Duchess of Sin (7 page)

He dropped her bridle and laughed wryly, as if he just
realized his strange behavior. “True. The two family branches are not what you would call close.”

“Then you should ignore him and help me find my mother,” she urged him. “I am suddenly quite tired.”

“I would be happy to oblige, Lady Anna,” Grant said. “Yet I fear it is too late.”

“What do you mean… ?” Anna looked past his shoulder to see that Adair was now coming toward them, his face set in grim determination
that was quite terrifying.

But she had no time to flee, and she found she did not even want to. That fiery urge to beat Adair about the head, and then
leap on him and kiss him, flared up in her again. She lowered her chin, glaring at him in fury—fury at him and at herself
for what he made her feel.

Adair turned his horse neatly, blocking her and Grant from making an escape. The two men watched each other with a wary steadiness
like two gladiators as they circled before attacking.

“Cousin Grant,” Adair said, his voice all genial affability. But Anna heard the roughness of his Irish accent just beneath,
and she remembered how that brogue deepened with anger and passion. “An unexpected pleasure to see you here.”

“Unexpected indeed,” Grant answered, equally polite. “But surely not so unexpected on your end—cousin. I make my home here
in Dublin, yet you have not been seen in the city in many months. Not since the last time rebellion raised its bloody Irish
head.”

“How wrong you are. I often come here to partake of the rare delights of town.” Adair’s gaze raked slowly over Anna’s body
in her snug purple velvet habit, making her shiver as if it was his bare hand that touched her. “As do
you, I see. There are no beauties to be found like those in Dublin, am I right?”

“You will not dare look at Lady Anna in such a way!” Grant growled. “She is the daughter of Lady Killinan, which you would
know if you mixed in proper society at all, instead of wallowing in the mud with your Fenian peasants.”

“Is she a lady indeed?” His raven’s wing brow arched as he looked again at Anna, giving her a knowing smile. She felt her
cheeks turn hot and prayed he wouldn’t see the damnable blush under her veil. “And a paragon of English femininity, I’m sure.
Meek and modest and biddable, especially to the right man. A man with a strong touch.” He held out his crop, touching just
the tip of it to Anna’s lace collar. “Or for the right price. Have you discovered that price yet, Grant? Or perhaps it is
too high for the likes of you.…”

He slid that whip lightly down her bodice, his gaze following its path as Grant shouted in fury. But Anna had had quite enough
of Adair’s game. She grabbed the crop, snatching it out of his hand and throwing it to the ground.

“Enough, both of you!” she cried. “I came here for a pleasant outing, not to find myself a bone between two snarling mongrels.
If you must quarrel, then go off and compare the size of your—estates elsewhere. You don’t belong among civilized people until
you can learn some manners. And I do not care if they’re Irish or English manners.”

Grant looked at her with temper in his eyes, as if he would turn his anger onto her, but Adair just laughed. He sat back in
his saddle, watching her with approval.

“Bravo, Lady Anna,” he said. “Well stated. You are
quite right. We don’t belong near fine ladies such as yourself. I apologize.”

“As do I,” Grant said grudgingly. “I should not have allowed you to be exposed to a private family quarrel, Lady Anna.”

“Oh, I am sure her ladyship has been
exposed
to far worse,” Adair said.

Grant swung back to him angrily. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing at all, cousin,” Adair said coolly. “What do you think it means? What thoughts lurk in my filthy Fenian mind?”

“I said enough, gentlemen, and I meant it,” Anna interrupted. She tugged at Psyche’s reins, trying to edge around Adair. He
stood his ground, watching her.

She stared back at him, unable to look away. The rest of the world—the park, Sir Grant, the distant sound of laughter—faded
around her as she looked into Adair’s eyes and remembered the feel of his kiss, his touch.…

She tore her gaze from his, blinking away those blurry, urgent images. “Fisticuffs might be amusing some other day,” she said,
trembling as if caught in a buffeting wind, “but I am weary of this now.”

Suddenly, a sharp cracking noise split the air, followed by two more. It was a startled instant before she realized it was
gunshots, whizzing right past her ear.

