Free Masque of Betrayal by Andrea Kane Page A

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