Masque of Betrayal by Andrea Kane

moments in his arms—every one of Jacqui’s instincts cried out its warning, cautioning her that to continue an association with Dane Westbrooke would be altogether foolhardy. Despite the enjoyment she experienced in his company, the danger he represented was simply too great to ignore. She had worked far too hard to risk losing everything at the hands of a man.
    It was not her virtue that Jacqui guarded so fiercely.
    It was her well-hidden alias.
    As a woman, Jacqui had learned quite young that the only man to give credence to her opinions, political or otherwise, was her beloved father. Time after frustrating time she had been put in her place by a man, beginning with her father’s friends and associates, culminating with the few beaus she’d had the misfortune to entertain. Finally she’d decided to take drastic measures.
    Thus, Jack Laffey was born.
    Laffey could do what Jacqui could not. He could give voice to her well-thought-out though controversial opinions and be assured that, whether read by concurring Republicans or scornful Federalists, the words were met with respect, interest, and, most important of all, credibility.
    Once every week, under cover of darkness, Jacqui stole away to an unlit alleyway and handed Jack Laffey’s column over to a handsomely paid messenger. The lad then delivered his parcel to the General Advertiser, answering no questions and providing no information about the column’s source. Least of all the fact that its creator was a woman.
    It had been nearly a year now, and no one in Philadelphia suspected that Jacqui was Laffey. But then, she deliberately kept her distance from others, allowing no one close enough to surmise the truth.
    Not until that fateful spring night when her weekly excursion had flung her into Dane Westbrooke’s dynamic path.
    Jacqui knew she was playing with fire, that she should sever their relationship before it even began. The problem was that she didn’t want to. Dane made her feel vibrantly alive, brimming with anticipation. He challenged her mind, accepted … no, reveled in her intelligence, respected her opinions, her forthrightness, even her bold tongue.
    And he kindled a fire in her blood that nothing seemed to extinguish.
    The truth was that, deep down inside, Jacqui wanted to experience every new and tantalizing sensation Dane promised with his raw masculinity and blazing silver eyes. If she could only keep her other life a secret, what harm would there be in exploring the world of dazzling physical pleasure with him? After all, why deny her body its first taste of passion, especially since she knew her heart to be immune?
    Besides, it wasn’t her heart Dane Westbrooke was after.
    Dane knew precisely what he was after, and Jacqui’s heart was only part of it. What Dane wanted was Jacqui.
    His relentless need for her grew stronger each time they were together, stronger still when they were apart. And as his craving intensified, his patience ebbed and his reason vanished. Come hell or high water, he had to have her.
    But how was he to make his need a reality?
    Sexually, Dane sensed that it was only a matter of time before Jacqui relented and came to his bed. But the only thing her physical surrender would bring was a temporary salve for the ache in his loins and a newer, greater complication.
    To indulge in an affair of endless duration was out of the question.
    With both pragmatism and tenderness, Dane recognized that Jacqueline Holt was simply not a woman one kept as a mistress. Not because she would swoon at the unorthodox suggestion, he mused with a grin. Knowing Jacqueline, she might be intrigued. But even if, in all her unconventional splendor, she were amenable to the idea, her father would most assuredly not be.
    Besides, Dane determined with a fierce surge of protectiveness, a role of secondary import was beneath her. Jacqueline deserved better. She deserved marriage.
    He was just the man to give it to her.
    His uncharacteristically