Duchess of Sin

by Laurel McKee

  Yet, strangely, she felt safe with him. She shouldn’t, of course. He was probably the least predictable, least safe person she had ever met. Yet she sensed that something in them was the same, that he understood the wildness inside of her that she tried to banish or at least hide. With him, she didn’t have to hide.

  She didn’t have to hide everything, anyway. There were some things even he should not know.

  “All right, Anna?” he said quietly. He glanced over at her, his eyes that bright, glowing green in the shuddering shadows.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she answered. “What is this place?”

  “Just a tavern. A friend of mine owns it. It’s a fine place for a quiet drink and a think.”

  Anna gave a wry look at a man slumped over the nearest table. He was snoring amid a tangle of empty tankards. “Or a place to get completely foxed?”

  “If that’s your pleasure. At least here you can be sure no one will see you and kick you into the gutter while you’re pissed.”

  She glanced back at the closed door. The street outside was not one where she had ever been, though neither was it a stinking stew like the notorious Liberties. It was a narrow cobblestone lane lined with tall slivers of houses and cheap inns, which looked as if they housed servants and lower clerks. The people in here were roughly dressed, but they seemed friendly. It wasn’t grand, of course, yet it was far preferable to the artificial glitter of the ball. No one stared at her here. No one wanted or expected anything from her. She was free, for the moment. Free to do whatever she wanted.

  And she wanted to have a drink with Adair. Perhaps he, too, would feel free, and she could learn more about him, like what he was up to in that burned-out stable two years ago. He intrigued her so much, and yet he was closed to her.

  She squeezed his hand. “Are you going to get me a drink then? I’m not in the mood to get, er, pissed, but I am parched after our journey.”

  He laughed. “I imagine a hackney is rough going after a coach and four, my lady.”

  “I’ve been in worse,” she said, remembering the rickety cart they used to flee Killinan ahead of the rebels in ’98. “And my mother would consider four vulgar.”

  “Of course. We mustn’t be vulgar.” He led her across the room to the end of the bar. A burly, bearded man in a stained apron leaned there. He looked up and smiled at Adair.

  “Conlan, my lad, you haven’t been around in an age,” the man said, his gravelly voice heavily accented. His grin revealed broken teeth, and his nose above the tangle of his beard was crooked. Perhaps the tavern was not always so peaceful and merry then.

  “I’ve been busy,” Adair said.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Have you indeed?”

  “Word gets around.”

  “Especially to you, Liam. But you look well. I hope Betsy and Amy are, too.”

  “Aye, and Amy will be glad to see you.” Liam the barkeep eyed Anna and her hand in Adair’s. “Or maybe not.”

  “This is my friend Anna,” Adair said. “Anna, this disreputable fellow is Liam McMasters, once the most notorious prizefighter in southern Ireland, and now a respectable tavern owner.”

  Liam snorted. “Not so respectable as all that, or so my Betsy claims. She wants me to stay home more. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Anna. We haven’t seen such a pretty face here in—well, ever. Conlan is a lucky man.”

  Anna laughed. “He is that, Mr. McMasters. Born under a lucky star.”

  Liam gave her an odd look. “And she has a pretty voice, too. What will you have, Miss Anna? Order whatever you like. I’ll see this lucky fellow pays up.”

  Anna leaned her elbows on the scarred bar as she studied the bottles. No champagne, of course, but she was tired of the stuff anyway. “An ale, I think. Your best brew, since Conlan here is paying.”

  “And a whiskey for me, Liam,” Adair said. “Are the boys here tonight?”

  “Setting up in the back room, if you want to go through,” Liam said as he poured their drinks.

  “Have there been any messages lately?”

  Liam glanced warily at Anna. “Not yet. Pete’s gone to Cork, though, should be back soon.”

  Conlan nodded and seemed thoughtful as Liam moved away to serve other customers.

  “Conlan is a fine name,” she said and took a swallow of her ale. “It suits you—hero.”

