Duchess of Sin (14 page)

A perfect wife and hostess was essential for a gentleman’s advancement, a lady of beauty and refinement who could charm the
stuffy English and convince them not everyone in Ireland was barbaric. Conlan was sure his
cousin saw only Anna Blacknall’s shining surface, her looks and connections, and thought her perfectly suited to his purposes.
But if he did achieve his goal and carry her to the altar, Grant would be unpleasantly surprised by his bride’s true nature.

Conlan had the sense Anna would not be a pliable tool to anyone’s ambition. She would chafe at the constraints of such a life,
no matter how gilded, and one day she would explode with it. What would Grant’s perfect life look like then?

Conlan wouldn’t mind seeing such a thing, not after the way that Grant worked so assiduously to ruin the lives of everyone
on the Adair estate. But the thought of Anna Blacknall’s spirit turning hard and bitter as she spent her days with a man who
wanted only her name and her pretty face in his drawing room—it made him feel sad, and also guilty. For did he not think to
use her as well? Did he not cause her pain every time he saw her—even with that scene tonight?

He reached for a glass of champagne that Jane left on a table and downed it in one swallow, wishing it were something stronger.
Now he remembered well why he avoided such gatherings. They were dull and insipid. Their opulence reminded him too sharply
of how hard his tenants worked to keep the bare necessities of life, how precarious their existence was, especially after
the Uprising. The money Lady Fitzwalter paid for her flowers alone would keep a cottager family for a year.

And that was why he came here, why he endured the balls and promenade hours in the park, the empty chatter and the dark intrigue.
Why he put himself out there to be shot at. He had a duty to his people, his home, and he
would uphold it no matter what he had to do. Union with Britain would set his cause back decades, and he would fight it, no
matter who he had to ally with.

No matter who got hurt.

He was obviously no good at this game, while Anna Blacknall was at the center of this world, no matter how much she might
chafe at its restrictions. She would know a great deal, even if she wasn’t aware of it. He had to discover what she knew,
especially about Grant’s activities in support of the Union.

“Sit down and let me see to that cut,” Jane said firmly. She pressed him down into a chair in the small, dimly lit sitting
room and peered closely at his chin. She had charmed Lady Fitzwalter and persuaded their irate hostess to let them use the
chamber until the crowd quieted.

“It’s nothing,” Conlan insisted. Now that the flash of temper had subsided, he felt weary and sorry for creating yet another
scene—and in front of Anna, too.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jane dabbed at the cut with her handkerchief, her eyes narrowed. “What on earth did George Hayes
say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I beg to differ. If he suspects anything about our work…”

“He doesn’t. He’s too sotted to see past his own nose. It was—personal.” Conlan remembered Hayes’s crude remarks about Anna,
and his anger came rushing back. It had gotten the better of him once. He couldn’t let that happen again. Jane was right.
It jeopardized too much.

“Ah,” Jane said with a sage nod. “A woman.”

“Something like that. Or maybe I just don’t like the man.”

Jane sighed and left off dabbing at his cut to sit down beside him. “I know the feeling. I often want to hit someone at parties.
Such gatherings are tedious indeed, even with the diversion of a good fight, but they can be so useful. Everyone comes through
these parties eventually, and even without whiskey, they can be wonderfully indiscreet. Did you hear anything of interest
before you took a punch at George Hayes?”

“Some tips on promising racehorses to look for next season, but beyond that, nothing. You English have no conversation.”

“Unlike your Irish gift of gab? Ah, well, take heart, Your Grace. A connection made here in Dublin is never wasted, if you
haven’t ruined it tonight.”

“Speaking of connection, I understand you have become friendly with my cousin.”

Jane smiled slyly. “Indeed I have. He is a most interesting person, though not as indiscreet in his conversation as I would
like. Not yet.”

“He has said nothing of his cohorts?”

“He has said nothing of the Union at all. But I am working on it. We meet again tomorrow night. I will try and discover what
he knows about who shot at you in the park. Unless you already know?”

Adair thought of the ex-officer he found at the pub in the Liberties, a wreck of a man stewed in cheap grog that he bought
with ill-gotten coin. An army man reduced to a gun for hire. “I know who did the shooting, but not who paid him. He could
give me no names even after a most thorough grilling.”

“And where is he now?”

Conlan shrugged.

“In the Liffey, I would imagine.” Jane fluttered her fan as she studied the sitting room.

“Perhaps, but I did not put him there. His employers would have no use for a hired assassin soused on gin and talkative, no
matter how little he knows.”

“They will try again. You are too threatening to certain elements.”

“Perhaps.”

“Of course they will. Union means a great deal of money, titles, and royal favors to fiercely ambitious men. If you stand
in their way, they will do all they can to dispose of you. You know that, Adair.”

“You stand in their way, as well.”

“But they do not know that. Your power is your title and your raw strength; mine is my gift of deception.”

“I will watch my back.”

“I hope so. We can’t do without you.” She snapped her fan shut. “But next time someone takes a shot at you, I would prefer
that my friend Anna Blacknall not be nearby.”

Conlan’s fist tightened on his glass, the fragile bowl creaking ominously. He set it down on the table. “I hated that she
was in danger, as much as you do.”

Jane tilted her head as she studied him. “Or even more so?”

“She is a fine lady. I will not see her hurt.”

“Anna is not made of porcelain. She is stronger than people give her credit for, and smarter. She spends a great deal of time
with Grant Dunmore and his ilk, and they would not be so careful what they say around her. She could help us—if we kept her
away from any danger.”

Conlan had thought just that himself. But somehow
when Jane said it, it seemed cold and calculating. Yet wasn’t that just how he had to be?

