Duchess of Sin (4 page)

“One of the footmen found her a hackney.” McIntire hesitated before he went on, shuffling the invitations in his wrinkled
hands. “She seemed rather upset, Your Grace.”

And well she should be, the little
cailleach.
Sneaking into a masked ball—being dragged away and kissed by a barbaric Irishman. Hopefully she had learned her lesson.

And hopefully
he
had learned his, too.

“She shouldn’t have come here,” he said roughly. “Lady Cannondale should have more care with the people she chooses as her
guests.”

McIntire watched him thoughtfully. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but do you know her?”

“I know she’s a young lady who has no business here. If she tries to come into the club again, McIntire, let me know at once.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Sir!” one of the footmen called down the stairs. “Sarah sent me to tell you Lord Overton is asking for more credit in the
card room.”

“Tell her to meet me in my office; I’ll deal with it there.” Conlan folded Anna’s cloak over his arm and turned back up the
stairs.

Sarah waited for him in his small office, sitting on the edge of the desk, her long legs crossed under her black silk skirts.
She smiled at him, leaning back on her palms as he closed the door behind him.

“Took you long enough to get here, Conlan,” she said.

Conlan tore off his mask, running his hand through his rumpled hair. “It’s a busy evening.”

“Oh, yes, I know. Lots of dancing…”

He ignored that. “There’s a problem with Overton?”

“Not a
problem.
He just wants yet more credit. He used it all at the faro table tonight, the naughty man.”

“Hmm.” Overton was one of the most vocal proponents of the Union of Ireland and England, thanks to the massive bribes he received
from London. Had he gone through that money already, burying himself in gaming debts again? Interesting.

But not as interesting as the appearance of Lady Anna Blacknall tonight. She stayed in his mind, like the
cailleach
he called her, refusing to depart and leave him in peace. He kept hearing her voice, feeling the softness of her skin under
his touch and her breath on his lips.

He tossed aside her cloak, the shimmering fabric sliding to the floor. If only
she
could be tossed aside so easily. He had the terrible suspicion that he had not seen the last of her, though. Something had
bound them together since those secret moments in the deserted stable, and those bonds tightened now, reeling him closer to
the mysterious golden witch.

“
Aigh se
.” He didn’t
want
her in his head again; he couldn’t afford the distraction, not now when all his hard work was so close to completion. He
just had to drive her out. She was just a woman, after all, and an Ascendancy woman at that. A pampered lady of the Protestant
aristocracy.

He smiled at Sarah, moving closer to the desk. He planted his hands on either side of her, feeling the warmth of her voluptuous
body, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. A musky French blend, not fresh lilacs like Anna Blacknall.

She laughed, throwing back her head as he pressed an openmouthed kiss to her shoulder, bared by the low-cut
gown. Her brown hair gleamed in the lamplight and her tall body wrapped boldly around his as she pulled him against her. Sarah
had none of the golden litheness of Anna, which was exactly what he needed to drive the
cailleach
away.

“Do we have time?” Sarah whispered, her hands reaching eagerly for the front of his breeches.

Her desire fueled his, as it always did. His old friendship with Sarah was uncomplicated, enjoyable, born of mutual need and
mutual hatred of the English. But tonight, even as he kissed her, he kept seeing Anna’s face in his head. Heard her voice
in his ear, calling out his name.

“There’s always time,” he muttered, forcing Anna’s image away as he pressed Sarah back onto the desk and eased into her welcoming
body.

Y
eow!
”

The piercing shriek split the quiet night on aristocratic Henrietta Street. At its sudden clamor, Anna tripped and crashed
to the pavement.

“Blast!” she cried, her knees stinging under the skirts of her borrowed gown. But the pain was nothing to the certainty that
she had been found out. She was caught sneaking back into the house, and there would be no freedom ever again.

She knelt there, the wind cold on her bare arms and her heart pounding like thunder in her ears, as she waited for doom to
fall. Instead there was the soft brush of something fluffy and feathery against her skin.

“Yeow.” Quieter now, not so much the scream of wrath. A cat’s bright green eyes peered up at her in the dark before it stalked
off into the night.

Anna’s breath left her lungs in a great whoosh, and she hung her head to laugh. Just a stray cat. She wasn’t about to be raked
over the coals after all, although surely she would be if she didn’t get in the house soon.

But her legs still trembled, too weak to let her stand up just yet. She sat back to assess the damage. Her gloves were torn
where her hands had hit the pavement. Her palms were scraped, but luckily the dress was intact. She had left behind her beaded
hair net along with her cloak, and now her hair fell from its pins to straggle down her neck.

So much for sophisticated elegance. One kiss, and she went dashing home like a coward, turning into a ragamuffin as she went.
One
fiery
kiss, unlike any she had ever known since…

Since the last time he kissed her, in that deserted stable. The Duke of Adair—yes, it had to be him. She was sure of it despite
the mask. Even though they had not met for two years, she remembered every brief second of their encounters. She especially
remembered the way his touch made her feel so very
alive
, as if she had been asleep all her life and only awakened when he touched her.

She stripped off her ruined gloves, scowling. She did not know exactly what part Adair played in the ambush on her brother-in-law
Will’s regiment, but she wasn’t entirely a fool. He was an Irish nobleman, whose estate had been nearly taken away by the
Penal Laws against Irish Catholics. He had not been strolling away from a tea party when she found him hiding in that stable.
She was a masochistic fool, swooning for a man like that. It was stupid, dangerous—and horribly alluring.

“Damn it all,” she muttered, balling up the silk gloves in her fist. She would just have to stay away from him in the future,
which shouldn’t be too difficult. They hardly moved in the same circles. And she had to hope he had not recognized
her
, although she had the sinking suspicion he had.

