Duchess of Sin Page 7

  Maybe Jane would know something about Adair. She did seem to know all the gossip, and she was a member of the Olympian Club after all.

  “I will leave you to Lady Cannondale’s care, Anna,” Caroline said as she slid off the bed. She found her lost spectacles and pushed them back on her nose. “I have more reading to do before dinner.”

  “You’re not going to listen at the library door, are you?”

  Caroline sniffed. “Of course not. I am not so mischievous as you, sister.”

  “No one is.” Anna hurried next door to her own sitting room where Jane already waited. She still wore her green carriage dress from the park, so obviously she had not yet gone home to prepare for the evening out.

  “Oh, Anna my dear!” she cried, and rushed forward to kiss Anna’s cheek. “I just heard of your accident. Are you terribly hurt?”

  “Only my pride. My fine equestrian reputation will be quite ruined.”

  “I’m just sorry that I had already left.” They were interrupted by the servants bringing in tea, and only once they were settled by the fire did Jane go on. “It sounds so exciting. Tell me, is it true the Duke of Adair came to your rescue?”

  Anna nodded as she stirred at her tea. “I happened to be speaking with him when—when it happened.” She remembered the pop and whine of the bullets, whizzing past her toward him, and she shivered. They were both very lucky.

  “Were you really? Hmm.” Jane took a thoughtful sip. “I daresay Grant Dunmore won’t like that.”

  “No, he did not. I thought there might be a brawl right there on St. Stephen’s Green.”

  “So he was there, too?”

  Anna nodded.

  “Oh, my dear.” Jane gave a delighted laugh. “How delicious. And to think I missed it all.”

  “The duke said they were cousins of some sort. I take it there is no family love lost.”

  “To say the least.” Jane set her cup down and leaned forward in her chair, as if settling in for a good coze. “Do you not recall that old business over the estate? Adair Court is not terribly far from Killinan.”

  Anna also leaned forward so as not to miss a word. Jane did always know the on dits. “Unless it happened in the last year or two, I might not have heard. Mama didn’t like us listening to neighborhood gossip when we were girls.” She didn’t like it very much now, either, but she couldn’t stop Anna.

  “You did not know Adair almost lost the estate, which his family has held on to for centuries, due to the old Penal Laws?”

  “Yes, I did hear something of that,” Anna said. Under the harsh old Penal Laws against Irish Catholics, which had only been fully revoked in 1793, a Protestant could sue to take possession of a Catholic relative’s land if he could prove the Catholic was disloyal to the Crown or misused the property. Since a Catholic was thought by definition to be disloyal, it was not a hard claim to make, but in truth that law was very seldom enforced at all. Most Irish families tended to protect their own, no matter what their disagreements.

  But the Adair case had been a spectacular one. Titled lords fighting over thousands of acres and hundreds of tenants, a fine ancient castle. And…

  “No!” Anna cried. She slumped back in her seat, feeling like a fool for being so shocked. She should have realized immediately when she saw them together, put together the old stories and their obvious hatred for each other.

  “It was Grant Dunmore who brought the suit,” she whispered.

  Jane nodded. “He never really had a chance, of course. Adair might be many unsavory things, but he is a duke. His ancestors held on to that title for centuries through whatever means necessary, and he is quite their ruthless equal. Dunmore was a fool to try it out. But his estate in Queen’s County is nothing compared to Adair Court. He wanted property to match his ambitions, and it blinded him to reality. He made a bad enemy of his cousin.”

  Still stunned by the depth of the poison between Adair and Grant Dunmore, Anna shook her head. “How do you know all this?”

  “Everyone knows. But my husband was one of the members of Parliament who heard the case. He was always very chatty, my Harry.” Jane gave her a sly smile. “And now they have you to fight over, A. How wonderful.”

  Anna crossed her arms against a sudden harsh feeling of anger and foolishness, and a cold understanding. “I am not a bone for two snarling mongrels to fight over.”

  “I hardly think a duke and a baronet could be called mongrels.”

