”
Jacqui licked her dry lips and nodded, calmed by Dane’s words and the realization that he intended to remain impartial. “Yes.”
“Good. Now come.” Dane strode up to the door and paused, pressing his ear to it. Hearing nothing, he gestured for Jacqui to follow, guiding them both inside. The front room was deserted, but soft voices emanated from behind George Holt’s closed office door.
Dane burst in.
George looked up, startled. He was leaning against his desk, his arms folded, obviously in deep conversation with Monique. She, in turn, was perched beside him, her package in her lap, her lovely face tilted appealingly toward George. Seeing Dane, her eyes widened with shock … and fear.
“Dane? What is the meaning of this?” George was on his feet.
“I could ask you the same,” Dane replied. “But I believe I’ll ask Miss Brisset instead.”
Monique kept her expression carefully blank. “I don’t think I understand, Mr. Westbrooke.”
“I believe you understand very well, Miss Brisset,” Jacqui accused, stalking around Dane to confront the woman who had disrupted all their lives.
“Jacqui?” George looked stunned.
“Father, what is she doing here?” Jacqui demanded.
“Why, I came to see your father, of course.” Monique smoothed a pale strand of hair from her face.
“At seven o’clock in the morning?” Dane challenged.
“I don’t believe I need to justify my actions to you.”
“But you do need to justify your actions to the American people,” Jacqui shot back.
Monique blanched. “I’ve done nothing …”
“Nothing?” Jacqui returned, marching up until she could look Monique directly in the eye. “Is stealing papers from the Secretary of the Treasury’s office considered nothing?”
George gave a sharp, agonized gasp. “What are you saying, Jacqueline? Monique merely came to ask if I would transport her package along with my shipment to France.”
“Did she now?” Dane walked menacingly toward Monique, his eyes glittering. “Just what is in this package of yours, Miss Brisset?”
“That is none of your business, Mr. Westbrooke!” Defensive color rose to Monique’s cheeks. “But, if you must know, I am sending letters to my sister—what are you doing?” she cried out in rage, as Dane seized the package from her hands. “How dare you! I’ll call the authorities!”
Dane gave a sardonic laugh. “I doubt that very much.” He tore open the parcel, ignoring Monique’s shrieks and George’s angry demands that he cease.
“Give it to me!” All pretense abandoned, Monique lunged at Dane, desperately clawing to regain her condemning bundle.
Dane held her off with effortless ease. “Well, what do we have here?” he muttered, removing the copy of Hamilton’s letter. “Letters to your sister, Miss Brisset?” he taunted. “Hardly.”
“Give it to me, you bastard!” Monique hissed. “I’ve worked for this for months … and you and this brazen little hellion are not going to take this victory from me now!”
“It’s over, Monique.” Dane caught her flailing wrists. “We know everything … what you and Thomas were planning, the money you were being paid …”
“Money?” Monique flung Dane’s arms away. “You believe I did it for money? No, monsieur, only your pathetic friend Thomas was driven by a desire for wealth, not I.” Her eyes glittered with rage and hatred. “I did it for him … and for my country. He is destined to lead France to greatness … with America beside us, as our ally.”
“He?” Jacqui cut in. “Who is he?”
Monique threw back her head, taking perverse pride and pleasure in her disclosure. “Certainly not a weak fool such as Thomas,” she sneered. “Or did you think I meant your lovesick father, Jacqueline?” She raked George’s ashen face with venomous ice-blue eyes. “Never. Both of them were my pawns, so blinded by love that they would do anything … anything I asked of them. No, Jacqueline, the ‘he’ I refer to is General Bonaparte … a man, not a sniveling boy.”
“You bitch!” Jacqui lost control, and only Dane’s restraining hand kept her from smacking the evil smirk off Monique’s face.
“Don’t, chaton. She’s not worth it. Besides”—he gave Monique a look of utter disdain—“she’s just provided us with the final pieces of the puzzle. We now know where Alexander’s letter was going … and to whom. We also know why.”