  “My mother was a fanciful sort,” he answered. “She loved the old tales. When I was a child I wished I was called William or Phillip, something less—whimsical.”

  “And my mother was not fanciful at all. I had to be called plain old Anna, after her mother.”

  “I doubt anyone could call you plain anything.” He reached over and took her hand. He turned it over on his palm, studying the curve of her fingers. She stared, fascinated, as he raised it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to her wrist. The tip of his tongue touched her pulse, pounding just under her skin.

  He held her hand to his cheek and smiled at her. “Do you like it here, not so plain Anna?”

  She swallowed hard and tore her stare from that smile to study the dancers. No one paid the least bit of attention to them now, and she had the feeling they wouldn’t even if she crawled onto Conlan’s lap and tongue-kissed him wildly. It was wonderful. It made her want to throw back her head and laugh.

  “Yes,” she said. “I like it very much. Though it seems a bit quiet, not really what I expected when you asked if I wanted to go to a real party.”

  He laughed and sat back in his chair. He still held on to her hand. “It’s early yet. I thought it wouldn’t be grand enough for you.”

  “I’m tired of grand.” She drank more of her ale and leaned across the table toward him. “Do you come here very often?”

  “Not as much as I used to.”

  “Yes—you’ve been busy.” She turned his hand in hers and examined the calluses and scars along his palm and the tips of his fingers. They were broad, strong, working hands, tanned by the sun. He wasn’t like any duke she had ever known or imagined. “Busy doing what?”

  His eyes narrowed warily. “I have a great many duties. Surely you know that; your family also owns a large estate.”

  “Oh, I do know what a place like Killinan or Adair requires. And I daresay you are much more involved in your people’s lives than my father ever was.” She traced those scars with her fingertip, a light, teasing pattern back and forth. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t pull away from her. “Yet you’re here in Dublin now.”

  “Sometimes those duties are in the city, alas, and won’t be put off.”

  “You wish you were back at Adair?”

  “It’s my home,” he said simply. “Where I belong.”

  Anna felt a sudden wistful pang. “What does that feel like, Conlan? Belonging?”

  He turned his wrist to catch her fingers in his again, holding them tightly. “Do you not belong to your family, Anna? To your home?”

  “When I was a child I thought I did. I loved nothing better than riding over the fields at Killinan Castle. I would go as far from the gardens as I could, out where it was wild and quiet.” She closed her eyes and saw once more her long-forgotten refuges. “There was a place by the river I loved. I would lie there in the cool, green grass and stare up at the sky as I listened to the whisper of the water. It was like the voices of the fairies, telling me tales of the real Ireland that was lost.”

  “The fairies,” he murmured. “Yes, you would hear them.”

  “I loved my home then,” she said. “I wanted to stay there in that place forever.”

  “What happened?”

  She opened her eyes to find him watching her. “I grew up and learned what was expected of me. I was not Irish, not really, and wishing would not make it so. The fairies wouldn’t speak to me. Killinan isn’t really mine. My mother has her life interest in it, and then it will go to Eliza’s son, if she has one. I have to make a proper marriage, an English marriage, and live a proper life. Dreaming about river f
airies and green hills, of being useful and needed, does me no good.”

  He said nothing, just smiled at her sadly in that silence. Yet she feared he could see what she did not say, what she pressed down deep inside.

  “I do like it here,” she said. “I feel like I can think here. It was good of you to bring me.”

  He laughed humorlessly. “Ah, Anna me girl. It was not good of me at all.”

  He reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around the back of her head, dislodging her cap. He drew her close to him and kissed her. His lips were parted but gentle, as if he gave her time to draw away. She didn’t want to draw away, though. She wanted to be closer and closer, to forget everything in the passion that rose up in her with his touch. She leaned toward him, opening her mouth under his.

  He groaned deep in his throat, the rough sound echoing through her. His fingers tightened in her hair, and his kiss turned hotter. He tugged her head back to give him deeper access, and she held his face in her hands, half afraid she would lose him and the way he made her feel.

