Duchess of Sin (21 page)

Katherine straightened her shoulders as she tried to recover herself. “I did not realize anyone was here.”

“I was merely waiting for the fog to lift. It was quite thick when Lady Caroline finished her lesson. We ran too long,” he
said. Across the shadowed space of the library he stared at her, his eyes so dark and deep they seemed almost black. He, too,
seemed very startled. Only by her sudden appearance? “
Je suis desolée,
I am sorry.”

“Oh, no, Monsieur Courtois,” she said. She stepped into the room and set down her candle on the nearest pier table. Her hand
had begun to tremble so she feared she couldn’t hold on to it. “You were quite right to stay. It
cannot be safe to try and cross the city in such weather. I just wish I had known; you could have dined with me.”

“That is kind of you, my lady. One of your maids brought me refreshments.” He gestured to a tray of bread and cheese on the
desk.

“Of course she did.” The maids were all in love with him. And Katherine feared that she was just as foolish as they were,
drawn by a godlike face and a sad story. By his great artistic talent. He was not dull like the Society men she knew, not
bound to expectations and old ways of thinking. He saw true beauty and goodness in the world.

She tightened her shawl over her shoulders. She should go, but she didn’t want to, not at all. She didn’t want to go back
to her cold, lonely night.

“Then perhaps you would share a brandy with me, monsieur,” she said. She hurried over to the small sideboard holding a crystal
carafe and etched glasses. “We need something warm on such a dismal night.”

“That is very kind of you, Lady Killinan,” he said. He sounded cautious.

She should be cautious, too, but she didn’t want to. The fog seemed to close the world around her with a sense of unreality.
“Not at all,” she said as she poured a generous measure of brandy into two of the glasses. “It’s quite selfish actually. I’d
like the company on such a dismal evening.”

“Then I am glad I happen to be here. I’d like the company, too.”

She handed him one of the drinks and clicked her glass to his. “
Salut,
monsieur.”

“
Salut.
”

Katherine tilted her head toward the sketchbook. “More of your own work?”

“No, it is Lady Caroline’s.” He turned the drawing so she could see, his hand brushing hers. “She says it is your house in
Kildare County.”

“Oh, yes!” Katherine could see it now, the old medieval tower of Killinan Castle, the lines uncertain but recognizable. “I
think she was holding out on me when she said she has no artistic talent.”

“She has very good instincts, a good sense of proportion. She just needs a bit of…”

“Refinement?” Katherine laughed. “I fear all my girls need that.”

“I cannot believe that, Lady Killinan. They are your daughters, are they not?
Telles meres, telles filles
. Like mothers, like daughters.”

“
Meres et filles?
I begin to think that might be true.” And she began to think she herself was not so
refined
after all. Not when she stared at him in the lamplight and felt the stirrings of an undeniable desire deep inside. She never
thought that she possessed such feelings at all. It was very startling.

She took a long drink of the brandy, letting its fiery smoothness slide down her throat.

“Lady Caroline asked if I could teach her some French,” Nicolas said, draining his own glass. She saw the streaks of paint
staining his long, elegant fingers. “She thinks it might be… useful.”

“You are a miracle worker, monsieur. Caroline never wanted to learn French before, only Gaelic. I’d be happy if you could
come for extra lessons.”

“Then I will tell her I agree.”

Katherine refilled her glass and drifted over to sit on a settee by the fireplace. “Have you ever been married, monsieur?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. He sat down in a chair across from her, and she saw that the brandy had erased the caution in his
eyes. He gave her an unreadable half-smile. “I hear it is a most—how do you say? Amiable state.”

Katherine laughed. She felt her own caution, her usual reserve, ebbing away. She was just a woman enjoying the company of
a handsome young man. “I am not sure about that. Sometimes it must be.”

“Your own husband looks as if he was a kind man.” Nicolas nodded toward Lord Killinan’s portrait over the fireplace. “Even
though the artist was not of the best quality, he captured something good-natured about the eyes.”

“Perhaps the quality was not so fine because the artist was in a hurry,” said Katherine. “My husband was always impatient
to be in the hunting field, and he had no time to stand still for a portrait. But he
was
kind enough.” He never had a harsh word for anyone, and he gave her her daughters, her home. That made the match a success,
especially in the eyes of Ascendancy Society, but not one full of excitement and fire, or even true understanding.

“I’m surprised you are not married,” she said.

“My life is too unsettled for any lady to bear,” he answered. “I move from post to post.”

“Oh, I think a woman would put up with a great deal more than that to have you for her husband!”

He tilted his head, laughing. That laughter seemed to light him from within, making him seem even more handsome—if such a
thing was possible. “Do you think so?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I have not met this very patient lady yet. And I have never been in love, which I would not marry without.”

“Neither have I. Been in love, that is,” she said without thinking. She wished she could call back the words, especially when
his eyes darkened.

“How can that be?” he said, his voice low, richly accented. “You are so very…”

“So very what?”

“Beautiful. In France, you would have been in love many times. Men would throw themselves at your feet just for a smile.”

Katherine suddenly couldn’t breathe. She wanted to cry at his sweet words, at the intense expression in his dark eyes as he
looked at her so intently. “Men in Ireland must be different from men in France,” she said.

“Then they are fools,” he said fiercely. “If they are too occupied with hunting and cards and drinking to see a marvelous
woman like you, then they are
imbeciles
.”

She laughed shakily. “I think we have both had too much to drink, monsieur.”

“
Non,
I speak only the truth.” He sat down next to her on the settee, so close she could smell him and feel the heat from his tall,
lean body. He was so handsome, she thought in a daze, so gloriously young and fierce and ardent. He was so very, very tempting.
She had spent years being good. She hadn’t realized how exhausting it was until now.