Her terrified horse reared up beneath her, and she was too shocked to grasp the reins. She felt herself falling, falling,
her heart dropping to her feet. The sky whirled over her head and the wind rushed past her in a shrieking whine.

There was no time to scream, almost no time to realize
what really happened. Anna hit the ground hard, all the breath forced out of her body, and her head collided with the gravel
path. Stars spun before her eyes, followed by a hazy gray fog.

Distantly, she felt pain in her shoulder and a dull ache in her hip. Vaguely she could hear shouts and screams, but they were
muffled and so far away. She closed her eyes against those reeling stars, and she was back
there
again. Lying helpless in a field as bullets ricocheted overhead and exploded in a deafening roar. The sun was blazing hot,
and the coppery smell of blood was thick and sickening in her throat.

Someone touched her arm, and for a moment it was that crazed soldier, forcing her legs apart as he heaved his sweating, stinking
body over hers. She screamed and tried to fight, but the pain sharpened, flooding over her with a paralyzing force. Still
she pushed at him, sobbing.

“Anna!” a voice called, full of urgent fear and a thick Irish accent. No redcoat then. “Anna, for fuck’s sake, quit fighting
me. Y’have to lie still,
cailleach,
I beg you.”

Anna made herself open her eyes, gasping for air. The sky still swayed, tilting to and fro as if she had drunk far too much
wine, but she forced herself to focus on the face above her. It was
not
that soldier intent on rape, but a dark, lean man who looked completely uncivilized with black, rumpled hair and wild green
eyes. He didn’t belong here at all, but on some ancient Celtic battlefield.

“Adair?” she whispered.

“You recognize me?”

“Of course. I could never mistake you for anyone else. But you should not be here. You were at the stable.…” Yes, the abandoned,
burned stable. Not the battle.

“I fear you’re the one felled this time,
cailleach,
not me. Can you feel this?” He slid his hand over hers, pressing hard on her fingers. “Can you move them?”

She carefully wiggled her fingertips, but it felt like a bolt of lightning shot up her arm at the movement. “It hurts!”

“Better that than numb.” He raised her limp hand to his mouth, kissing her wrist just above the edge of her glove. His mouth
was warm and strangely soft, soothing. It made her want to press even closer, to curl up in the strength of him. There could
be no nightmares there.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, holding her hand against his cheek. She felt the bristles of his beard on her skin. “You shouldn’t
have been here.”

“No, she should not!” another man shouted. “They were shooting at
you,
you bastard. This is your fault.”

Grant Dunmore. He had no place in her old memories. That realization made her remember entirely where she was, what had just
happened. St. Stephen’s Green, the shots, her horse rearing…

“Psyche!” she cried. “My horse. Is she all right?”

“Shh, lie still,” Adair said, gently holding her to the ground. “She is fine; everything is fine now. I won’t let anyone hurt
you again.”

“You’re the one who caused this!” Grant yelled.

“I said no more fighting,” Anna whispered weakly. “So rude.”

Adair smiled down at her. That smile transformed him, making him seem younger, freer. Why did he not smile more often, Anna
wondered dazedly.

“Good girl. You must be feeling better,” he said.

“Good girl? I thought I was a witch.”

“Anna!” her mother screamed. “Oh, dear God, what has happened?”

Anna heard the rustle of silk, smelled the sweetness of lily perfume, and her mother’s face swam into view above her, blocking
out the shifting sky. Katherine’s cheeks were white as chalk, her eyes wide and bright with tears.

For as long as Anna could remember, her mother had been cool and calm, as serene as the angel she was called. She nursed her
servants and tenants, all her children’s childhood accidents, with a quiet, kind efficiency. She ran the vast corridors and
wide acres of Killinan Castle with never a hair out of place. Only once before had Anna seen her reveal her fear so starkly—when
they were fleeing Killinan for Dublin during the Uprising and ran into that horrible battle.

She had followed Anna anxiously for months after that, always so watchful. Only recently had Anna found a measure of freedom
again. This incident would surely put an end to that.

“Anna, are you hurt?” Katherine said, taking Anna’s hand in hers as her gaze frantically scanned for any wounds or blood.

“I am fine, Mama,” Anna answered. She made herself laugh, shaking away the last stubborn remnants of her fears and memories.
Of her desire for another kiss from Adair, even while bullets flew. “Just a bit startled.”