  “I don’t want to be mixed up in that old business! There is too much hatred and division in this country already. It can’t be good to toss fuel on old embers.”

  “You’re quite right, of course. But forgive and forget is hardly the Irish way, is it, my dear? The enmity between those two goes beyond any lawsuit or pretty woman. You do not have to be their pawn, though. You can use them to your own advantage.”

  “What do you mean?” Anna asked, now thoroughly confused. “Short of taking a riding crop to both of them, I can’t imagine I could ever control them. And I can’t see what advantage I could find in them, either.”

  Jane toyed idly with the ribbons of her dress, smiling mysteriously. “Do you not? Well, I must leave you to think about it then. I have to go home and change for that card party. I suppose we won’t be seeing you there?”

  Anna shook her head. She was only half-listening; her mind still reeled with all this new, fascinating information. “No, but I am sure I can persuade Mama to let me attend the Fitzwalters’ ball tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I so much hope you can. Since I missed the excitement at the park today, I must pray for another show.”

  “I doubt that will happen. Adair never goes about in Society, does he?”

  “Somehow I have the feeling his reclusive habits are about to change.” Jane rose to her feet and kissed Anna’s cheek again before she smoothed on her gloves. “I am so happy you’re unhurt, Anna. You will think of all I’ve said?”

  “Of course, Jane. Good-bye until tomorrow.”

  After her friend departed, Anna wandered over to the window to stare down at the street. Beyond the ivy-covered portico, Henrietta Street was quiet in the gathering darkness. No one was yet abroad in the darkened streets. They were all preparing for parties or the theater, or perhaps for more daring fare. Perhaps some of them were going to the Olympian Club.

  Was Adair there now? She closed her eyes and pictured him tying on a mask, moving through the empty rooms that would soon fill up with laughter and lust, the despair of money lost and the excitement of flirtatious glances and new affairs.

  How she wished she were there, too. Despite her tiredness and the ache of her bruises, that old plague of restlessness was even stronger tonight. It was like an imp of mischief deep inside of her, urging her on to new trouble.

  She opened her eyes and stared out blindly at the gathering twilight. If she did want trouble, she need look no further than Adair. He was danger come to dark, thrilling life, full of mystery and secret—or not so secret—enmities. He was intriguing; she could not deny it. But it seemed that somewhere in her heart, hidden away, so tiny she could hardly see it, was a kernel of her mother’s prudence.

  She would not put on her own mask and sneak out tonight, no matter how much she wanted to. She had much to consider. Jane had said there was an “advantage” to be had in the feud between Adair and Grant Dunmore. Anna had no idea what that meant.

  But she was certainly going to find out.

  Chapter Seven

  Katherine paused in front of the mirror in the corridor before she went to attend to her duty in the library. The fading light from the windows fell over her disordered hair and pale face, and she feared it revealed the strain of the day. Once, she could recover from any crisis full of energy and eager to take on the many tasks of a lady with a large estate. Being the chatelaine of Killinan Castle and the mother of her lively girls had been her whole life, and she would do anything for her family and home. She still would.

  But how tired she felt!
How aged. She knew she was not so old, only in her forties, and she looked younger. Like most girls from good Anglo-Irish families, she married young and had her children quickly. Six of them, though only three lived. But she felt as if she was a hundred years old. Seeing Anna crumpled on the ground was terrifying. It brought back so vividly those days when she could do nothing to protect her children, when she had come so close to losing them to war and rebellion.

  “Oh, Anna,” she whispered. Her beautiful, sweet, wild, vulnerable girl. She was safe now, but how long would that last?

  Katherine’s own mother told her that the hardest thing in life was letting one’s children fly free. Letting them make their own mistakes. But she had not said just how very many mistakes children could make!

  Katherine smoothed her blond curls, mercifully only lightly streaked with silver. She pinched her white, still-smooth cheeks to add a hint of color and straightened the fur-trimmed bodice of her blue gown.

