Duchess of Sin (13 page)

He laughed hoarsely. “That might take a while. You cast a powerful spell,
cailleach.
”

Anna was quite sure she wasn’t the one with the dark magic. She gently kissed his cheek, inhaling deeply of his scent as she
reached up to smooth his hair. How gorgeous he was, her Hades, her Celtic warrior. How tempting.

“Anna, I’m sorry…” he began.

“No,” she said. “You’re not. Neither am I. We both knew this would happen again—and again.”

“I should stay away from you then.”

She traced her hands lightly over his shoulders. The thin linen of his shirt was damp over his taut muscles. Oh, how she wanted
to stay here all night and learn more about him!

“Just try to stay away from me, Conlan,” she whispered against his ear. She slid his coat off her shoulders and gave it back
to him. “I’ll find you. I’m a witch, remember?”

He stepped back from her, and she slipped away from him. Her legs were shaking, but she managed to stumble out of their rooftop
walkway into the dark corridor. There she smoothed her hair and her gown, tugging her bodice carefully over her still-aching
breasts.

She felt strangely
buoyant
as she made her way back to the ballroom. The light and noise she hated so much earlier now seemed exhilarating. She wanted
to laugh, to skip and dance, but she made herself walk sedately as she searched for her mother. She just prayed Katherine
hadn’t been looking for her for long.

But it seemed her mother wasn’t searching for her at all. Katherine stood near the orchestra’s dais, talking with a man in
a dandyish pale blue silk coat. His back was to Anna. Her mother’s lips were pressed tightly together, and her unhappy expression
darkened some of Anna’s golden mood.

She glanced back over her shoulder and wondered if it was too late to slip away, to run back up those stairs to the enchanted
walkway high above the city. But Katherine had glimpsed her standing there and waved her forward.

Anna pasted on a smile and made her way through the crowd to her mother’s side. As she came closer, she saw who Katherine
spoke to and that urge to bolt grew.

It was George Hayes, her mother’s distant cousin, and by far the most annoying member of the whole extended family. Anna remembered
all too well the last time they saw him. It was in the early days of the Uprising, when she, Katherine, and Caroline huddled
at Killinan Castle waiting for news—or an attack. His regiment had come into the county to root out rebels, and George took
a detour to Killinan to scare her mother and bully her into giving up any tenants who might have joined with the United Irishmen.

Anna was sure that he also hoped to catch out her sister Eliza, an ardent United Irish supporter. A catch like the Countess
of Mount Clare, as Eliza was then, would have put quite the gloss on his career. But he underestimated Katherine.

They learned later that he helped to brutally clear out a village thought to harbor rebels, burning houses and terrorizing
old men and pregnant girls. A village that lay on Adair land. Many of the cruel soldiers later met bad ends, but not George.
They heard he was reassigned to a northern regiment, thanks to his unfortunate wife’s wealthy family, and they luckily did
not see him again.

Until tonight. What was he doing in Dublin? Nothing good, Anna was sure of that.

As Anna came nearer to the little group, she saw that George stood next to his mousy little wife, the sad
northern heiress Ellen, and with Grant Dunmore. George seemed to be doing all the talking.

A footman passed by with a tray of champagne glasses, and Anna snatched one up and drained it quickly before she reached her
mother’s side.

“Anna, there you are,” Katherine said. “I was looking for you.”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I found some friends I had to speak to, and I quite lost track of time,” Anna answered.

“I am sure a young woman as lovely as Lady Anna has no shortage of friends clamoring for her attention,” George said heartily.
His face was quite red; apparently he had been indulging in the excellent wine, too.

Anna barely managed to hold on to her smile.

“You remember my cousin, Captain Hayes, don’t you, dear?” Katherine said.

“Indeed I do. Such a surprise to see you here tonight, George,” said Anna. “You’re very far from Belfast.”

“And thank God for that. The farther from that northern hellhole the better. No culture at all,” George said, signaling to
a footman for more wine. “Dublin is the place to be these days. Right in the thick of things. This is where the action is—and
the prettiest ladies.”

