Duchess of Sin (16 page)

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?”

“Kissing you, of course,” he whispered against her. “Don’t you like it?”

“I…” His tongue pressed into her, tasting deeply. “Oh,
yes.
”

He laughed, and shockingly she felt the sound deep inside. “I knew you would.” His fingers spread her even wider, his tongue
sweeping along her aching folds as he tasted her. It was utterly scandalous, completely intimate. Anna knew she should be
disgusted, but she couldn’t be repelled by something that felt so—so wonderful.

She closed her eyes tightly and let the sensations wash over her. It was like sparks dancing over her skin, burning, shooting
the pleasure higher and higher until she couldn’t breathe.

His tongue touched one spot, and she cried out, her body taut as a bowstring. “Conlan, I—oh!” she gasped. Those sparks caught
into flames, a bonfire of pleasure that soared through her. Her mind flooded with white-hot light, and everything else vanished.

She felt her knees buckle, and she collapsed toward the stone doorstep. Conlan caught her around the waist and lowered her
gently. For a moment, all she could do was shiver. The heat of her climax dissipated, and she felt the cold wind again and
the hard stone beneath her.

So
that
was what she read about in her romantic novels. That was what her married friends giggled about. They quite underestimated
the matter.

Or perhaps they had just never met the Duke of Adair.

Anna slowly opened her eyes and found herself sitting back against the wall. He lay beside her, his head buried
in her rumpled skirts. As she watched, he slowly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned his head to stare up
at her.

“That was utterly shocking, Your Grace,” she managed to say. “And wonderful.”

He laughed. “I am said to be a man of many talents.”

“Oh? And what are some more of them?” She leaned down to kiss him, a spasm of pleasure rushing through her when she smelled
herself on his lips.

He kissed her back, but only for a moment. Then he grasped her shoulders and held her back from him. “
Le d’thoil,
please, Anna, don’t touch me. If you do, I’ll explode.”

“Oh,” she whispered. Suddenly, she understood. She had found release; he had not. Her gaze swept down his body to the hard
bulge in his trousers. It strained against the seams. “What you did to me—women do that to men, too, I think.”

“Ach, Anna, you’re determined to kill me!” he groaned.

She was suddenly overcome with a terrible curiosity. What did he feel like, taste like? Could she make him cry out, make his
world disappear as he had for her?

She reached for him, but his hand shot out to grab her wrist in an iron clasp.

“I want to…” she began. Her words were cut off by a sudden shout from outside their doorway haven.

In an instant, Conlan was on his feet and dragging her up to hers. He tugged her bodice over her breasts and pushed her rumpled
skirts down. The shouts were louder, several coarse voices and then a clatter. And it was coming closer.

“What’s going on?” she said.

“Don’t say a word,” he muttered. He pressed her back to the wall, in the deepest part of the doorway. “Stay here and be very,
very still.”

He leaned away from her to peer carefully out onto the street. The shouts grew even louder, and she could finally make out
a few words. “Down with Union! Down with Lord Ross!”

Conlan shoved her tight against the wall, covering her with his body. Over his shoulder, she watched the protesters surge
past. Perhaps two dozen men bearing flickering torches, shouting and banging on cymbals and crude drums. Most frightening,
they carried an effigy of Ross with a noose around his neck.

A shutter opened over a window across the street, but was hastily slammed shut again. Not another soul stirred. Perhaps the
neighborhood that she had thought so peaceful and quiet was merely fearful and keeping its head down.

Anna clung to Conlan’s shoulders, remembering old tales of Paris in the Revolution. Men’s heads borne aloft on pikes. Women
snatched from their carriages and torn apart by a howling mob. Blood running thick in the gutters.

She also remembered the dead bodies she saw in ’98, Irish peasants and British soldiers both, tangled together in a terrible
carnage. Burned houses, the summer air foul with smoke and blood. Was it all going to happen again?

She leaned her forehead to his shoulder and closed her eyes until the noise of the mob faded. He had been part of it, too,
hiding in that stable on that terrible night.

“They’re gone,” he said gently. “It’s safe to go home now.”

“Is it?” Anna opened her eyes to stare up at him. “Oh, Conlan. Someday I think you’ll have to kiss me someplace more comfortable.
And private.”

And she would have to find out just why he was in Dublin. But for now, she was too tired and dizzy from everything that had
happened between them to even think straight. He laughed humorlessly and took her hand in his as they ducked out of their
doorway back into the night.