“I shall find a way!” Monique cried out hysterically, snatching the letter from Dane’s hands and fleeing for the door.
“Not from prison, you won’t,” Dane countered, cocking his pistol and aiming it directly at her.
Hearing the pistol’s telltale click, Monique halted in her tracks, silently debating whether to take the risk of bolting.
“Don’t bother,” Dane advised her, guessing her intent. “Even if you did succeed in getting the letter to General Bonaparte, it would do him no good. You see, all the information written there is false, penned by Secretary Hamilton in the hopes that you would fall into his trap, steal the letter, and thus reveal your identity to us … which is exactly what you did.”
The color drained from Monique’s face. “Are you telling me that everything on that paper is fabricated?”
“Every word.”
“Then no new conditions have been drafted for John Jay, and Secretary Hamilton …”
“Has just put an end to your treacherous plan.” Dane inclined his head in Jacqui’s direction. “With the help of Jack Laffey, of course.”
Monique sagged with defeat, and Dane walked over, pistol raised, clamping his hand roughly on her arm. “Now we can go to the authorities, Miss Brisset,” he informed her. He turned to Jacqui. “Do you wish to stay here, chaton?” he asked softly, gesturing toward George, who had not moved nor spoken since Monique’s tirade had begun.
“Yes.” Jacqui cast a worried glance in her father’s direction. “I won’t be long.”
Dane nodded. “I’ll deliver Miss Brisset to Alexander. Then I have one last unpleasant hurdle to surmount before this ordeal can be put to rest.”
Jacqui understood at once: Dane had to confront Thomas. “Will you be all right?”
Dane met her concerned look, and a current of communication ran between them. “Of course,” he replied in a voice filled with poignant tenderness. “Always.”
The door closed behind him.
Jacqui swallowed hard and turned to George, who was crumpled against the desk, staring after Monique’s retreating figure. “Father?” She touched his cheek. “What can I do?”
George relinquished the turmoil of his thoughts to respond to Jacqui’s question with his own. “How long have you known?”
“Several hours longer than you. Dane and I saw my kidnapper steal the letter from Secretary Hamilton’s office and we followed him. He went directly to Monique.”
“He was masked?”
“Last night … yes. But this morning, when he emerged from Monique’s house … no. It was Thomas Mills.”
“How could he do such a thing to Dane?” George asked, still dazed. “All for money?”
“No, mon père,” Jacqui replied gently. “Not all for money. Thomas was in love with Monique.”
“So I heard.”
Jacqui took a deep breath. “Father, their … relationship was not restricted to business.”
“I gathered that as well.” George’s expression twisted with grief … but not the shock Jacqui had expected.
“You knew?”
George shrugged. “As you are learning, Jacqui, love is not always a pleasant emotion.”
“Monique didn’t love you, Father.”
“I know that.” He sighed. “And, to answer your question, I’ve suspected for some time
now that Monique was involved with another man. But treason? At my expense?” He gestured helplessly. “I’ve been such a fool. I never imagined …” He lowered his head dejectedly.
“I’m so sorry, mon père,” Jacqui whispered. “I would have done anything to spare you this pain.”
George looked up and lay his hand tenderly against his daughter’s smooth cheek. “I know you would.” He studied her lovely, worried face, a new light dawning in his eyes. “You’ve grown so much these past months, ma petite. The loving, open girl I thought was forever lost to me has returned. Only now she is a warm-hearted, sensitive woman.” He smiled, cupping her chin. “You’ve finally let Dane into your heart, haven’t you?”
Jacqui answered without pause. “I love him, mon père.”
“And he loves you.” Despite the agony of the past hour’s discovery, George felt a great surge of joy … the kind of joy reserved for a parent who knows his child has found happiness. “Stop worrying about me,” George said softly, tugging a lock of Jacqui’s hair. “Like my daughter, I’m resilient. Given a little time, I promise to recover fully.” He stood, drawing Jacqui to him. “Welcome back, ma petite.”
