Duchess of Sin (20 page)

When she told him that, said the words she had never uttered aloud before, he hadn’t looked at her with disgust
and loathing. In his eyes, she saw only understanding and sadness.

That sympathy released something inside of her, like a captive bird soaring free into the sky, and it made her want him with
a desperate force she couldn’t deny.

Anna tugged at his hair, drawing him up from between her legs until he braced himself over her. He held himself carefully
so he wouldn’t crush her with his strength, but she wanted him closer and closer. She wanted to lose herself in him and see
his very soul.

She wasn’t afraid any longer. And she had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be fearless, to not be alone.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and tugged him into the curve of her body. His skin was warm, damp and satin-smooth over
his powerful muscles. She traced her fingertips over his taut back and his buttocks, exalting in the feel of him, the strong
life force of him.

“How alive you are, Conlan,” she whispered. She kissed his shoulder, tasting the salt-sweat beaded there. She craved that
life like she craved the sun and the air. She needed him more than she had ever needed anything else.

“Anna,” he said roughly. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, and she felt him breathe in deeply of her. He felt a
longing that echoed her own. “I tried to fight against this—whatever it is between us.”

“I know. So have I. But I can’t fight any longer. I know it’s wrong, that we can’t really be part of each other’s lives, but…”
She drew in a shuddering breath and smelled him. The clean, dark essence of him—and herself on his lips. “I don’t want to
fight now. I have no strength left.”

“Anna.” He kissed her neck, his mouth open and hot,
sliding over her shoulder, the curve of her breast. “You are not like anyone else in all the world.”

“Neither are you. So we must be meant for each other— for tonight.”

He swept aside her hair to kiss her ear. She felt the rush of his breath and the bite of his teeth on her soft earlobe, and
it made her shudder with a lightning rush of lust. She arched into him, rubbing against the iron hardness of his erection.

His mouth touched that sensitive spot just below her ear, nibbling at it as she cried out.

“Do you like that?” he whispered. His accent was thick in his voice, rich with the greenness of Ireland. Her ancient warrior
god.

“I—I feel like I’m falling,” she gasped. The room twirled around her, and she tightened her arms around him to hold herself
on the earth.

“Let yourself fall. I’ll catch you.”

So she did. She imagined leaping off a precipice into the fog, a thick gray cloud shot through with red and gold sparks. “Anything
can be on a night like this,” she said.

“You can be anything that you want, Anna,” he said, sliding deeper into her caress. “What is it you want to be?”

“I don’t even know any longer. I only know I want you now.” She traced her hand down his chest, the hair sprinkled over his
hot skin rough on her fingers, and then along the sharp curve of his hip. She felt his back stiffen and his breath catch as
she touched his penis. It hardened even more under her light touch, and she traced its velvety, hard length in fascination.

He shuddered as she caressed over its head, catching a tiny bead of moisture with the tip of her finger. Overcome
with curiosity, she lifted it to her lips and tasted the salty musk, licking it from her own skin.

“Damn, Anna!” he groaned. “You’ll kill me yet, I swear it.”

“I told you—I want you now. And I think you want me, too.”

Conlan’s hand touched her between her spread legs, his thumb sliding into the wet core of her. “I’ve never wanted anything
more. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. I trust you.” She closed her eyes and spread her legs wider, letting him feel her desire. “Please, Conlan.”

She heard his ragged breath as he reached between their bodies and gently parted her folds as he sought entry. Then she felt
the stretch and burn as he eased slowly inside of her.

Her years of horseback riding and activity had left her not as tight as she feared, but it still hurt as he entered her, as
her womanhood accommodated his thick length. She gasped at the friction, the new sensation of fullness and pressure.

“I’m sorry,
mo chuisle
,” he whispered. His body went still, his arms rigid as he held himself balanced above her. His buttocks tightened as if he
would withdraw from her.

“No!” Anna cried in protest. Her legs closed around his hips to hold him to her. “It’s better now.”

And it really was. The ache was fading as her body grew accustomed to his, leaving only that fullness and a glimmer of something
she could not quite grasp. Something very—pleasant.

He drew back one slow, tantalizing inch at a time, almost sliding out of her before he flexed his hips and plunged deep.

“Oh,” she sighed as he did this again and again, faster and faster. That seed of pleasure grew, flowering and expanding low
in her stomach. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to come to fiery life, ignited by the feel of his body in hers, joined
to her in every way. She learned his rhythm, arching up to meet him as they moved together, ever faster, more frantic.

The room was hot and humid against the cold night outside, the whole planet narrowed to his body in hers. The two of them
together. Behind her closed eyes, she saw sparks, gold and silver, shimmering, and a humming started in her ears, growing
louder and louder like a rising chorus of pleasure. Then she realized it was
her
, her making those mews of joy and ecstasy. And she didn’t even care. She just wanted more and more. Wanted this to go on
forever.

Then all her thoughts and senses, everything she was, flew apart in an explosion of fiery stars. She felt like she was soaring
into the sun, her old self burning up until she could emerge, phoenix-like, into a new life.

Above her, Conlan shouted out in a torrent of Gaelic words as his back tightened. He pulled out of her, and she felt the damp
warmth of his seed against her hip. He collapsed beside her, to the chaise, their arms and legs entangled.

Anna slowly sank back down to earth, as if on a cloud of feathers. She had never felt so relaxed, her bones soft in her body.
So tired, so light, so—confused. And yet also so certain. She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or even in the next
hour. But for now, she was where she should be.

