Duchess of Sin

by Laurel McKee

  “Yes!” she cried. She opened herself to him, and he drove deeply home.

  This time there was no pain, only that delicious fullness, the press and friction of being joined together at last. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, faster.

  He drew back only to drive forward again and again, that friction rougher and hotter. She closed her eyes and listened to the harsh, uneven rhythm of his breath as they moved together. He was part of her now, but she wanted even more of him. She wanted everything he could give—and she wanted to give him everything in return.

  Faster and faster they moved, their cries and gasps mingling. She rose up and caught his lips with hers as she felt her climax build again. She cried out at the release; a shower of sparks fell over her. His back tightened under her touch, taut as a drawn bowstring, as he shouted out his own release.

  He fell heavily to the floor beside her, facedown as he trembled. Anna was shaking, too, exhausted and exalted by that wondrous, unbelievable pleasure. By the joy of being with him. She opened her eyes to stare up at the ceiling beams, breathing slowly and deeply until she could feel herself slowly float back down to earth. She heard the crackle of the fire, the soft brush of snow against the window, and Conlan’s breath against her ear. The pounding of her own blood in her veins.

  She smiled, feeling so wonderfully decadent, so free, so perfectly where she should be.

  Conlan sat up beside her and gently took her face between his hands as he stared down at her. He looked so solemn that she felt suddenly chilled.

  “What is it?” she said. “Is something wrong? Did I—did I do something wrong?”

  “I’m so sorry, Anna,” he said hoarsely. “I wasn’t able to pull away.”

  “What?” she said, completely confused.

  “I couldn’t stop in time.”

  “I don’t—oh. Oh!” And she felt so deeply foolish. In all her wild pleasure, her heedless desire, she had not stopped to consider the possibility of a child.

  For one small, wonderful instant, she thought of a tiny, green-eyed baby, a fierce little Irish boy or girl. Then she remembered she was not Conlan’s duchess. She was…

  Well, she did not know what she was, or even what she really wanted to be. She only saw his remorseful face.

  “I—I think it is all right,” she said. She sat up and reached for her chemise to cover her nakedness. Frantically, she tried to remember all her mother and Eliza had told her about marital matters. “I just had my courses.”

  “If there is…”

  “There will not be!”

  “Anna, colleen.” He took her hand, forcing her to look at him. “If there is, you will tell me at once, won’t you?”

  So he would be forced to marry her? She did not want that, not at all. She did want him, but only if he wanted her just as much. Wanted a life with her because of her, not because they had to. “It won’t come to that. Now, please, can we talk about something else? Or better yet, not talk at all.”

  He hesitated, and she could see he wanted to argue and press the issue. But at last he nodded. “Very well. If you will promise to tell me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Should I take you back to the Connemaras’ now? I don’t want to.”

  Anna glanced at the clock on the stone mantel. “We have a little more time,” she said. She lay back down on the floor, tugging him down beside her. She wrapped her arms around him as he rested his head on her shoulder. The clock ticked ominously, as if to remind her how brief and precious their time really was.

  “I love being here,” she murmured. “I love this house. It’s like a fairy tale.”

  “You don’t think it is terribly outdated and unfashionable?” he said with a laugh.

  “It’s romantic and dignified. Why do you never have parties here?”

  “Who would come? I’m not the best-liked man in Society, you know.”

  “Everyone would come, of course.” She smoothed her fingers through his hair as she studied the ceiling and the great fireplace. “You are the duke. Plus, they would be perishing of curiosity to see what it looks like in here. It could be of great use to you.”

  “How so?”

  “Just like the Olympian Club. When people are having fun, drinking and gossiping, they say things they ordinarily would not. And they make alliances with those who share their amusements. Such alliances strengthen a family’s position and helps them do what they want to improve their lands without hindrance. A really good party is so much more than amusement and so much stronger than anything they do in Parliament.”

