Duchess of Sin (39 page)

And what would she have? What would she choose to do now?

The butler knocked at the half-open library door. Katherine quickly wiped away her tears and refolded the letter. “Yes, Smythe?”
she called.

“Mr. Courtois is here to see you, my lady,” said Smythe, a faint disapproval in his very proper voice.

Nicolas, here? Now? She had not seen him since her daughters returned home after the fire, but he had stayed with her in silent
vigil while they waited to find out what happened. She had not had the courage to speak to him
then. Maybe she could now. Confused and excited, Katherine nodded. “Send him in, please.”

She hurried to the mirror and tried to smooth her hair and arrange her expression in a serene pattern. Sadly, she thought
there was nothing she could do about those tiny lines around her eyes. Nothing she could do to turn back the years.

She just had to grab onto the time still left.

She sat down on the chaise and carefully arranged her silk skirts around her. She folded her hands in her lap, feeling as
nervous as a schoolgirl to see him again. How could she possibly be about to become a grandmother?

When he came into the room and shut the door softly behind him, he watched her in cautious silence for a long moment.

“Hello, Nicolas,” she said quietly.

“How are your daughters?” he asked.

“Better, I think. At least they are sleeping.”

“And you?”

Katherine laughed. “I fear I have not slept at all. I have such dreams, and then I lie awake going over and over what happened.
But then I go look at them, see they are safe, and I am well again.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He fell quiet again, just watching her as if he hoped to read something in her face. Katherine was
struck again by how very handsome he was, like a young, golden prince in a fairy story. Like a dream.

“I never spied on you, Katherine,” he said. “I could not. I’m an artist—that is my world. I try to find beauty and truth,
and such a sordid thing…”

“I know,” Katherine said. “You don’t have it in you to be treacherous, Nicolas. You would be a terrible spy.”

“Yes. Perfectly useless.” He suddenly laughed. “Though I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted by your words. Am
I so very easy to read that I could never keep a secret?”

“Not at all. I think you hold too many secrets, hide too many horrors in your past.” As they all did. But she was very tired
of secrets, of living as someone not entirely herself.

Nicolas came to her and knelt at her feet. He took her hands in his and kissed them as if they were precious.

“I never want to keep a secret from you again, Katherine,” he said, pressing her palm to his cheek. “I only helped Conlan
because he has been my friend for a long time. I would never have betrayed anything I heard here.”

“I know.” Katherine gently caressed his face, memorizing every angle, every texture. The smooth, warm satin of his skin, the
roughness of his whiskers, the sharp turn of his jaw. “I don’t want to have secrets from you, either. I’m tired of hiding
things.”

He gazed up at her with his dark blue eyes. They were like a night sky, the deepest part of the ocean. She could happily drown
in them.

“I can no longer hide,
ma belle,
” he said. “No matter what the consequences, even if you send me away, I must speak. I love you, Katherine. I love you with
everything in my heart, in a way I didn’t think could ever exist outside a painting. I can’t give you what you deserve, a
life of riches and beauty. I can only give you my love, but it will always be yours entirely, to do with as you will.”

Katherine’s throat tightened with hot, unshed tears. Could a person die of happiness, burst into flames and disappear because
the joy of it was too much?

“I have had riches all my life,” she said. “And they are nothing,
nothing,
to the gift you have given me, Nicolas. Love is the greatest thing of all, no matter where it is found. I love you, too.”

She had never said that to a man, or ever heard it from one. Between her and her husband there had been affection, a mutual
care for their family and duty, but not love like this. He had never said he loved her. She, too, had thought it couldn’t
exist except for poets and the mad.

She was definitely one of the mad.

“
Ma belle,
” he said. His smile was like the sudden appearance of the sun on a bleak winter day.

“I do,” she said again, her heart expanding and growing until she was sure it would burst forth. “I love you, Nicolas. I don’t
know what to do now, what comes after, but I love you.”

He kissed her, passionately, wildly, and she answered with all the love she had found. No, she did not know what to do next,
but this felt right. To be in Nicolas’s arms felt like coming home at long, long last.

C
ook says she made these cakes especially for you, Anna, and if you don’t eat them she will be quite upset,” Caroline said.

Anna watched as her sister set the heavily laden tray on a table by her chaise. She laughed as she studied the vast array
of delicacies. “Cook has done nothing for the last few days but try to stuff food in my mouth. You shall have to widen the
doorways to get me out of the house.”

“I very much doubt that. If you don’t eat some cake soon, you will fade away to nothing. At least have some tea.”

“Very well. A cup of tea. I doubt I am in any danger of fading away, though.”

“Are you sure?” Caroline carefully poured out the dark Indian tea and laid out lemon and milk. Her movements were careful
and precise, but her face still had that sad shadow that she had worn since they escaped the fire. “You have hardly left this
room since we—well, since we came home. That’s not like you.”

Anna set aside the book on her lap. “Maybe you have
finally convinced me of the joys of study. Irish mythology is quite fascinating.”

“I told you it was,” Caroline said. She handed Anna her cup and sat down beside her. “But Psyche needs exercise in the park,
and so do you. You have a mountain of invitations all piled up, and your friends keep calling and leaving flowers. Smythe
can’t go on turning them away forever.”