Next to her, she heard his breath, the tremors of his release slowed. She opened her eyes and rolled onto her
side, gazing at him in the sputtering lamplight. His eyes were half-closed, and he gave her a lazy smile that made her heart
speed up again.

“Are you all right,
cailleach
?” he murmured.

“Oh, yes.” Better than all right. She was at peace. Even if it was only for a moment, it was a rare, wondrous gift. She kissed
the corner of his mouth in silent thanks.

“I should see you home,” he said. “It grows late.”

“Not just yet. We have a little time.” She hated the thought of leaving this room. Here they were safe; they were together
and nothing could touch them. Out there, the whole world and all its troubles and expectations waited.

She sat up on the edge of the chaise and untied her ribbon garters. She rolled down her stockings and cast them away, giving
him a long glimpse of her bare leg before she reached for his discarded shirt. She pulled it over her head, and let its soft
folds wrap around her. It smelled of him, and of her too, their essences mingled.

“It suits you much better than me,” he said. He reached out for her and tugged her back into his arms. She curled up against
him, her back to his chest, and closed her eyes with a smile. They were as close as two people could be, she and Conlan, at
least for that night.

K
atherine couldn’t shake away the feeling that something was wrong. She could not sleep, even though it was far past the hour
to retire.

She set aside her book and looked out the drawing room window. Usually there was a view of the grand house across the street,
its pillars and portico echoing their own dwelling in lovely symmetry, but tonight everything was concealed by a thick blanket
of fog. It muffled the streetlights and even the moon, making it seem much later than it really was. She shivered, and not
just from the damp chill.

Drawing her shawl closer around her shoulders, she went to pull the draperies shut. It had been a quiet evening, most unusual
in the round of Dublin holiday merrymaking. With Caroline’s lesson running long and Anna indisposed with a headache, Katherine
took her supper on a tray by the fire. She had thought she missed the quieter life of the country, but now in the long, silent
moments filled with her own thoughts, she wondered if the social round didn’t have its advantages after all.

It did not always pay to look too deeply into one’s own heart; she had discovered that long ago. As long as she did her duty
and spent her time looking after others, she could dismiss any doubts or fears, any hint of sadness.

Tonight, though, there was nothing she had to do, no useful task that waited for her. And all those doubts clamored at the
edge of her mind.

“Oh, what is wrong with me?” she muttered. She curled her fist into the satin drapery as she stared out at the misty night.
Nothing
should
be wrong. Anna was on the verge of being betrothed to Grant Dunmore, a most suitable gentleman, and Caroline seemed to be
settling down to her lessons. Her motherly work was nearly done. She should be proud and happy, and planning for the future.

Not restless and worried. She felt like she was on the edge of something, that events she could not control or even understand
were rolling toward her like a landslide.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said sternly. Such things did not happen to a person twice in her life. She and her family had
survived the Uprising, and she had worked hard to put their world back in order. All was well now. It was just the rumblings
over the Union that had her so uneasy.

She pulled the curtains over the window, blotting out the night. If only she could be happy again, carefree like when she
was a girl so long ago, before marriage and duty had pressed in on her. Those days were so brief that she could hardly recall
them.

She took up a candle and went upstairs to the silent corridor where the bedchambers lay. Perhaps her ominous feelings would
disappear if she saw everyone was safe.

Caroline was asleep in her bed, the blankets thrown back haphazardly and her book open next to her. Katherine carefully removed
her daughter’s spectacles and tucked the coverings around her before she blew out the lamp and tiptoed from the room.

Anna’s chamber was dark, her bedcurtains drawn, so Katherine did not come closer. Anna had looked so tired lately, so preoccupied.
She needed her sleep. And Katherine had hopes that the country air, and the resolution of the Dunmore engagement, would do
her daughter good.

She sighed as she made her way back downstairs. Not that the Dunmore matter seemed quite so certain now, with the advent of
the Duke of Adair into their lives. His appearance in town and his attentions to Anna were a puzzle, and not one she was entirely
sure she liked. He was handsome, of course, and dashing, and possessed of a fine estate despite his less than stellar background.
A ducal title made up for a lot.

Yet he was so mysterious, his life as shadowed as that fog outside. Anna was a high-strung girl, one that had been worrisomely
clouded by sadness since the rebellion. A man so complex might not be good for her.

But since when did young ladies want what was good for them? Especially ones as passionate and strong-minded as her daughters.

Katherine turned toward the library with the thought that maybe a lighthearted novel or some poetry would distract her from
this strange mood. She pushed open the door and froze at the sight that greeted her.

Nicolas Courtois sat at the desk, bathed in a circle of pink-amber lamplight that turned his skin and
hair to molten gold. He had his head bent over an open sketchbook, and the flickering light cast shadows that chiseled his
high cheekbones and strong jaw into fine sculpture. His hair fell in an untidy sweep over his brow, which would tempt any
woman to smooth it back, to touch its softness and trace her fingertips over his handsome face.

Well, perhaps she
did
understand a bit after all, the foolish rush of feeling over a handsome face. Strange—she had never felt like that before.
Why now, with a young Frenchman, her daughter’s teacher?

Perhaps this was the sense she had of something amiss out there in the night. Of standing on the brink of her own uncertain
future.

Nicolas leaped to his feet at her entrance, running his fingers through his hair to push it back. It just sent the locks into
greater disarray.

“Lady Killinan,” he said. His lilting French accent seemed heavier tonight. More foreign and exotic. “Forgive me.”