Ellen, a native of Belfast, looked steadily at her hem. Despite her stylishly elaborate gown of gold-spangled tulle and silk,
she looked wan and tired.

“You look lovely this evening, Mrs. Hayes,” Anna said to her, feeling a twinge of pity. It must be terrible being married
to George. “I hope you are enjoying your time in Dublin?”

“Oh, yes, I…” Ellen began.

“The city is wasted on her,” George interrupted. “She
just sits at home all day, won’t go to shops or parties to mingle with the wives of important people. No spirit at all. Unlike
you, eh, Lady Anna?” His red-rimmed gaze slid down Anna’s body, making her feel rather cold and clammy all over. It was amazing
how none of the things she did on the walkway with Adair made her feel dirty, but one look from George, and she felt filthy.
“Isn’t that right, Sir Grant? I’m sure you agree with me about the fiery spirit of these young Dublin ladies.”

Grant gave him a cold look. “Lady Anna is everything a lady should be, I am sure, as is Mrs. Hayes. I’m very glad to see you
have recovered from the—incident, Lady Anna.”

“Thank you, Sir Grant,” Anna said. She gave him a grateful smile and stepped closer to his side, away from George. “I am very
well. And thank you for returning Psyche home.”

“I only wish I could have done more to help,” he said. “There are so many undesirable elements in town lately. One can’t be
too careful.”

“No, indeed,” Anna said. She thought of Adair’s mouth on hers, his hand on her bare breast. If that was an undesirable element,
then she wanted more of it!

“Your mother tells me you cannot dance this evening,” said Grant. “But perhaps you would care to play a hand of whist with
me in the card room?”

She certainly would. Anything to get away from George’s avid stare and his wife’s obvious misery. But she hated to leave her
mother alone with them. She glanced at Katherine uncertainly.

“Go on, my dear,” Katherine said. “Just don’t lose too much. I see Lady Connemara over there, and I must speak with her.”

“Of course,” Anna said. “Mrs. Hayes, even if you don’t care to go out often, I hope you will take tea with us one day soon
at Henrietta Street.”

“Thank you, Lady Anna,” Ellen whispered. “I would like that.”

Anna took Grant’s arm and turned with him toward the card room—only to be brought up short by Adair’s smoldering stare.

He stood near a bank of roses, away from the dancers and the gaiety of the party. Against the white flowers, his black hair
and clothes were even darker. The god of the Underworld, of doom, at the foolish mortals’ ball. He watched her and Grant with
such intensity she was surprised that she didn’t burst into flames. His stare was angry and—and possessive.

Grant’s arm tensed under her hand. “I see Adair is here,” he muttered.

“Is he?” Anna said. Her throat was tight, her breath trapped in her lungs. She managed to tear her eyes from Adair, but she
could still feel him watching her. Her skin burned with the force of it. When Adair looked at her as if he, too, remembered
every moment of their kisses…

It gave her a thrill, like a bolt of sizzling lightning. A terrible, naughty thrill. She feared she was
not
the proper lady her mother was. But then, she had known that for a long time. Adair just seemed to bring it out of her even
stronger.

“I did not notice,” she said.

“He seems to have noticed you,” said Grant. “Come, let us go into the card room.”

“Of course.” She let him lead her through the crowd, trying to ignore the knowing smiles as they passed by. But
before they could reach the door, she heard a sudden crash and a woman’s scream—not usually sounds to be found in an elegant
ballroom.

Anna whirled around, her heart pounding in a sudden burst of fear. The crowd closed in behind her, everyone clamoring for
a better view of the commotion, but she caught a glimpse through a small gap. Adair had George by the throat, holding him
to the wall beside an overturned urn of roses. Lady Fitzwalter, aghast at the crude display in the midst of her fine ball,
was the screamer, while George’s wife hovered nearby.