Jacqui hugged him back. “Father …”
“No more.” He pressed his lips to her hair. “The past is behind us. It is time for me to take you home to your future.”
“Dane … what are you doing here?”
Thomas looked up from his desk to see Dane standing in the open doorway.
“I went to your office. They told me you were working at home today.” Dane strolled into Thomas’s study. “Your front door was unlocked … so I let myself in.”
Thomas felt a curious sense of fear tingle up his spine. Resolutely, he ignored it, attributing it to a bad case of nerves and total exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in two days; it was barely ten o’clock and he felt as if it were midnight.
“Did you need to see me?”
Dane paused, fingering the quill pen on Thomas’s desk. “We can make this easy or we can make this difficult,” he said in a wooden voice. “The choice, friend, is yours.”
Thomas rose slowly, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He had seen Dane’s predatory method at work too often not to recognize it. “What are you talking about?”
Dane raised cold, steel-gray eyes to Thomas’s face. “If it were for money alone, I would break every bone in your body,” he said quietly. “You know damned well I would have given you anything you needed … as would Alexander. But the money was only a small part of it, wasn’t it, Thomas? The real reason was the woman. Well, that I can understand, even if I cannot forgive it. I know what it’s like to love a woman so much that you’d kill for her, die for her, live for her.” Dane slammed his fists on the desk until it rattled, and Thomas cringed. “But that was my wife you put your filthy hands on, Thomas. That’s the woman I love.”
“I would never hurt Jacqueline,” Thomas pleaded. “You’ve got to know that.”
Dane ignored him. “You betrayed me, you betrayed Alexander, and you betrayed our country. All for a woman who was using you for her own purposes. A woman who planned to discard you … and George Holt,” Dane added pointedly, seeing the shock of realization flash in Thomas’s eyes, “as soon as she had achieved her own goal: French supremacy and the rise of General Bonaparte.”
“What?”
“Monique never planned to send that letter to England, Thomas. She was concealing it in one of Holt’s shipments to France. Not that it would have done her any good.” Quickly, efficiently, Dane recounted Hamilton’s plan to Thomas, watching his friend grow paler with each word of explanation.
“Dane, I …”
“Don’t.” Dane shook his head adamantly. “Don’t insult me by denying your involvement, nor humiliate us both by admitting it. Just say nothing at all.”
Thomas’s throat worked convulsively. “I assume you’ve arrested Monique,” he managed.
“We have.”
Thomas bent to remove his coat from the back of the chair. “I’m ready to go,” he said quietly. He hesitated, gazing at Dane with tears in his eyes. “Would you believe me if I told you how very sorry I was?”
“I’d believe you.” A muscle worked in Dane’s jaw.
“Thank you for that.” Thomas shook his head sadly and headed toward the door. In the hallway, he paused. “I think I’m actually relieved it’s all over.” He wiped a shaking palm across his face. “It was getting harder and harder to live with myself.”
“I’m sure it was.”
They walked in silence until they’d reached Hamilton’s office. There, Thomas placed a restraining hand on Dane’s arm. “Allow me this one small dignity,” he requested. “Let me bear this humiliation alone.”
Curtly, Dane nodded. “Very well.” He turned to go.
“Dane?”
Dane paused, inclined his head.
“Heed this man you once called friend,” Thomas said, his voice choked. “Go home and tell Jacqueline you love her. Then, every day of your life count your blessings, both of you. Be grateful that you found each other.” He knocked on Hamilton’s door, then gave Dane a mock salute. “Au revoir, my friend.”
Jacqui was out of her chair the instant she heard the front door open.
“Dane?” She ran to him.
“Hello, chaton.” He caught her up in his arms, burying his face in her hair, savoring her softness.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
“Now I am.” He leaned back to look into the glowing midnight eyes that consumed his dreams … and defined his life. “Your father?” he questioned softly.
“Father will heal.” She searched his face. “Was it terribly painful?”
“It’s over. That’s all that matters.” He brushed her lips softly with his, hearing Thomas’s advice echo in his mind.