  “I am not quite ready to give up and sit knitting by the fireside just yet,” she said resolutely. Widow’s caps could wait until Anna and Caroline were settled. And Caroline would never be settled without a bit of polish, including drawing skills. She spun around and marched toward the library, swinging open the door.

  The lamps in the large room had not yet been lit. Only the pink-gold setting sun lit the dark paneled walls and towering shelves of books and the brown velvet chairs and settees. Though the house actually belonged to Eliza, Katherine had hung her own husband’s portrait over the fireplace. Lord Killinan smiled down at her, happily ensconced forever with his beloved hunting dogs at his feet and Killinan Castle in the background.

  He could not feel the chill in the air. The fire had died in the grate, and a tea tray sat cooling on one of the marble-topped tables. Katherine rubbed at her arms in the silk sleeves, glancing around for the drawing teacher.

  He was half-hidden in the shadows as he stood before one of the shelves, his head tilted to examine the volumes. He seemed quite unaware of her presence, which gave her a stunned moment to study him.

  Monsieur Nicolas Courtois was not exactly what she had expected. All Caroline’s other teachers were fussy older men in black coats and old-fashioned wigs. Katherine’s own art teacher when she was a girl had also been older, a temperamental Italian who had megrims over her paltry watercolor efforts.

  Monsieur Courtois had come very highly recommended. Her friends had raved over him, and their daughters had gone into raptures when his name was mentioned. Now she suspected his skills with charcoal pencils, paint, and canvas had little to do with that enthusiasm. Monsieur Courtois was, not to put too fine a point on it, sublimely handsome. A chalky beam of sunlight fell over him, turning his pale hair to shimmering gold. He was tall and elegantly lean in a stylish but not ostentatious dark green coat and ivory cravat. His profile looked like a classical cameo, perfect and pure.

  He reached out his hand and slowly, caressingly traced the spine of a book. A smudge of paint on his fingers was the only flaw in his handsome persona. He touched the leather cover with an intense concentration that made Katherine imagine how he might touch a woman’s skin.…

  She caught at the back of a chair, suddenly so dizzy she was sure she would fall. The man seemed like a dream, a vision, caught there in the light of that perfect moment. He was not a real man at all. He could not be, for no real man had ever made her feel like that. She was always impervious to such nonsense, even when she was a girl. She had never giggled over men like her friends.

  You are just overly tired, she told herself sternly. Yet she could not look away from him.

  She clutched tighter to the chair, and as she swayed, her skirt rustled. He spun around at the sound, his shoulders tensing and his beautiful hands tightening into fists. No, he was not a dream. He was quite real, and facing her directly, he was even more handsome. His face could have been taken directly from a Hellenistic statue, its proportions and angles were so perfect, yet his skin was a light, sun-kissed gold.

  A statue brought to heated, glowing life. Young life, she saw with a pang. He had none of the lines and scars of age.

  “I am sorry I startled you, monsieur,” she said, trying to regain her usual serene calm. She was the lady of the house; she was in control of the situation. No matter how good-looking he might be.

  “Ah, no, madame, I am sorry,” he answered, and of course he would have a delicious voice to match his face. His English was perfect, but touched with a French accent like soft velvet. “I became much too distracted by your fine library.”

  “Not at all. The books deserve to be admired. I fear only Lady Caroline reads them lately. Please, monsieur, do be seated. I should ring for some fresh tea.”

  “No, my lady, please do not trouble yourself on my account. I did not even notice when they brought the tray in earlier.” He gave a rueful laugh.

  Katherine wondered why the maids were not still hanging about in here, gawking at him. She certainly would, if she were fifteen years younger and not a countess who was supposed to be dignified. “Well, I could certainly use some myself. It has been a rather trying day.”

  A concerned frown knit his brow, and he took a step toward her. “My lady, you do look pale. Please, sit. Allow me to ring the bell.”

  He held out his hand, and automatically Katherine slid her fingers into his grasp. It was entirely strange and untoward, of course, yet it felt entirely natural. His paint-stained fingers closed lightly over hers. She stared down at the contrast of his golden skin with her pale complexion, and warmth shot all the way to her toes. It was utterly enchanting, like a summer’s day of clover and sun, and slow, warm laziness.