Katherine sat back on her heels, still holding tight to Anna’s hand. She glanced around them, from one face to the other,
as if she sought answers. Only then did Anna realize that a crowd had gathered around them.

“What happened here?” Katherine demanded.

Anna sought out Adair, who stood just beyond her mother’s shoulder. He looked even more disreputable than before. He had lost
his hat, and his hair fell over his brow in a windswept tangle. His cravat was raked loose, and there was dust on his coat.
He stared back at her, that wildness in his eyes tempered with caution.

She gave her head a small shake, silently begging him to go along with her. “I just fell from my horse, Mama, that is all.
Psyche took a fright at the noise, and she reared up. I’m sure it was some idiots shooting at rabbits.”

“Psyche? How can that be? You’ve trained her so well,” Katherine said, frowning.

“All horses are unpredictable sometimes, Mama. I am quite well, I promise. Just had the breath knocked out of me for a moment.
Luckily, these two gentlemen, Sir Grant Dunmore and the Duke of Adair, were nearby and came to my rescue.”

“Adair?” Katherine twisted around to stare at the duke. “Yes, I thought I recognized you.”

He gave her a bow, the polite gesture at odds with his rakish dishabille. “Lady Killinan. It has been a long time.”

“Indeed. I suppose it is fortunate you decided to show your face in Dublin after all this time to help my daughter.”

“I am glad I happened to be nearby, though I’m sorry I was not able to prevent the—accident.”

“That is what happened then? You saw it all?” said Katherine.

Adair’s eyes narrowed, and Anna gave him another pleading look. “Yes,” he said shortly.

“And you, Sir Grant? You saw it, too?” Katherine demanded, her stare moving above Anna’s head to where Grant was standing.

“I—yes, Lady Killinan,” she heard Grant answer. He did not sound terribly convincing. “It was most unfortunate. Such a relief
that Lady Anna is unhurt.”

“That remains to be seen,” Katherine said crisply. “I must get her home and send for the doctor, then we will be sure.”

“Mama, I don’t need a doctor,” Anna protested.

“You shall have one nonetheless. And no parties until next week at least.” Katherine looked back at Adair sternly. “Don’t
just stand there, Your Grace. Help me get my daughter to the carriage.”

“Lady Killinan, let me…” Grant said hastily.

But Katherine shook her head. “One assistant is quite enough, thank you, Sir Grant. Perhaps you would be good enough to fetch
Psyche and see her home? She seems to have wandered over to that patch of dry grass, quite unconcerned about all the fuss
she has caused.”

“Of course, Lady Killinan,” he answered, most grudgingly.

Anna heard him move away. One more cool, sweeping glance from her mother dissipated the crowd, but their whispers still echoed.
Anna could just imagine their words—
How trouble does seem to follow those Blacknall girls.…

Adair knelt beside her, sliding his arm gently around her shoulders and helping her sit up. Suddenly, she was surrounded by
the smell of him, the scent of citrus-scented soap she remembered all too well from their dance at the Olympian Club. The
heat of his large,
strong body supported her, and it seemed to tie her to him. She leaned against him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. The
roughness of his beard scraped against her brow, tickling. It made her laugh, feeling quite reckless.

How could she possibly have such longings—the longing to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him close, the longing to
kiss him—after what had happened? It was obvious the trouble that followed
her
around was nothing to the trouble surrounding the Duke of Adair. Secret clubs, shootings in the park—and that was only on
the surface, the part she could see. Who knew what darkness he kept concealed?

If she was smart, she would push him away now and run, never looking back. Never think of him again. But she had definitely
never been able to resist a puzzle.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured close to her ear. The sound of his voice slid over her like fine brandy, deceptively smooth and
alluring.

Anna clutched at his shoulders as he lifted her from the ground. The pain in her bruised hip, so distant while she was distracted,
shot down her leg. “Ouch!”

“You see, Lady Anna, your mother is right—you need a doctor,” he said. He held her as easily as if she were a feather, cradling
her against him as he followed her mother toward the carriage.

“You don’t know me, Your Grace,” Anna protested. “You can’t possibly know what I need.”