“In Paris, you would be a goddess,” he said. “You would reign over the whole city, and it would light only
for you. I have never seen anyone like you. If I were not who I am…”

“Then don’t be.” Katherine did something she never, ever thought she would—she dropped her iron control and gave in to temptation.
She reached up and touched his face, tracing the line of his cheekbones and brow. He felt so warm and fair, so needful. She
had never imagined there could be such a man.

“Don’t be yourself, Nicolas, just for this moment,” she whispered. “And I won’t be Lady Killinan. I am so weary of her, weary
of everything.”

“What is your given name?” he said softly. He tilted his face into her touch and closed his fingers gently around her wrist.

“Katherine.”

“Katherine.” He kissed her palm, his open lips caressing each finger, each bit of soft, trembling skin. His eyes closed as
he savored her, inhaling deeply of her perfume. In that moment, she did feel like a goddess, like Paris—and all the world—would
be at their feet.

She felt such a profound, painful longing sweep over her at his kiss. She had always been puzzled by her friends when they
threw themselves into passionate affairs, when they spoke in heated whispers of their rapture over some man. But now—oh, now—she
understood. The ice she had spent her whole life trapped in melted away, and she was vulnerable to every emotion in the universe.

He kissed her wrist, the tip of his tongue touching the delicate pulse beating there. She rested her other hand on his head,
caressing the golden silk of his hair. Her young, gorgeous god.

He turned his face up to her, and their mouths met in
a passionate kiss. There was nothing tentative or awkward about it. It was as if they had kissed a hundred times before in
a dozen lifetimes, and their lips and bodies fit perfectly together. It was like coming home after a long, long journey.

Katherine parted her lips and welcomed the slide of his skillful tongue against hers. He tasted like brandy, and like himself,
and she felt his breath mingle with hers, quick with excitement. It had been so long since she was kissed and never like this.
Never as if she was a precious, desired being.

Nicolas groaned against her mouth, and his hands grasped her waist to carry her back down to the cushions. His weight was
delicious on top of her, his body so strong and warm. She caressed his shoulders and pushed his coat away, impatient with
anything that impeded her desperate touch.

“
Belle cherie,
” he muttered. His kiss traced over her cheek, along her throat to the soft skin above her silk bodice. She felt his tongue
caress the swell of her breast.

Katherine felt something vital and desperate come alive inside of her. The youth she had lost in duty and motherhood, the
womanhood she had denied even to herself, roared into being.

“
Tres belle, tres belle,
” he whispered. He kissed her cheek again, soft and lingering.

She clutched at his shoulders, so dizzy she feared that she would faint. She opened her eyes—and met the painted gaze of her
husband. Her stolid, dull, kind husband with their home behind him in the sunny distance.
My angel Kate,
he used to tease her.
That’s what they call you, you know—the Angel of Kildare. And they’re right.

Bitter despair rushed through her, colder than any icy fog. Her heedless, wonderful passion, suited to a young girl and not
a respected widow, collapsed into ashes. Love belonged to the young.

She pushed frantically at Nicolas’s shoulders. She had to flee, to run away and sob in private. No one could see her tears,
least of all this man. This young, gorgeous, desperately unsuitable man.

“No,” she whispered, pushing at him harder.

He left her immediately, scrambling to his feet. He stared down at her with dark blue eyes, his breath harsh, as if he couldn’t
believe what had just happened. He spun away from her and caught up his rumpled coat from the floor. His back was rigid with
iron control.

Katherine slowly sat up and tugged her own clothes into place. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders like a girl’s and she felt
even more foolish. She couldn’t pretend to be what she wasn’t. She couldn’t give in to what she wanted like an impulsive child
and ruin everything she had created in her life.

“I’m so sorry,” Nicolas said in that musical Parisian voice. “I—I will go. You won’t have to see me again.”

“No, no,” Katherine murmured. She swung her legs off the settee and found she trembled so hard she couldn’t hope to stand.
“It was my fault. I was feeling a bit woeful tonight, and we had too much to drink. Please, monsieur, I don’t want you to
abandon your job. Caroline needs your help, and I…”

And she could not bear the thought of never seeing him again. Despite her foolish behavior, despite the temptation, she didn’t
want him to vanish into the mist.

“I need your help, too,” she said. “I promise, I will not—importune you again.”

“Importune?” He laughed harshly. “
Non,
madame, I think I was the one who has importuned
you.
You are so beautiful, and I—but there is no excuse.”

He was—what? Katherine longed so much to know. More than anything, she wanted him to sit beside her again, to let her rest
her head on his shoulder while he told her the secrets of his heart. Perhaps then the aching loneliness would ebb away, for
them both.

But that couldn’t be. She had her place in life, and he had his. It would only hurt them both to try and reach across that
gulf again.

“Please, monsieur, return for your lesson tomorrow,” she said. “I have errands to attend so I won’t be here.”

“If you wish it, I will come,” he answered.

“I do. Please.” Katherine closed her eyes and listened as the door closed softly behind him. Only then did she let her breath
out, collapsing into herself. He would be back—but she had to stay away from him.

Once she was sure she could stand without falling, she retrieved her shawl from the floor along with their empty glasses.
As she went to place them carefully back on the sideboard, she glanced out the window to see that it was still foggy outside.
That terrible miasma that made people behave in insane ways. But surely it would be gone by morning, and she would feel like
herself again.

As she stared out the window she caught a glimpse of flashing red in the gray. It looked like a running figure, dashing away
from the house. A ghost, or just someone else foolish enough to be out in the night? But when
she went to look closer, whatever it was had entirely vanished.

Katherine laughed at herself and her strange fancies, which were so unlike herself. “You need to get hold of yourself,” she
said. People were depending on her, and she could not let them, or herself, down. Never again.