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
T HAT WAS A WONDERFUL dinner, George, and 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?”
“No, darling, of course not,” she assured him, sighing deeply.
He searched her beautiful face for signs of illness but could find none. “You are telling me the truth?”
She gave him a soft half-smile. “I wouldn’t lie to you, chéri. You know that.”
“But there is something,” he guessed astutely. “Tell me what it is.”
Again, Monique hesitated, lowering her lashes in heart-tugging indecision. “I don’t like to trouble you with my problems, George.”
“Anything that troubles you, troubles me as well. Tell me,” he urged.
She regarded him
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
T HAT WAS A WONDERFUL dinner, George, and 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?”
“No, darling, of course not,” she assured him, sighing deeply.
He searched her beautiful face for signs of illness but could find none. “You are telling me the truth?”
She gave him a soft half-smile. “I wouldn’t lie to you, chéri. You know that.”
“But there is something,” he guessed astutely. “Tell me what it is.”
Again, Monique hesitated, lowering her lashes in heart-tugging indecision. “I don’t like to trouble you with my problems, George.”
“Anything that troubles you, troubles me as well. Tell me,” he urged.
She regarded him
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