  His mouth slid from hers, and he turned his head to kiss her palm. “Anna, Anna,” he said. “What you do to me.”

  “What I do to you?” she whispered. He made her head spin, made her want to laugh and sob all at the same time, to run out and throw her arms around life and all its forbidden wonders.

  “You’re a terrible distraction,” he said.

  “Good. Come distract me again.” She tugged him back toward her lips, but as soon as they touched in another kiss, a louder burst of music broke over them. Anna fell back in her chair, startled, and Conlan tore himself away from her with a soft curse. “Do you want to leave now?”

  She nodded and took his hand to let him lead her out of the room. The bar was even more crowded than before, Liam busy pouring out more ale and whiskey for thirsty customers.

  “Come back soon, Miss Anna!” he called. “We’ll put your ale on Conlan’s bill again. He owes me so much already, he won’t even notice, the old villain!”

  Anna laughed and waved at him. She wished that she could come back, whenever she felt like it, but that seemed unlikely. This would probably be just one night that she could remember.

  At least it was not quite over yet. Conlan raised his arm to hail a hackney, but she caught his hand in hers. “Let’s walk for a while,” she said. “I need to clear my head a bit.”

  He looked down at her. “Are you sure? It’s cold.”

  It was chilly after the crowded tavern, but she liked the bracing winter wind. She tugged her shawl up over her shoulders. “Just for a bit. It’s so quiet here.”

  He nodded and offered her his arm as they set off down the street. “We can certainly walk if you like, but I wouldn’t call this pretty. Not like your Henrietta Street.”

  “Henrietta Street is big and dull and overly lit. You can’t see the sky there.” Anna tilted back her head to stare up at the black velvet sky, dotted with whirls of diamond-dust stars. “There’s nothing like an Irish sky in the winter, so clear and bright.”

  “I can think of a few things even more beautiful,” he said. “Such as you—Miss Anna.”

  Anna laughed happily. His compliment, simple as it was, just added to the glow of the evening. It was strange how excited she felt around him—how happy—even though they always seemed to run into trouble. The numbness of her life and her past faded away when she was with him, and she felt burningly alive again.

  It was dangerously addictive.

  “I’ve never been compared to the night sky before,” she said.

  They turned the corner onto another narrow, quiet street. The river had to be close by, for she could hear the lapping of its tides against the embankment and the faint noise from waterfront taverns. On their street, though, it was dark.

  “You must get such compliments all the time,” he said.

  “Oh, yes. But not even a fraction of them are truly meant.” She stopped to lean against a rough stone wall, her head tipped back to look up at the bright stars. “No one ever means what they say, not really. Sometimes I feel like I live in a world whose language I only partly understand. It’s like a code, and I haven’t entirely learned it.”

  Conlan leaned his hands against the wall to either side of her. His large, strong body shielded her from the cold wind, and she was surrounded by his heat. He smelled of smoke and whiskey and the citrus soap he used.

  She reached up and curled her fingers into the front of his coat. The coarse cloth tickled her bare skin, and she could feel the shift of his body underneath.

  “You can believe the truth of this,” he whispered close to her ear. “You are so beautiful. But so sad.”

  “Sad?” She laughed, trying for her usual carelessness, but even to herself she sounded uncertain and shaky. “I am the most fortunate girl in Dublin. What do I have to be sad about?”

  “I should like to know.” He gently brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, his knuckles softly skimming over her skin. “What do you hide behind those summer eyes, Anna?”

  “You are the one who knows about secrets. The things you hide must be legion.”

  “Me?” His fingers slid slowly down her throat, resting just where her pulse pounded in the vulnerable hollow. “I’m just a simple Irishman.”

  “I may not be as clever as my sisters, Conlan McTeer, but I know a Banbury tale when I hear one. There is nothing simple about you.” Anna wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tugging him closer to her. “What are you really doing in Dublin? What is the Olympian Club all about?”

