Duchess of Sin (26 page)

Anna swept past her as she heard Conlan shout, “I mean it, witch! Stay away from here or you’ll be sorry.”

“I’m already sorry!” she yelled back. “Just not for the reasons you think. You haven’t seen the last of me, Conlan McTeer!”

She ran down the stairs and out into the night. The sky was turning a light pearl-gray as she dashed down the deserted street.
Morning was not far off. A new day, full of new puzzles.

She was halfway home before she realized that she had left her cloak behind and she was freezing cold. But her heart felt
even colder.

“Such temper,” Conlan heard Sarah say. “You’ll make your wound bleed again.”

He stayed on his side, listening as she reached for a basin and splashed a rag through the water. Every inch of his being
ached to run after Anna, to grab her in his arms and hold on to her so that she could never get away. So closely that she
would be safe from all the darkness of the world. She was his bright star, the only beautiful, good thing he had ever possessed.

And that was why she had to go away. She didn’t belong to him. He would only destroy her in the end.

“She’s a stubborn colleen,” he said. “She wouldn’t go.”

“Of course she wouldn’t.” Sarah laid her hand gently on his shoulder to roll him onto his back. “She is in love with you.”

In love? With him? A spark of something like hope rose up in his heart, but he shoved it back down again.
Love had no place in his life, only duty to his people and his name. She had a duty to her own family, one that was so very
different from his own. The Blacknalls and the McTeers might as well live on different planets, not miles apart in Kildare.

“She’s not in love with me. I’m just a bit of an adventure for her,” he said. “She’s practically betrothed to Grant Dunmore.”

“Is she indeed?” Sarah carefully unwound his stained makeshift bandage to examine the wound. “Poor girl. That one will never
be faithful to anyone but himself.”

Conlan thought of his cousin with Lady Cannondale and hoped Anna would never really marry him. He was entirely unworthy of
her. But then, was there a man anywhere who could be truly
worthy
of her?

“They say he’s the most handsome man in Dublin,” he said. He winced as she carefully cleaned the wound. “Rich, too. Some ladies
would fancy that.”

“Not me. Not her, either, I think. Looks fade, and I wouldn’t trust whatever the source is of his riches. He would bore her
in a fortnight.”

“Would he?” Conlan asked, hopeful in spite of himself.

“Of course. What use is a man like that to women like us? There’s no fire, no adventure, nothing to believe in.” She poured
whiskey over the reddened flesh, making him shout at the sting. “And no honor, either.”

Conlan remembered the flash of hurt in Anna’s beautiful eyes when he sent her away, his heart aching to lose her. Then he
remembered her shouts of temper. “Perhaps. But I think I have lost her.”

“Oh, no. She’ll be back. And what’s more, I think you
want
her to be back.”

Of course, he wanted her back. “No, it’s too dangerous. She’d be better off with Grant, despite all his faults.”

Sarah sighed as she unwound a fresh bandage. “You have not listened to a word I’ve said. But you’ll learn. She will never
give up in what she believes in. She’s too much like you, Conlan. Even I can see that.”

She leaned down and gently kissed his cheek. “Oh, Conlan, my friend,” she said. “I’m going to enjoy watching this little battle
of yours so very much. I have a feeling you are going down to defeat.”

W
elcome, welcome!” Lady Connemara cried as the doors to her home swung open. “And a merry Christmas to you all. We will be
such a fun party now that you have arrived.”

Anna clambered down from their carriage, stiff and sore after their journey from Dublin. She had been hoping for a quiet evening,
supper and a bath in her chamber, maybe an hour’s reading with Caroline, but it seemed that was not to be. Over Lady Connemara’s
shoulder, she glimpsed a bustling blur of activity in the soaring, pale marble foyer, and she could hear laughter and carols
on a pianoforte.

Christmas was already under way, the largest, most raucous holiday in celebration-loving Ireland. Even the traditional holly
wreaths were hung on every door and window, a particularly Irish touch.

“We are so happy to be here, Harriet,” Katherine said. She and Caroline climbed down from the carriage behind Anna as the
servants leaped into action to retrieve their baggage. “Time in the country is always so restful.”

“Oh, Dublin is too crowded for words,” Lady Connemara said. “We are so quiet and peaceful here. But do come in, it is perishingly
cold! Your rooms will soon be ready, and in the meantime, there is tea and brandy punch in the drawing room, and my daughters
are entertaining everyone with some music of the season.”

Caroline took Anna’s arm as they hurried up the shallow marble steps into the house. She balanced a stack of books in the
crook of her other arm. The foyer echoed with shouts and cries, running footsteps, shrieks, and music from the open drawing
room doors.

“The wren, the wren, the king of all birds! St. Stephen’s Day was caught in the furze, up with the kettle and down with the
pan, and give us a penny for to bury the wren!” they sang loudly.

“Peaceful and quiet indeed,” Caroline said wryly. “I doubt I will be able to think one single thought all week. They’re like
a flock of wrens themselves.”

Anna laughed. “It is Christmas, Caro! It’s meant to be noisy.”

