Duchess of Sin (29 page)

“I’ve told you before, Conlan McTeer—I
am
Irish,” she answered. She studied Deirdre’s sad, beautiful face, the tragedy of impending, profound loss in her eyes. “My
family has been at Killinan for generations.”

“It’s not possession of the land that makes a person truly Irish.”

“No. It’s belonging to the people, isn’t it? Caring about them, being one of them. That’s what my sister Eliza always said.”
She thought of Eliza, so far away in her exile, and how she gave up so much to be Irish. Anna had always envied her.

But now she understood how such a passion could drive a person. She had begun to feel it herself.

“You are cold,” Conlan said. “I’m afraid it can be rather drafty here.”

“No, I’m fine,” Anna protested, but he took off his coat and laid it over her shoulders. Its soft, tweed folds smelled of
him, of lemons and starch and clean air, and it still held the heat of his body. She clutched it tightly around herself, snuggling
deeper into its warmth.

“I’ll build us a fire,” he said. He took her arm in a gentle clasp and led her to one of the large, green velvet
armchairs by the hearth. “I may be a duke, but I’m not completely useless.”

“No,” Anna murmured. “Not completely.” She sat back, wrapped in his coat, and watched as he built a fire in that huge grate,
large enough to roast a boar for a feast. The long, lean muscles of his back and shoulders shifted and flexed against his
shirt, and she remembered how his bare skin felt under her touch. The heat and strength of him. How she felt so safe with
him; how she trusted him.

She was not the only one he kept safe.

“You belong to the people, Conlan,” she said.

He glanced back at her, his brow creased. The kindling in the hearth caught into flames. “Do I?”

“I saw that today at the McEgans’ house.” She couldn’t meet his green, steady gaze. Instead she watched the growing fire.
“I’ve seen how the workers on other estates live, with barely enough to eat and no sturdy roof over their children’s heads.
Dirty, cold—it is shameful. There’s nothing like that here. It’s like this is its own little country.”

He sat back on his heels. “Of course, there is no starvation here. I would never allow anyone at Adair Court to starve. It
is the duty I was born with.”

“And because you care about them. They are like your family, and they see you that way, too. I could see that so clearly.
You are part of this land, really part of it.”

“So are you, Anna.” He took her hands as he knelt at her feet. How handsome he was, she thought, outlined by that fire, his
dark hair windswept. He belonged in this room, just like that, an ancient chieftain.

She gave him a gentle smile. “An Ascendancy princess?”

“Ah, Anna, you know I did not mean that. You’re one of the least spoiled women I have ever encountered.”

“The least spoiled Anglo-Protestant woman?”

“I thought you said you were Irish, and so you are. You have that spirit in you, that fire. This is your home, too, if you
want it. You’re Irish—if you want to be.”

“That is what my sister Eliza said. Look where her Irish passion got her—sent to Switzerland.” Anna slid her hands from his
and framed his face in her palms. “Where will it get you, Conlan, and all the people of this estate? What would they do without
you?”

He turned his face to kiss the inside of her wrist. His breath was so warm and vital on her skin. If only
she
could hold
him
safe, keep him with her always. Help him.

“I do what I must to protect them,” he said.

And who protected him? She feared she wasn’t strong enough to do that. No one was.

She slid down to sit beside him on the hearth rug as the fire blazed away to heat the cold room. Outside the high, narrow
old windows, the snow fell in white earnest, enclosing them in their own small world.

She couldn’t warn him or beg him for answers or promises. She knew he wouldn’t give them. She could only be with him now,
while she had the chance.

“Remember the Three Sorrowful Tales?” she said, thinking of that beautiful tapestry and Deirdre’s sad eyes.

“Tell me.” He stretched his tall body out on the rug, resting his head on her lap.

She smoothed her fingers softly through his hair, feeling the rough slide of it on her skin.

“Long ago,” she began, “the five kings of Ireland met to decide who would be crowned the head king, and King
Lir of the White Field expected to be elected. But Dearg, son of Daghda, was chosen. Lir left, angry, and the others would
have cut him down for his disobedience. But Dearg said instead, ‘Let us bind him to us by the bonds of kinship, so that peace
may always dwell in the land.’ And he was given Dearg’s kinswoman Aoibh, the fairest maiden in the land, for his wife. She
gave him four children, a daughter Fionnuala and three sons, Aodh, Fiachra, and Conn.