  He stared at her in the darkness, his hand pressed to her throat. “A man has to make money somehow.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Believe what you will. But know this—it would be best for you to stay away from that place in the future.”

  “If I cared what was best for me, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  He laughed ruefully. “Nor would I. We’re not good for each other, Anna.”

  She smiled up at him. Suddenly, she felt very naughty. “I think sometimes we are very good for each other indeed.” She went on tiptoe, pressing a soft kiss to the hard line of his jaw. The new growth of his beard prickled at her lips, and she laughed. She spread a ribbon of openmouthed kisses along his cheek and caught his earlobe in her teeth, biting down lightly.

  He groaned. “Anna…”

  “Don’t you like that, Your Grace?” she whispered in his ear. She leaned her body against his and felt the heaviness of his erection through their clothes. “I think you do.”

  “Of course I do, cailleach. I like it too much.”

  “There’s no such thing.” She slid her hands up over his shoulders. They were tense and hard, as if he struggled to hold himself back. She buried her fingers in his hair, the silken strands wrapping around her skin. “I like this, too. I’ve never felt the way I do when I’m with you, Conlan. I know it won’t last. I know soon you’ll vanish from my world again. But for now—will you kiss me?”

  He shook his head, but he did not turn away from her. It was as if he couldn’t help himself. His lips captured hers, open and hungry and rough.

  She met him eagerly, welcoming the thrust of his tongue into her mouth. He pushed her back against the wall, and her head leaned against the stone as they kissed and kissed. She didn’t feel the cold or the hard brick at her back. Whenever they came together like this, she knew only him.

  The blood ran hot in her veins, burning her from the inside out. She tasted him in her mouth, mint and whiskey and darkness, and it made her want more. She wanted to fall into him, and she wanted him to want her just as much, a feeling so primal and basic it would not be forced away.

  Through the blurry haze of their kiss, she felt him tug down her bodice and touch her breasts through the thin chemise. He covered them with his palms, his fingers wrapped over their soft curves. His thumb circled her nipple, flicking at it until she cried out with the shock of pleasure.

  He wasn
’t gentle, but she did not want him to be. She wanted his touch, his kiss, his body on hers, all of it. He caught that aching nipple between his thumb and finger and pinched lightly, sending a sizzling bolt of lightning all through her.

  “Conlan!” she cried, her throat arching back.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “Someone will hear us.” He covered her mouth with his again, and she felt him carry her backward. She opened her eyes to find they were in a recessed doorway, completely wrapped in shadows. Conlan was outlined in the starlight, her Hades of the night.

  She kissed him again, reaching out for him hungrily. That was how she felt, hungry, starving for his touch, for more of that wild pleasure. He met her willingly, his hands sweeping over her ribs, her hips, pulling her against him.

  His lips moved to her cheek, his tongue dipping into her ear as she gasped, then moving down her throat to her shoulder. He nudged the strap of her chemise aside and scraped his tongue over her skin. She arched her back, silently begging, and he gave her what she wanted. He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking her hard through the linen.

  Anna drove her hand through his hair and held him to her. He reached down and grasped her skirt, dragging it up and up until it was caught around her waist. Dizzily, she felt his body slide down hers and lean her back hard to the wall.

  “What—what are you doing?” she whispered hoarsely as he knelt between her legs.

  He looked up at her, and she saw the gleam of his wicked smile. “Your disguise would have fallen away in a second, cailleach, if anyone saw these silk stockings. So fine and soft…” His hand slid up the inside of her leg, pushing her thighs apart. He lowered his head, kissing her knee, her silk garter, her trembling skin.

  “Not as soft as this, though,” he said, and she felt his touch comb through her damp curls and delve inside her. His caress was rough and warm. “And so wet.”

  Then his mouth replaced his hand. He licked at her seam, making her cry out in shock.

  She reached down and tried to drag him back, but he would not be turned away. “What are you doing?”