They made their way toward the river, out of the narrow streets, and into wider lanes Anna knew better. The more familiar
environs didn’t instill comfort in her, though, for the city seemed eerily silent. It was very late, but usually even the
wee hours of fun-loving Dublin were full of sound and motion. The streets were quiet and darkened now. Even the stars overhead
seemed to be sliding toward the horizon, leaving the sky black.

Then it was not so silent anymore. As they came near the river and the large, old brick houses that lined the embankment,
built to echo the Customs House, she heard shouts and the crackle of flames. It sounded like the mob that surged past their
doorway, only amplified by the silence of the night.

Anna tightened her grasp on Conlan’s hand and looked up at him. His jaw was set in a taut line, his head up like a wild animal
sensing danger. “What is happening?” she whispered. She had heard so many people warn of such things, at fine balls and tea
parties, but she had dismissed their concerns. Were they right in the end?

He didn’t answer. “This way,” he said abruptly, tugging her down an alley. It was so narrow that they had to go single file.
Conlan led her past piles of empty crates lined up along the brick walls. It smelled damp there behind
shops that she had probably visited before, thick with rotting produce and the cold threat of freezing rain. The noise was
muffled there.

They emerged from the end of the alley into another street, one she recognized well, for Caroline’s favorite bookshop was
there. It was utterly blank and silent with the shops shuttered. From the distance, there was a plume of silvery smoke spiraling
into the black sky like a ghost.

Anna pressed close to Conlan, watching the smoke with a growing sense of horror. It was all happening again! Burnings, battles,
the terrible uncertainty of what could happen next. They had all been fools to think themselves safe in the city. Being trapped
behind walls was surely even worse—there was nowhere to run.

She barely had time to clutch tightly to his hand before they were caught up in the surging crowd and carried away down the
street. In the distance, she could hear the clang of bells, and the acrid tang of smoke was thick in her throat as they were
swept closer to the river.

Panic welled up inside of her, and she dug her fingers into Conlan’s hand. She had to get away from there!

Conlan drew her closer to his side. “You’re not in danger, Anna,” he said close to her ear. “Not when you’re with me. Stay
close, and I’ll get us out of here.”

And strangely she believed him. They were trapped in a mob, and he was the last person that she should trust because he was
so very full of secrets. Yet as she looked up into his steady eyes, she
did
feel safe. A dreamlike calm descended on her, driving away that cold rush of panic.

“But what’s happening?” she said, stumbling against him as someone ran into her.

He had no time to answer. The crowd spilled out onto
the river’s embankment, which was lined with old houses. One of them, a large old-fashioned structure, was ablaze, red-orange
flames licking from the shattered windows and engulfing the brick walls. A boat moored in the river was also aflame. Crates
of linens and wool meant for export to England floated in the river, and more crowds stood watching the conflagration.

Any of them could have set the fire, but now they just stood and stared, transfixed. The wind grew sharper and colder there
by the water, tinged with the sourness of smoke, but the only sounds were the crackle of flames and a few scattered cheers
as another window exploded.

“Conlan, you’re here!” a man shouted.

Anna glanced over Conlan’s shoulder to see a tall man hurrying toward them. He was clad all in black, his lean face streaked
with gray ash.

Conlan let go of her hand to slide his arm around her waist and hold her to his side. “McMann,” he said. “What’s going on
here?”

“Committee business,” McMann answered with a humorless grin. “Lord Ross will rue the day he took English bribes, I would wager.”

“I don’t remember any such business,” Conlan said tightly. Anna looked up to see the flare of anger in his eyes, illuminated
by the flames. “Where is Foster? Was this his doing?”

“He’s in the alley behind the house,” McMann said. “He had to supervise the distribution.”

“We’ll see about that.” Conlan took Anna’s hand again and said, “McMann, take the lady home while I have a wee word with Foster.
It’s clear matters have gotten out of hand here.”

McMann’s face twisted with disappointment, but he said, “Of course. I’ll be back quickly.”

“You’d best not. Trouble is not far ahead,” Conlan said.

“No!” Anna cried as he started to let go of her hand. “I want to stay with you, to help if I can.”

He kissed her palm quickly and then gently pushed her away, toward McMann. “You can’t help here, Anna; it’s too dangerous.
Go with McMann now, he’ll see you safely home. He may be an impulsive fool about some things, but he can be trusted.”