“I love you, Jacqueline.” Dane’s words were hoarse, raw.
Jacqui smiled. “I love you too …” she replied, her heart in her eyes. “Forever.”
CHAPTER
20
FROM LAFFEY’S INITIAL REPORTS, it appears that Alexander’s strategy to combat the whiskey insurgents has thus far been successful,” Dane reported, lounging in the kitchen doorway and scanning the first paragraph of Laffey’s October 30th column.
“Really?” Jacqui’s brow was furrowed in concentration as she completed the task of cooling her strawberry tarts … the first batch she had baked without Greta’s assistance.
“Yes … really.” Dane returned to his reading. In truth, he was inordinately pleased that Jacqui’s words were once again in print. Perpetuating Laffey’s career had taken a great deal of effort on Dane’s part. First, he’d had to convince Hamilton to reward Jacqui’s bravery by keeping her secret and not interfering with the writing of her column. Next, he’d paid a handsome sum to Jacqui’s young contact for his sworn silence. The lad was happy to comply … and to retire, now that Dane himself was transporting Laffey’s column each week to the office of the General Advertiser. Last, Dane had himself assured Bache that Laffey’s credibility remained intact, despite the reporter’s temporary alliance with Secretary Hamilton during the weeks preceding the arrests of Monique and Thomas. Laffey was and always would be, Dane had informed Bache regretfully, a steadfast Republican. And Bache, aware of Dane’s respected position and influence in the community, had astutely agreed to allow Laffey to continue his anonymous work. If Bache wondered how Dane knew so much about the obscure Jack Laffey, he was wise enough to keep his questions to himself.
The only other threats to Laffey’s true identity were Monique and Thomas. Dane had covered those avenues as well. Monique’s silence was ensured: convicted of treason, she had been deported to France, never to set foot on American soil again. Thomas, also found guilty, was serving a light prison sentence, thanks to Alexander’s intervention, and was determined to turn his life around. Just to be sure, Dane had paid Thomas a visit, demanding to know his intentions with regard to Jacqui’s identity.
Thomas had looked stunned, then distinctly amused, vowing to Dane that under no circumstances did he plan to grapple with Jack Laffey again.
So Dane was convinced, and Laffey was back at work.
Now Dane’s eyes twinkled as he lowered the General Advertiser and addressed his wife. “Reading this recounting of Hamilton’s expedition into western Pennsylvania, one would almost believe Jack Laffey admired our Secretary of the Treasury.”
Jacqui straightened, hands on hips. “Laffey is merely reporting the situation as impartially as he can,” she answered defensively. “Secretary Hamilton is equally as brilliant in execution as he is in planning, and deserves to be commended. He is leading hundreds of troops, yet not a shot has been fired. The militia’s display of strength has evidently scattered the insurgents.”
“Ah, but what of the farmers’ freedom to rebel?” Dane teased.
“I believe in freedom … not civil war.”
“Agreed.” Dane returned to the column. Abruptly, his smile vanished, warning sparks erupting in his eyes. “What the hell does this mean?”
Jacqui inclined her head. “I presume you’ve reached the section I penned too late in the day for you to read prior to delivering the column to Bache, the part that deals with Robespierre’s downfall and the probable signing of the Jay Treaty?”
“You make it sound as if America is using France’s vulnerability to solidify our ties with the British!”
“Well?” Jacqui demanded, ready to do battle. “Isn’t that why the signing of the Jay Treaty appears imminent … despite Grenville’s uncompromising attitude? France might be celebrating its freedom … but it is also uncertain of its future. Therefore, hasn’t our government decided that it is far more advantageous for us to further our ties with Britain?”
“Jacqueline …” Dane tossed the newspaper to the floor in frustration.
“Compromise, husband. Remember?” Jacqui laughed, holding up her hands to ward off Dane’s threatening advance.
With an exasperated groan, Dane pulled her into his arms. “If I didn’t love you so damned much …”