Duchess of Sin Read online

  “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.

  Chapter Three

  Yeow!”

  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 doin
g 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.”

  “And you are only just sixteen. You shouldn’t rush into such things, Caro.”

  Caroline laughed as she neatly plaited the now smooth strands of golden hair. “You are scarcely one to lecture me on caution, Anna! You never did tell me where you were tonight.”

  “I was not with Grant Dunmore.”

  “Then who were you with?”

  “I went to a party with Jane,” Anna said cautiously. And that was true, as far as it went. Caroline certainly didn’t need to know about Adair or the Olympian Club.

  Anna had the sudden urge to confide in someone about all her confused emotions. Caroline was too young and her mother was out of the question. If only Eliza were here and not living in Switzerland with her husband, Will. Her older sister certainly understood ungovernable passion.

  But Eliza was not there, and Anna just had to ignore those feelings until they vanished.

  “Mama won’t like that,” Caroline said. “She quite disapproves of Lady Cannondale.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell her. And you won’t, either, will you, Caro?”

  Caroline tied off the end of the braid, her eyes narrowed in a most ominous manner. “I might not—if you help me with something.”

  “Help you with what? I don’t have any pin money left for you to spend at the bookshop.”

  “I suppose you lost it all at whist. But I don’t need money.”

  Anna was deeply wary now. “What do you need?”

  “Mama is interviewing drawing tutors for me tomorrow. You are so persuasive with her; surely you could get her to let me stop all these infernal lessons. Dancing, music, deportment—it’s all such a vast waste of time.”

  “Because you mean to skip debutante balls and marry Lord Hartley?”

  “Because it gets in the way of my studies. Persuade her to not hire a drawing teacher, and I won’t tell her you were sneaking out with Lady Cannondale.”

  “I’m sure she would not listen to me.”

  “And I’m sure she would!” Caroline knelt down beside Anna’s stool, staring up at her with beseeching eyes. “Please, Anna darling, talk to her for me.”

  “Just talk to her?” Anna said doubtfully. “That’s all you want?”

  “That is all. Except maybe you could also loan me that gown sometime.…”

  Chapter Four

  It was the crowded hour at St. Stephen’s Green. The wide, graveled lanes and walkways, lined with neatly clipped box hedges, were filled with people on horseback and foot and in fine carriages. Everyone went there every afternoon after Parliament adjourned and before the evening’s theatres and assemblies opened, to see and be seen. They wanted to hear the latest gossip, to criticize the fashions of everyone else, and find out the latest in the saga of the Union. The chatter was nearly deafening.

  But Anna was bored with it all. She saw it every day, and it never changed. The gossip was always the same; no one ever did anything truly shocking or exciting. Only the partners changed. And no one different ever showed up at the park.

  She perched on her prized mare, Psyche, leading the horse at a sedate pace alongside her mother’s open carriage. Even Psyche seemed restless today, shifting uneasily as
if she wanted to run free. Usually at this time of year, they were home at Killinan Castle, joining in the hunt and going for morning rides over the rolling countryside. They could gallop and jump, the wind tearing through their hair as if they were flying.

  But there were no free, wild spaces in the city. No dirt lanes or fences to leap over. And Anna’s mother refused to leave Dublin while everyone else stayed there, waiting for the Union question to be resolved one way or another and indulging in Christmas festivities. Or perhaps she refused to leave until Anna was married off.

  Anna tightened her gloved hands on the reins and forced Psyche to settle down to a slow walk. She studied the faces around her, friends and acquaintances she had known all her life, and wondered who had been hidden under masks at the Olympian Club. Who had been there losing all their money at faro, dancing lasciviously with people not their spouses?

  It added some interest to the gray, chilly day. But it made her remember her own lascivious dance all too well.

  “Anna,” her mother said. “Are you listening to me at all?”

  Anna glanced at her mother from under the lacy veil of her riding hat. Katherine Blacknall, Lady Killinan, sat in her fine carriage, her fur-trimmed dark blue gown and black parasol striking against the pale yellow velvet upholstery. Her ribbon-trimmed hat was the latest fashion as always. Anna wondered why she could not turn her considerable matchmaking skills from her daughter to herself. She was still very lovely, with the golden hair Anna had inherited, smooth ivory skin, and large blue eyes. But Katherine claimed to be very content in her widowhood—and looking forward to grandchildren.

  She would have to look to Eliza and Will then, for Anna was not quite finished with her freedom.

  Anna smiled at her. “Of course I am listening, Mama. I’m merely a bit tired today.”

  Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “Too many late nights, I fear. Perhaps you should stay home more often.”

  “And turn down all those kind invitations? Surely we don’t want to offend anyone.”