But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had to get into the house before she got caught.

She grabbed onto the iron railings, hauling herself to her feet even as her knees screamed in protest. Once she had her balance
again, she dashed down the stone steps to the servants’ entrance below the street level.

It was usually locked once everyone retired, but she had had a new key made and easily let herself back in. The cool corridors
were quiet, still smelling faintly of the roast and boiled vegetables from dinner and the smoke from the banked fireplaces.
All the servants were upstairs in their quarters asleep, but soon enough they would be down here to start the day all over
again. She had to hurry.

Not even daring to breathe, Anna ran up the back stairs and down the carpeted hall to her chamber. Her door, along with those
of her mother and sister, were closed. The house was silent. Success was within her sight!

But all that triumph collapsed when she slipped into her room, only to find she was not alone after all.

Her younger sister, Caroline, lay on her stomach across Anna’s bed, a book open before her. The flickering light of one candle
glinted on her spectacles.

“So you’re back at last,” she said calmly, turning over a page. “You were gone a very long time.”

“Caroline!” Anna cried in a whole new rush of panic. She crossed her arms over her midriff, wishing she still had her cloak
to cover the scarlet gown. Surely even Caroline, who cared nothing for fashion, would notice such a thing. “What are you doing
here? Are you spying on me?”

“Certainly not. I merely happened to glance out the
library window earlier tonight and saw you leaving. I was rather curious because you claimed to have a headache after dinner.”

“Did Mama see?”

“No, she had already retired.” Caroline closed her book,
Great Battles of Ancient Ireland
, and sat up on the bed. Her brown eyes were bright with inquisitiveness.

“Are you going to tell her?” Anna asked warily.

“That depends. Where were you?”

She could hardly tell Caroline the truth—that she had run off for a night of dancing and gaming at the notorious Olympian
Club and ended up kissing a wild Irishman in a dark conservatory. To buy herself a moment to think, she ducked behind her
dressing screen to struggle out of the gown. Luckily, Jane’s garments were made to get out of fairly easily. Her Gianni must
be so happy.

“I just needed a breath of fresh air,” Anna said, draping the slippery red fabric over a chair and kicking off her heeled
slippers. “This house is so stuffy sometimes.”

“So it is,” Caroline answered. Anna heard her climb down from the bed, the sound of pouring water. “No wonder Eliza always
hated it. But why did you need a ballgown to go for a stroll?”

Anna froze as she rolled down her stockings. She had a sudden flashing image of Adair dragging up her skirts, his dark hand
on her pale thigh, warm and strong and delicious.…

“Blast,” she whispered, shivering at the thought. She tore off her light stays and chemise, pulling her nightgown over her
naked skin before she could have any more such fantasies.

“What did you say, Anna?”

“I said—what else would I wear for a midnight stroll?”

Caroline suddenly poked her head behind the screen, holding out a damp washcloth. “You have rouge on your lips still.”

Anna took the cloth in silence, scrubbing at her rouged lips and powdered cheeks. She wished she could wipe away Adair and
the burning intoxication of his touch so easily.

“Were you meeting Sir Grant Dunmore?” Caroline asked.

Now
that
Anna did not expect. “Grant Dunmore? Why would you think that?”

“He sent you flowers again today.” Caroline gestured to a basket of deep purple violets. “And you brought them up here and
left all the other bouquets in the drawing room. Everyone says he is courting you, but then again so is every man in Dublin.”

“I brought those in here because I happen to like violets.” Anna made herself laugh, pushing past her sister to sit down at
her dressing table. Her hair was still a mess, falling down around her shoulders, and her cheeks were red from excitement
and fear. Surely she couldn’t fool anyone. Guilt was written all over her face.

She snatched up her hairbrush, yanking it through the tangled waves of hair. “Out of every man in Dublin, why do you think
I was meeting Grant Dunmore? He is hardly courting me—we’ve only danced a few times and gone for a ride in the park once.”

But then again, Jane had also thought he was courting her. Was that what everyone in Dublin thought?

“He is very handsome,” Caroline said. She took the
brush from Anna’s shaking hand. “Here, let me do that. You’ll pull your hair out by the roots and then no one will want to
marry you.”

“Least of all a man as handsome as Grant Dunmore?” Anna asked, suddenly curious. Caroline never seemed to notice men at all;
she cared mostly for her books on Irish history.

Yet Sir Grant
was
handsome enough to catch even Caroline’s distracted eye. He would make a fine match, and then everyone would cease gossiping
about her after all the offers she had turned away.

But Grant did not make her blood sing when he touched her hand in the dance or when he smiled at her. It seemed only mysterious,
dark, elusive Irishmen could do
that
. Maybe her soul was so blackened that Conlan was what she deserved.

“The two of you would look well together,” Caroline said, gently drawing the brush through Anna’s hair.

Anna laughed. “You only want me out of the way so
you
can marry next! Will you find a handsome beau like Sir Grant?”

“Not at all,” Caroline said. “I already have a plan.”

“What sort of plan?”

“I shall marry Lord Hartley. Then I won’t have to bother with debutante balls at Dublin Castle at all.”

“Hartley!” Anna cried. “Caro, he is quite ancient. He’s already been married twice and has three children, plus very little
hair.”

“I admit he is not as handsome as Sir Grant, but he is a scholar and has a marvelous library. He’s also a member of the Hibernian
Society and could allow me access to
their
library,” Caroline said matter-of-factly. She was the
only girl Anna knew who would marry someone for their library. “And he is hardly ancient, only forty-five. Hardly older than
Mama.”