  Her throat tightened, and she feared she would burst into tears. Why these feelings now, with this gorgeous young man she had just met? Now, when it was all too late?

  Monsieur Courtois also stared down at their hands, his face as smooth and unreadable as one of those cameos. They both stood perfectly still, as if stunned and frozen in the moment. Finally, he glanced up at her, and she saw that his eyes were brown. Such a dark brown they were nearly black, even deeper and more fathomless against his silvery blond hair.

  Slowly, his fingers slipped away from hers, and he offered her his arm. Katherine took it and let him lead her to the settee nearest the empty fireplace. She was not a short woman, yet she barely came to his shoulder.

  Once she was seated, he went back to tug on the tasseled bell pull by the window. Away from his warm nearness, she could take in a breath again. She stared hard at the carpet under her feet. Don’t be a fool, she told herself sternly. Would she be as foolish as Lady Kingsley, who last year found herself banished to a desolate estate in the north over an affair with her children’s dancing teacher? It had been the talk of Dublin, the folly of a lady over a handsome young face. It had cost her everything.

  But you are not married, as she was, another devilish little voice whispered. She was free, or as much as a titled lady could be. The Duchess of Leinster had married her children’s tutor. If she, Katherine, were discreet…

  She shook her head. That was utter foolishness. Ireland was a small place; everyone always knew everything. She had spent her whole life upholding the reputation of the Angel of Kildare, of her family. It was her life. She would not throw it away because of a sudden weakness over a handsome face and a strong pair of shoulders. Besides, a young man like Nicolas Courtois would never look twice at a woman such as her.

  Yet he was looking at her. He smiled at her as he sat down in the chair across from her, and there was a tiny dimple set in his cheek.

  Katherine folded her hands tightly on her lap. “I am Lady Killinan, of course, Monsieur Courtois, and your pupil here would be my youngest daughter, Caroline. She is sixteen and requires a bit of… polish before she makes her formal debut.” That dimple deepened, and Katherine twisted her hands tighter together.

  “Most sixteen-year-olds are in need of polish, my lady,” he said. “But I am sure if she is your d
aughter she needs very little help at all. She is sure to have as many suitors as she likes, quite without the advantage of proficiency at art.”

  Katherine laughed at his light flattery, and his smile grew as if he took pleasure at making her laugh. “My daughter is pretty, if I do say so myself, monsieur. Yet she is also quite scholarly, and I know she will much enjoy learning more of art. Drawing and painting can make us see the world in new ways, yes?”

  Ways that one could never have fathomed, she thought bemusedly as she looked into his dark eyes.

  Monsieur Courtois leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he looked back at her. “It can indeed. To be honest, my lady, I would relish a pupil who was actually interested in my lessons.”

  “Really? Is that such a rarity then? You came highly recommended. Mrs. McGann told me that you worked wonders with her daughter.”

  He laughed and said in a soft, confiding voice, “Miss McGann, I fear, could not so much as draw a straight line when I took on her instruction. If, after many long hours of hard work, she could execute a recognizable tree—well, that is more a tribute to my stubbornness than any pedagogical skill I may possess.”

  Katherine laughed, too. She felt quite sure Miss McGann had been much too distracted by her tutor’s good looks, and too happy to have hours of his attention, to be much concerned with the proper perspective of trees.

  “However it came about, Mrs. McGann was very happy with your progress,” Katherine said. “As were your other past employers. A certain stubbornness will be most useful in working with my Caroline.”

  “Perhaps you would care to look at some of my work, my lady? Then you can judge my skills for yourself.”

  Oh, yes, that little devil whispered. That would mean spending more moments in his company, which was too tempting.

  She batted the devil away, trying not to blush like a schoolgirl. “Certainly, monsieur.”

  As he went to fetch his portfolio from the desk, two maidservants brought in the tea tray. Katherine noticed they took far longer than required to set up the cups and pots, sneaking glances at the Frenchman and simpering.