“She hasn’t been sparing with the decorations, either,” Caroline said. She gestured to the loops of greenery twined around
the gilded staircase banisters, tied with huge red satin bows. Every painting was surmounted by sprigs of holly, and an elaborate
kissing bough trailing white streamers hung in the drawing room doorway.

“It is lovely,” Anna said. “Very—festive.”

Despite the puzzlement and anger that she felt when Adair sent her away so abruptly, her spirits rose with the music and the
bright decorations. It was Christmas! She had always loved an Irish Christmas with all the parties and dancing. Surely she
could feel more like herself now.
She only wanted to be herself, to discover who that was. She studied the kissing bough over the door, made of mistletoe and
white ribbons, and remembered that Christmas was a time for miracles. For new beginnings.

“Come along, Caro,” she said. “I’m quite parched for some of that brandy punch.”

“Anna.” Caroline tugged at her arm, her expression serious. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

Caroline wanted to talk to
her
about something important? Anna’s high spirits chilled. That sort of thing never happened. “Whatever is the matter? Are you
in some kind of trouble?”

Caroline shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I just don’t want Mama to hear.”

“We can walk in the garden soon, if we can escape the company,” Anna said, intrigued. “Surely no one will follow us in this
cold.”

“Yes, of course.” Caroline couldn’t say more, as other guests arrived and they were all swept into the crowded drawing room.
Friends quickly surrounded them, pulling them into the music and laughter. The lush marble and brocade room smelled of evergreen
boughs and brandy, of woodsmoke and hothouse red roses, and drew her into the holiday company.

Anna trailed behind Caroline through the winter-dormant garden, around the deserted stone summerhouse and along a pathway
that led up the slope of a hill. At its crest, she could glimpse the high wall of the Connemaras’ estate and over it a meadow
with a large house in the distance.
Was that Adair Court? she wondered. So very near, but so far. Maybe if she could go out riding one afternoon, just to explore
and look about…

“Are you quite set on marrying Grant Dunmore?” Caroline suddenly asked.

“What?” Anna said, startled. She kicked impatiently at the gravel path under her foot. “Why does everyone assume that? I don’t
think I ever said I
wanted
to marry Sir Grant. And he has not asked me.”

Caroline shrugged. “I suppose his dinner party was something of a declaration of his intent. He wants a hostess for his fine
house, and he seems to think it should be you.”

“Is that all I can be?” Anna said quietly. “An ornament?”

“Certainly not! No one who has the craftiness to sneak out of the house right under Mama’s nose should waste their talents
on mere parties. But…”

“But what? Come on, Caro! Obviously you brought me out here, away from the brandy punch and music, to say something. Tell
me.”

“I just don’t think you should marry him!” Caroline blurted.

Anna looked at her sister in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because he is not good enough for you. I don’t—I don’t think he’s terribly honest. Or faithful.”

“Oh, Caro,” Anna said with a bitter laugh. “Are there any honest, faithful men?”

“There was our father. And Will. And—well, maybe that’s it. I don’t know.”

“Two out of millions, then,” Anna said. “I’m sure Grant Dunmore is no worse than any other man of our class. But you’re correct
in saying he’s not right for me. I’m not sure I’m really the sort of wife he wants.”

Caroline gave a relieved smile. Her tense shoulders slumped in her cloak. “Truly?”

“Truly. I would at least have to know him much better first.”

“Anna, Caroline!” their mother suddenly called from the terrace. “Do come inside now, it’s too cold to be out.”

“We’re coming, Mama,” Caroline answered. She turned and hurried toward the house. Now that her duty in warning Anna was done,
she seemed to retreat back to her quiet, self-contained ways.

But Anna caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “Caro, tell me—why did you feel the need to warn me about Sir Grant? Did
something happen at the dinner party?”

Caroline hesitated and then shook her head firmly. “I just have a bad feeling about him, that’s all. I shouldn’t have said
anything at all.” She gently drew away her arm and dashed up the terrace steps into the house.

Anna followed slowly. She was quite sure Caroline wasn’t telling her the whole story, but she couldn’t press the point now.
The drawing room was filled with new arrivals, including Lord Hartley, who swiftly claimed Caroline’s attention.

Anna wondered if her sister knew that Hartley was not good enough for
her.
Caro was so pretty and clever, so young, yet she was determined to marry this middle-aged, balding, child-laden man. If Grant
Dunmore sought an ornament, Hartley surely wanted a research assistant and a stepmother for his children. But at least he
did seem to be kind—and faithful.

She glimpsed Grant standing in the doorway beneath the large kissing bough. He looked very handsome indeed, clad in his travel
garb of greatcoat and doeskin breeches,
with his coppery hair tousled. Yet the look in his eyes as he watched her was one she did not care for. It seemed almost—proprietary.

Or maybe it was just Caroline’s cryptic warning that made her imagine things. She pushed away the disquiet and plunged into
the crowd with determined gaiety. It was still Christmas, after all. She couldn’t let worries over a man she didn’t want—and
one she very much
did
want, but couldn’t have—entirely spoil her holiday.