  Conlan propped himself on his elbow to stare down at her. “Is this Lady Anna Blacknall speaking? The girl they say only cares to dance and gamble at cards? I knew there was more to you.”

  Anna laughed. “I am glad you think so. But every lady who grows up as I do learns these things. I saw it with my own parents, and with their friends like the Leinsters, the Conollys, and the Shannons. Glittering displays are exceedingly useful. I was taught to be a hostess when I was in leading strings.” She paused, staring into the fire as visions whirled in her head. “You could have a wonderful ball in here. A masquerade with a medieval theme. Perhaps even an entire house party weekend with a joust and a grand feast! You could have actors from Dublin to do the joust, and…”

  “Anna!” Conlan laughed and stopped her words with a kiss. “Such vast plans. A girls’ school, a medieval feast.”

  “Oh.” Feeling foolish, her cheeks hot, she rolled onto her side and sat up. This was not her house, nor was it likely to be. She was carried away by daydreams, as usual. “Of course. It is your house. You have a perfect right to keep it to yourself. But fine entertaining could help your cause, if you would let it.”

  She heard him sit up behind her, the rustle of cloth as he reached for his breeches. “My cause?”

  “Yes.” She looked at him over her shoulder. His face was carefully expressionless. “I know you have one. It’s what the Olympian Club is all about, yes? Why people try to kill you. Is it the Union?”

  He hesitated and shook his head. “You should not be involved, Anna.”

  “I am already involved,” she cried. She was so angry at the way he let her in, let her close to him, then pushed her away again. All for her own good, he said. Yet she was tired of being sheltered. “I was there twice when someone tried to kill you. I am your lover, Conlan, and I want to help you if I can. I am not entirely without resources of my own.”

  “I know,” he said roughly. “You’re brave, and you have a gift for knowing people. Caring about them—even if you want people to think you’re careless.”

  He thought she was brave. No one had ever thought that before. She smiled, despite the lingering anger and frustration. “I also have connections in Society. Now tell me, Conlan—is it the Union that puts you in danger?”

  “Yes,” he said. He reached for his discarded coat and took a cheroot from the pocket. He lit it with a stick from the fire and took a long drag from it before he went on. “I work with those who oppose it, and there are many who would stop us. They have much at stake if the Union does not happen, money and estates that were bribes from the English government. They would do anything to hold on to them.”

  Anna frowned as his words sank in, the confirmation of all her suspicions. “Does that not put you with Ascendancy men like Foster and Parnell? And they say many Catholics are for the measure.”

  Conlan exhaled a plume of gray-blue smoke, studying the glowing tip as if it held the answers in its fire. “Some of them expect Prime Minister Pitt to pass Catholic emancipation in exchange for their support, but they are fools. He might do it on his own, but Parliament and the British nobility would never allow it. But there are anti-Union Catholics, just as there are pro-Union anti-Catholics, and everything in between. Everyone has their own motives. And through the Olympian Club I can find what they are.”

  Anna leaned back against the edge of the chair and hugged her knees to her chest
. “But why are you anti-Union? Why do you ally yourself with those men at all?”

  “I only ally with Ascendancy men for my own ends, as they do with me. They think they can make us English just by calling us so, that by taking away the Dublin Parliament but leaving the Viceroy at the Castle, they can control us. Pitt says it will lessen our receptivity to— French ideas.”

  “French ideas. Hmm,” Anna said, remembering Monsieur Courtois and Conlan’s meeting with him.

  He went on. “But the power of the County landowners would be diminished with no Dublin Parliament. My power would be diminished, and that is how I keep my title and how I keep my people safe. This property protects them.”

  Anna thought of little Molly and her family, snug and warm in their comfortable house. She thought of Killinan Castle’s own people, the care her parents always had for them. And of the poor, hungry people of other estates, where no one fought for them. She thought of Eliza and her work, of all it meant to belong to Ireland.