“How could we find out what she knows?” he said.

“We could recruit her to our cause. Her sister is Eliza Denton; I’m sure she shares our views.”

Conlan thought of Anna crumpled on the ground at St. Stephen’s Green, her eyes closed, face white as death. “No.”

Jane pursed her lips. “I’m sure you are right. Subterfuge works best with some people. And I must go practice some of that
subterfuge right now, Your Grace. I heard that Lord Ross is here and he is one of the most vocal proponents of the Union.
Think about what I’ve said. I’ll be in touch when I have more information.”

She sashayed away, her silken skirts rustling, beautiful and flirtatious. Lord Ross didn’t stand a chance. The door clicked
shut behind her, and Conlan was alone.

Deception indeed. None better at it than Lady Cannondale. In ’98, she had worked for the United Irishmen. Now she worked to
stop the Union, to keep the dream of an independent Ireland alive. And none suspected, least of all poor Lord Cannondale when
he was alive.

Adair had to do the same, to be as discreet as Jane, but his patience with the ballroom was at an end. The cloying scents
of roses and French perfume, the artificial laughter, the music—it made him want to roar like the barbarian they thought him.
He needed something else, something real.…

Conlan closed his eyes. The cut stung a bit now, but the silence around him was calming. Surely his temper was spent for the
night, and it was safe to emerge from his lair. He had to apologize to Lady Fitzwalter.

He heard the door open, and his muscles tensed. His eyes flew open and he automatically reached for a dagger that was not
there.

But it was no enemy who faced him. It was Anna. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, watching him warily. What
did she think of him now, the barbaric Irishman?

He rose slowly to his feet. “You’ve lost your escort,” he said.

“Yes, to the faro table. It’s rather dull to watch someone else gamble. I told him I had to find my mother.”

“But you found me instead.”

“I saw Jane in the corridor, and she told me you were in here.”

“And you dared face the lion in his den?”

She gave him a smile. A reluctant one, but a smile all the same. “You don’t seem quite so fearsome now, though I think my
cousin George would disagree. He was screaming as they carried him away.”

“He seems to have no sense of proportion. That wasn’t even the beginning of a real thrashing, though I’ll be happy to show
him the difference one day.”

Anna bit her lip. “Whatever did he say to you in the ballroom?”

Conlan shrugged. He certainly didn’t want to tell her. “Nothing too important. I was a fool to lose my temper like that.”

“It must have been of
some
importance for you to hit him like that in the middle of a ball. You certainly stirred up this party! No one has seen such
excitement in ages. It almost makes me wish you had given him a real thrashing.”

Conlan studied her, caught by a sudden gleam of amusement in her eyes. He had a sudden wild idea, one he wasn’t sure she would
agree to.

“Would you rather go to a
real
party?” he said.

A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth, and he found his stare drawn to those pink lips. Lips that tasted as sweet as
they looked, he remembered all too well. “At the club?” she asked.

“That’s not a real party, Lady Anna.” The Olympian Club was even more artificial than the Fitzwalters’ ballroom. It was just
darker and more secretive.

“Where then?” she said. She sounded intrigued but still wary.

“Do you trust me?”

She laughed. “After tonight? Not a bit. Sadly, I think that only adds to your attraction.”

He found himself grinning like a fool despite the sting of the cut on his chin. Thought him attractive, did she? “That’s good,
for I’m not in the least bit trustworthy. But I do know how to find a fine time in this town.”

“I’m quite sure you do. When?”

“Tonight. Meet me at your servants’ entrance at two?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she said lightly. But he would wager that she would do it, the little daredevil. Jane thought Anna was
in danger from him, but he saw now it was the other way around. “If I do, what should I wear?”

“Not this,” he said, gesturing to her shimmering white gown. “And not red. Something simple, if you have it.”

“I have costumes for everything, Your Grace,” she said. “Don’t be late.”

She left the room and her soft laughter floated back to him. And he knew he really was a fool.

A
nna stepped into the dim, smoky room behind Adair and nearly laughed aloud with startled excitement. She knew that if she
was at all sensible, she would back out and run away now. Well, if she was
really
sensible, she would never have come with him at all. She would have never even considered it.

But no one had ever accused her of having a surfeit of good sense. Her restless curiosity always got the better of her. She
couldn’t be sorry for it, though, for this was all quite fascinating. It seemed to be a tavern of some sort, a long, narrow
room barely lit by smoking, guttering tallow candles. The low ceiling was whitewashed, crossed by smoke-encrusted beams, and
the floor was sticky, cracked flagstone. The walls, which had once been just as white, were mostly hidden by old, fly-specked
mirrors and paintings of scantily clad women and melodramatic historical scenes. A small group of musicians with drums and
fiddles and pipes played a lively song of a wild rover who renounced his wild ways for good while people sang and clapped
along. A few dancers spun down the middle of the floor.

Anna tugged her knitted shawl closer over her black dress and made sure her mobcap covered her hair as Conlan led her past
the dancers. She wanted to watch tonight, to observe everything around her, without being noticed herself.

Though perhaps that would not be possible while she was with Adair. Voices faded as he stepped into the room and heads swiveled
toward the door. Even dressed in a plain wool coat and black cap, he attracted attention. Or perhaps he was already known
here.

He took her hand in his, his gaze scanning casually over the room. His bland, pleasant expression never altered, yet Anna
noticed that everyone immediately turned away, back to their own business. If he was known here, then he had power, for he
was obeyed without uttering a word. She remembered how it was at the ball, too. Everyone stared at him, speculated about him,
but no one wanted to anger him. Look what happened when someone like George got on his bad side.