“But Aoibh died, and Lir was overcome with terrible grief. The king, who feared Lir would die of this grief, sent him Aoibh’s
sister Aife to be his new wife. At first all seemed well, but Aife grew bitterly jealous of Lir’s love for his children, and
she used a Druid’s magic to turn them into swans, bound together by silver chains. In punishment, she became a demon of the
air for all eternity. But that did not help the children of Lir. For nine hundred years they lived as swans, cursed to remain
so until ‘the woman from the south and the man from the north’ came together. And so it came to pass after hundreds of years
that the prince of Connaught was to wed the daughter of the king of Munster, and she had a desire to possess the beautiful
swans, which had come under the protection of St. Mac Howg of Glory Isle. When the prince went to seize the birds, their feathery
coats fell away, and they were revealed as humans again.

“And thus was the fate of the children of Lir,” she finished. “After nine hundred years of suffering, they were free.”

Conlan was silent as her words faded. The tale was done, yet it seemed those enchanted swans lingered in the room with them,
their gleaming white wings enfolding
them. The children of Lir found their freedom at long last, but could she?

Conlan reached up to toy with the black braid trim of her bodice. His touch was light, but to Anna it burned. She craved that
touch so very much after being apart from him. Perhaps those magical chains bound them as well, and when they tried to break
them they only wounded themselves.

“I try to send you away, try to do what is right for us both, and you keep returning,” he said. His hand trailed along her
rib cage, his fingers spreading over her waist. His touch was gentle through the wool of her riding habit, but it made her
want so much more. She wanted his bare skin on hers, wanted to feel that connection again and know she was not alone.

She covered his hand with hers and pressed him closer. “I was never much concerned with doing what was prudent or careful,
Conlan.”

He laughed and reached up with his other hand to caress her cheek. She nuzzled into his touch, kissing his palm. He smelled
of lemons, smoke, and snow. “I have certainly learned that much about you, Anna. No one could ever accuse you of being
careful.
You’re like a warrior goddess.”

“A warrior goddess and a witch?” Anna said lightly, though inside she was terribly pleased. “La, how busy I must be!”

“Every time I think I know you, you change. You show me a different side of you, and I’m baffled all over again.”

“But you know me better than anyone else ever has. You actually
look
at me; you see me.” She leaned closer to him, their lips hovering mere inches apart. She felt those
silver chains tighten, and she knew that even if he sent her away again and forever, she would still be bound to him. “And
I see you, Conlan. As much as you fight to deny it, you are a good man. A Celtic warrior king.”

He shook his head, but he did not turn from her. He didn’t even look away, and in his green eyes, she saw her own turmoil
and desire reflected back to her.

“You know I am a liar and a killer,” he said.

“So am I. You do not condemn me for my sins, so I certainly won’t do the same to you. You do what you must to take care of
your people. I know that.” She closed the space between them and brushed her lips softly over his. She felt their breath mingle
and the damp heat of their kiss. “But who takes care of
you
?”

Before he could answer, she pressed her lips to his again, harder, letting him feel all her desperate desire. She needed him
so much, and she wanted him to need her, too. She felt his hands close around her hips, and he shifted his body so that she
lay on top of him. His tongue traced the curve of her lower lip, lightly, teasingly, before he slid inside. She opened her
mouth in welcome, tasting, feeling him intimately.

And, like the swans, she soared free.

“Anna,” he growled. Through the blurry heat of her desire, she felt his touch tighten over the curve of her backside, dragging
her against him. She arched her hips into his erection, spreading her legs to cradle him with her body.

He groaned deeply, and their kiss slid into wild, frantic need. She tore at the lacings of his shirt until she could touch
his bare skin at last. She pressed her palms hard to his chest, reveling in the hot, smooth satin of skin over those hard
muscles, the roughness of his hair on her
hands. His breath, his heartbeat, his life, his strength—she craved all of it. Needed all of him.