Adair’s genteel appearance of earlier was utterly vanished. His face was dark with fierce anger, his grip on George implacable
as George flailed and fought in vain. It was as if the duke had melted away, and in his place was an ancient Irish warrior
who would tear off George’s head and hurl it across the floor at any moment. It was primitive and raw, especially in the midst
of such a refined party.

The elegant crowd seemed to feel that, too, and it brought out the ancient fighter in all of them. Everyone watched with avid
interest to see what might happen next.

“Trust someone like Adair to cause such a scene,” a man behind Anna said with a snicker.

“Lady Fitzwalter should know better than to let an Irishman into her ballroom,” someone replied. “They’re just a lot of dirty
bog-dwellers no matter what the title.”

Anna longed to turn on them, to slap their smug faces whoever they were, but she seemed frozen in place. She couldn’t tear
her gaze from Adair and George.

The duke gave George another shake, and Anna heard
him growl, “Say that again, Hayes, and directly this time. None of your cowardly whispers.”

“It’s only what everyone is saying,” George choked out. “Fenian bastard. You shouldn’t even look at her.”

Adair’s fist tightened, and George kicked out as his face turned even more red.

Anna shook her head in disbelief that such a thing was happening. Where was the gentlemanly duke who greeted her in the ballroom?
Where was the man who had kissed her and held her so tenderly on the roof only moments ago? In only moments, he had vanished,
and her world was shaken up again.

She remembered when they met at the park, his crude words to her as he taunted Sir Grant. Who was the
real
Conlan?

A lady’s gloved hand touched Adair’s shoulder, gently but firmly drawing him back. Anna saw to her surprise that it was Jane
who refused to let him go even as he tried to shake her away. She spoke quietly into his ear. At first Anna was sure he would
push Jane away and get on with the business of thrashing George, but then something in Jane’s words seemed to reach him.

His grasp loosened on George’s throat, and he shoved him away. Adair let Jane take his arm and lead him toward the door. The
crowd parted in sudden silence, but George foolishly surged forward again to strike a glancing blow at Adair’s jaw. A drop
of blood appeared there, bright crimson on his skin, and Adair responded with a fierce uppercut to George’s chin, which sent
him sprawling at his wife’s feet.

Ellen fell back a step as if afraid he would soil her hem. Lady Fitzwalter looked so furious she would surely
explode from it. Adair and Jane disappeared through the ballroom door, and the crowd burst into sound again.

Anna felt Sir Grant take her arm again, and she spun toward him, astonished he was still there. She had forgotten everything,
stunned by the sudden violence of that moment between Conlan and George.

Sir Grant, unlike everyone else, looked surprisingly calm and composed. The contrast between him and his cousin, between their
two different worlds, had never been more striking. She found she craved his calm, his safety, and she swayed toward him.
His touch on her arm tightened.

“Are you quite well, Lady Anna?” he asked solicitously. “Such a shocking scene.”

But not one he was surprised by, she would wager. “Yes. One doesn’t expect such things in a Dublin ballroom. I wonder what
George said to cause such a reaction?”

Grant’s jaw tightened. “It hardly matters. My cousin has a fearsome temper. Anything could have set him off. Come, let me
fetch you a glass of wine. You look quite pale. Perhaps then we can have that card game.”

Anna nodded, too confused to make any protest. She
did
need something to calm her nerves, to help her think clearly again. She had never been quite so confused.

C
onlan remembered Anna going into the card room on Grant’s arm. His head bent toward hers as he said something to her, quiet
and intimate, and she laughed. They looked as if they belonged together, both so beautiful, so shining with privilege and
the ease of belonging. They were the perfect Anglo-Irish pair. Or so Grant liked to think.

Grant had spoken of the power that would come with a connection to Killinan. Surely Anna’s beauty and the attention she gathered
in Society was in his thoughts as well. Grant had always been very ambitious, even as a schoolboy, the pride of his mother.
She was Conlan’s aunt on his father’s side, and she had left her family behind to marry an English Protestant. She was sure
her only son, her golden boy, would go far, not only in Dublin but in London as well.