  “I cannot sit in Parliament myself since I’m Catholic,” he said. “Being a landowner is my power, and I will always fight to hold on to it, against any who would take it away.”

  “Like your cousin?”

  Conlan gave a humorless chuckle. “Grant was always a greedy bastard. He wanted to be the duke, to have this land with its fertile fields for himself. He would have used it up and discarded it.”

  As Grant would with her, if she let him? “Is that the only reason you fight?”

  “No.” He tossed the end of the cheroot into the fire and reached for her. She fell into his arms, snuggling close to him. “We are Irish. And we must fight every chain England would use to bind us to them. The Parliament in Dublin is a corrupt and poor one, but at least it is composed of those who have property here. In Westminster, we would have no voice at all.”

  “My sister Eliza would say that we can never stop fighting,” Anna said.

  “Your sister is a wise woman.”

  “Has she helped you with the Union?”

  “She may have written a pamphlet or two,” Conlan said.

  “And does anyone else I know help you?”

  Conlan paused. “That is their own secret to tell. But there is a network that uses the Olympian Club as their headquarters.”

  “Then I can help you, too!” She wound her arms around his neck, staring deeply into his eyes. She wouldn’t let him reject her now. “I know there are many guests at the Christmas party who have been bribed to be pro-Union. They all think I am a silly featherbrain, so they will not be careful with what they say to me.”

  “Anna, no.” He took her firmly by the shoulders, but she would not be discouraged.

  “It’s not like getting into a knife fight by the river, Conlan. It is just listening. You can’t stop me from listening, can you?” She gave him her brightest smile. “Besides, I have you to protect me.”

  He scowled darkly, but she was not frightened. How could she be, when she could be useful at last? “I’m here, not at the Connemaras’,” he said.

  “But you are invited to their Christmas Eve ball, aren’t you? Lady Connemara said you were, though she was sure you would not come. You will just have to surprise her.”

  She kissed his lips softly, once, twice. Then again, deeper. His lips parted under hers, and he tasted of mint and smoke and himself. She felt her body stir to life again, the kindling of desire deep in her heart.

  “Say you will come to the ball,” she whispered. “Say you will dance with me and meet me under the kissing bough.”

  “With an incentive like that, how can I refuse?” he muttered. His hands closed around her hips and dragged her against him again. His mouth closed hard over hers, his tongue sliding inside.

  Anna closed her eyes and let herself fall deeply into him, into her feelings for him. Union vanished, everything vanished, and she wanted just him and this moment. It was where she belonged, with him and with Ireland.

  If only he could see that, too.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Katherine peered into the shop window, holding on to her hat as a cold gust of wind threatened to carry it away. It was Christmas Eve, and she had slipped away from the party to do a little shopping in the village.

  Gifts for Caroline were easy enough—books. The selection in the bookshop here was not as great as in Dublin, but she found a fine set of Plato for her. Caroline liked the Greeks and Romans as well as the Irish. What to get for Anna, though? Katherine carefully examined a length of pale green silk that could make a fine ballgown, but it didn’t seem to be exactly what she was looking for.

  She was quite worried about her Anna. Her second daughter, always her most sensitive child, was so quiet lately. She always seemed to be thinking of things very far away, things no one else could see and which she didn’t share. And Katherine didn’t know how to reach her.

  How could she get Anna to share secrets when she herself held one of her own?

  Katherine sighed as she examined a pair of pearl earrings. She had hoped that by coming to the country, distracting herself with Christmas festivities, she would forget Nicolas Courtois. That was not so. Among all her old friends, people who had known her so long that they no longer really saw her, she thought of him more than ever.

  There in her library he saw her. And she knew him, too, deep down inside. It seemed she knew nothing of him really—he was young, handsome, talented, reserved—and so entirely unsuitable for her. Yet that night, she glimpsed the sensitive soul within, and she longed to know him even better.

  “You are being ridiculous,” she muttered to herself. Anyone would think she was just a silly schoolgirl, sighing over a handsome face. Not a woman with three grown daughters.