“I see them arrive out the window,” Anna said. She nodded toward the clear view of the street. The windows were repaired,
and the tangle of vines were cut down at last. “There’s been no one I want to see. Not since Grant tried to use me to kill
Conlan.”

“You mean Adair hasn’t called.”

“Not yet.” Conlan had written to inquire after her health, to tell her he was well and he was working on closing down the
Olympian Club, but he had not come to her. She spent far too much time wondering, agonizing over, why that could be.

“You should go to him,” Caroline said.

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Are you so proper and cautious all of a sudden, Anna? It never stopped you before.”

“It’s not propriety. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

Anna shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him right now. I’ve thought about him quite enough. Tell me about Lord Hartley
instead. I saw him arrive this morning, all dressed up in a new coat and hat.”

“Yes, he came to ask Mama for my hand.”

“And what happened?” Anna asked eagerly. She might not think Hartley was quite right for Caroline, but at least
here was a courtship with a straightforward trajectory, a definite ending. Unlike her and Conlan, which had never been straightforward
at all. And Caroline deserved some happiness. She had been so quiet and solitary since they came home.

“She said we could be engaged, but we couldn’t marry until I am at least seventeen,” Caroline said. “Even though
she
was married when she was younger than me.”

“That sounds quite sensible.”

“Yes, I suppose. I just so wanted things to be settled at last. I wanted to move forward and not make any more mistakes.”

“I do, too.” The problem was, what could she move forward to, after all that had happened? She couldn’t go back to where she
was, but she couldn’t go forward, either.

“I do have some news, though,” said Caroline.

“Tell me! I love news, especially now.”

“George’s poor wife, or widow I should say, is to marry again. Only days after his death. It’s quite scandalous.”

“No!” Anna thought of pale, cowed Mrs. Hayes. At least something good had come of their ordeal. George had brought himself
down and set his abused wife free. “Who is she to marry?”

“A man named Mr. Wise, who it seems is in trade and one of the richest men in Belfast. They say he courted her before her
parents made her marry George and has been in love with her all this time.”

“Well, I do hope he will be good to her. She certainly deserves it.”

“And she is not the only one to be married.”

“Who else?”

“Your friend Lady Cannondale, of course.”

“Oh, yes,” Anna said with a laugh. “She wrote to me yesterday. She has run off to Rome with her Gianni. I would never have
guessed she was serious about him. I thought he just escorted her to the opera and dinners and such.”

“I would not have thought them serious, either,” Caroline said musingly. “She always seemed to have—other interests.”

“She says she is going to write a novel set in ancient Ireland while she’s in Italy, and she has asked me to visit once she
is settled.”

“And will you?”

“Perhaps. Maybe I could find a handsome Italian gentleman of my own, since I seem to have no luck here.”

“Oh, I would not be so hasty to decide, sister.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look who has come to call at last.” Caroline pointed out the window.

Anna peeked outside to see a glossy black carriage at their portico. A footman in green-and-gold livery opened the door, and
Conlan stepped out, clad in a fine, fashionable blue greatcoat. No hat, though, as usual.

“It’s the duke,” Caroline cried happily. “And in such grand state, too. Could he possibly be trying to impress someone?”

“He has no need to impress anyone here,” Anna murmured. She watched as he climbed their front steps, her heart pounding. He
had come to her finally! She knew she should be angry at what he put her through, but the rush of happiness at seeing him
again overcame all of that.

She pushed back her blanket and leaped to her feet. “Help me change clothes, Caro, quickly!”

The drawing room door was open when Anna tiptoed down the stairs from her chamber. With Caroline’s help, she had speedily
changed from her dressing gown to a proper dress of pretty blue muslin and brushed and pinned her hair. She assuredly looked
better than she had the last time he saw her, all dirty and battered, but she wished she still had something alluring and
eye-catching like Jane’s red gown.

Anna peeked into the drawing room. Conlan sat across the tea table from her mother. He, too, looked better than the last time
they met, his black hair neatly trimmed, clean-shaven, well-dressed, but he looked very solemn as he listened to her mother.

Anna thought it was quite ridiculous to be so nervous about meeting with Conlan after all that had happened. He had rescued
her from a fire, fought over her—kissed every inch of her naked skin. But she was very anxious, unaccountably so.

She took a deep breath, smoothed her skirt, and stepped into the drawing room.

“Ah, Anna, there you are,” Katherine said. “His Grace has come to inquire in person after your health.”

“I am quite well, thank you, and so is my sister,” Anna said. She sat down beside her mother, still feeling that strange,
stiff formality. “I fear we would not be, though, if it were not for you.”

“We are planning to return to Killinan soon,” Katherine said. She calmly poured out a cup of tea and passed it to Anna, as
if she hosted such awkward little gatherings every day. “This has been a most—interesting social
season. I think we need the quiet of the country for a while.”

“Very wise of you, Lady Killinan,” said Conlan. “I must return to my duties at Adair Court as well.”

“Indeed?” said Katherine. “I hope you will call on us at Killinan then. It’s not a far distance for an energetic rider.”