But there were too many blasted clothes in the way!

Anna sat up, her knees braced to either side of his hips, and unfastened the tiny jet buttons along the front of her habit.
He watched very closely as she released each button, parting the bodice inch by inch to reveal her sheer chemise and the naked
skin beneath.

She eased her arms from the long, tight sleeves and let the garment fall away. Never taking her gaze from his, she slid the
ribbon straps down, too, leaving her breasts bare. The purple and white fabric pooled around them.

She shoved away a pang of shyness and forced herself to hold her head high, her shoulders back. “Do you like what you see,
Conlan?” she whispered.

He braced himself up on his elbows beneath her. “You know I do. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you.”

“I like what I see, too.” She trailed her fingertips down his chest. Lightly, teasingly, she traced the sharp curve of his
hip, the line of his thigh—and pressed against his penis, iron-hard through his breeches.

“Anna,” he growled, his hips flexing. In one swift move, he knelt before her, his hands hard around her waist as if he would
push her away. Instead he dragged her tight against him. Not a single breath was between them.

He kissed her fiercely, her head pressed back as he tasted her deeply. There was no artifice or deception to that kiss, only
pure, raw need. Passion that overcame all else. There was no refuge in respectability, no prudence or caution, not for people
like them. Those chains tightened, and they had to be together.

She felt his touch on her naked breast, his rough palm
sliding beneath to cradle it. His long fingers teased at her hardened nipple, tracing one light, fleeting caress over the
very tip, barely touching. He teased her until she arched her back and pressed herself hard against him, insisting on what
she wanted. He gave her what she longed for, plucking at the sensitive nipple, rolling it hard between his fingers.

The sensations raced through her, lightning along her nerves. Her desire burned even higher. She held tightly to his shoulders,
blindly shoving at his shirt until the intrusive fabric fell away, leaving his chest and shoulders bare to her. She dug her
fingers deep into his skin, holding him with her.

He leaned away, and she cried out in wordless protest. But he merely stripped out of his shirt and tossed it away before grabbing
her in his arms again. His mouth closed hard on her nipple, sucking deeply as he covered her other breast with his hand.

Anna’s head fell back weakly, and she murmured incoherently, begging for what she only half-understood in the haze of her
need. His open mouth trailed along her rib cage to her stomach, his tongue circling her navel, then down to that freckle just
below her waist.

He pushed her skirts out of his way, discarding them near his shirt, and licked a fiery ribbon over her hip. His hand curved
hard around the back of her thigh and tugged her closer to him. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her leg, just above the
black silk edge of her stocking. One finger eased along the seam of her womanhood and slid into her.

“Conlan,” she panted. She closed her eyes tightly to concentrate on every feeling, every touch. His fingers
spread her wider, and she felt his tongue touch her
there
. “Conlan!”

“Shh, let me,” he whispered, and she gave herself completely over to him. He kissed her deeply, tasting her so intimately
she could have no secrets from him at all. She was completely vulnerable to him. Waves of hot pleasure washed over her, and
she was drowning in them, tugged down deeper and deeper.

She drove her fingers into his hair and held him against her. The air was filled with the scent of musky desire and woodsmoke,
and she only wanted more and more of what he gave her. She wanted everything, all of him.

Her climax took hold of her, low at the very core of her, a building, burning pressure. She let it expand over her whole body
until every thought vanished and there was only the feeling. As he pressed his tongue deep, thrusting one last time, his hands
hard on her thighs, she exploded.

“Conlan,” she sighed, sinking to the floor. She rested on the soft carpet, shivering, her legs spread as he knelt between
them. He stared down at her, his eyes so dark they almost seemed black, his lips damp with her own essence. His chest gleamed
with sweat, heaving with the force of his breath. It was an almost unbearably erotic sight.

Anna reached out to unfasten his breeches and push them away from his hips. His penis, hard and thickly veined with his own
unfulfilled desire, velvet over hot iron, beckoned for her touch, and she gave in to the temptation. She ran her hand slowly
up his length and down again, catching the tiny drop of pearly moisture there on the tip of her finger. He trembled at her
caress, his erection straining against her hand, but he held very, very still.