  She stared at her reflection in the window. Her hair, untidy in the wind, was still blond, her skin white and smooth. But was that a new line between her brows? Horrors!

  Perhaps it was time to give up, to retire to the dower house at Killinan and take up knitting. She could start wearing lace widow’s caps, especially once Anna was married and Caroline’s Season launched.

  But her daughters needed her, even as she feared Anna had misunderstood her words about security and marriage and Grant Dunmore. She had to try and talk to her again. Maybe when she gave her the perfect Christmas gift.

  Reflected in the glass behind her were the bustling Christmas crowds, shoppers flocking in from the countryside to find gifts and delicacies for their holiday tables. A man emerged from the bakery across the street, and the watery sunlight caught on his golden hair.

  Katherine’s heart leaped, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Nicolas!

  Even as she told herself not to be even sillier than she already was, that he was far away in Dublin, she turned to look.

  It was him, Nicolas. Here in the village. She had the frantic urge to run and hide in the shop until he was gone. But there was the other, equally strong urge to call out, to run to him.

  The decision was taken out of her hands when he saw her standing there. A brilliant smile lit his face, quickly fading into wary uncertainty. Did he, too, feel torn between running forward and fleeing?

  She waved to him, and he made his way across the crowded street between the wagons and carriages. She straightened her hat, trying to compose herself and put her social mask into place before he reached her. They managed to be coolly polite in Dublin. Why should they not be here?

  “Lady Killinan,” he said with a bow. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Monsieur Courtois,” she answered. Yes, she could smile politely. “I did not know you planned to spend the holiday in Kildare.”

  “I did not, but I received a commission to paint a portrait of Lord Napier’s daughters after you recommended me to him in Dublin. He was most insistent I begin at once, so I am here to do as much as I can before I have to return to the city.”

  “What a great opportunity for you, monsieur! But rather sad you must work at Christmas.”

  “I do not mind. C
hristmas in the country is charming, n’est-ce pas? I love the green wreaths everywhere.”

  “It is very pretty, yes. It reminds me of holidays when I was a girl.”

  “Are you at Killinan Castle to celebrate?” he asked.

  “Not this year. My daughters and I are staying with the Connemaras until the new year. I just came to do a bit of shopping.”

  “And I came to fetch supper,” he said, holding up a paper parcel. “Le pain calendeau, traditional French bread for Christmas. The baker here kindly made it for me. Cheese, wine, and it is a fine holiday.”

  Katherine laughed. She strolled slowly down the walkway, and Nicolas kept pace with her. “What else is done in France for Christmas?”

  “Oh, there is la buche de Noel, the Yule log brought in on Christmas Eve, and le Reveillon, the great feast. The usual sort of things.”

  “And are you lodging with Lord Napier?”

  “No, I have rooms here in the village. Just over there, above the bookstore. There is room for my work, and it is very quiet at night, much more so than in Dublin.”

  Katherine hesitated, torn again between the urge to flee and the even crazier urge to dash forward and fling herself over the cliff.

  “I should like to see your work,” she said.

  He looked down at her, his brow raised. “You would?”

  “Oh, yes. I did love those sketches you showed me in Dublin. They seemed full of a rare talent.”

  “Then I am happy to show my work to you. I warn you it is in rather a rough stage.”

  “I don’t mind that.”

  “Very well, then. When would you like to see them?”

  “Why not now? I do not have to return to the party until teatime.”

  He nodded and held out his arm to her. Katherine slid her gloved hand over his sleeve, feeling his lean muscles tighten under her touch. For an artist, a man who worked with paintbrushes in his studio all day, he was surprisingly hard and strong.

  He led her to a back door of the shop which opened onto a narrow back staircase. The door swung shut behind them, enclosing them in sudden quiet. The bustling Christmas world, the real world, was left outside. Katherine followed him up the stairs to his room.