by Laurel McKee
“Kissing you, of course,” he whispered against her. “Don’t you like it?”
“I…” His tongue pressed into her, tasting deeply. “Oh, yes.”
He laughed, and shockingly she felt the sound deep inside. “I knew you would.” His fingers spread her even wider, his tongue sweeping along her aching folds as he tasted her. It was utterly scandalous, completely intimate. Anna knew she should be disgusted, but she couldn’t be repelled by something that felt so—so wonderful.
She closed her eyes tightly and let the sensations wash over her. It was like sparks dancing over her skin, burning, shooting the pleasure higher and higher until she couldn’t breathe.
His tongue touched one spot, and she cried out, her body taut as a bowstring. “Conlan, I—oh!” she gasped. Those sparks caught into flames, a bonfire of pleasure that soared through her. Her mind flooded with white-hot light, and everything else vanished.
She felt her knees buckle, and she collapsed toward the stone doorstep. Conlan caught her around the waist and lowered her gently. For a moment, all she could do was shiver. The heat of her climax dissipated, and she felt the cold wind again and the hard stone beneath her.
So that was what she read about in her romantic novels. That was what her married friends giggled about. They quite underestimated the matter.
Or perhaps they had just never met the Duke of Adair.
Anna slowly opened her eyes and found herself sitting back against the wall. He lay beside her, his head buried in her rumpled skirts. As she watched, he slowly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned his head to stare up at her.
“That was utterly shocking, Your Grace,” she managed to say. “And wonderful.”
He laughed. “I am said to be a man of many talents.”
“Oh? And what are some more of them?” She leaned down to kiss him, a spasm of pleasure rushing through her when she smelled herself on his lips.
He kissed her back, but only for a moment. Then he grasped her shoulders and held her back from him. “Le d’thoil, please, Anna, don’t touch me. If you do, I’ll explode.”
“Oh,” she whispered. Suddenly, she understood. She had found release; he had not. Her gaze swept down his body to the hard bulge in his trousers. It strained against the seams. “What you did to me—women do that to men, too, I think.”
“Ach, Anna, you’re determined to kill me!” he groaned.
She was suddenly overcome with a terrible curiosity. What did he feel like, taste like? Could she make him cry out, make his world disappear as he had for her?
She reached for him, but his hand shot out to grab her wrist in an iron clasp.
“I want to…” she began. Her words were cut off by a sudden shout from outside their doorway haven.
In an instant, Conlan was on his feet and dragging her up to hers. He tugged her bodice over her breasts and pushed her rumpled skirts down. The shouts were louder, several coarse voices and then a clatter. And it was coming closer.
“What’s going on?” she said.
“Don’t say a word,” he muttered. He pressed her back to the wall, in the deepest part of the doorway. “Stay here and be very, very still.”
He leaned away from her to peer carefully out onto the street. The shouts grew even louder, and she could finally make out a few words. “Down with Union! Down with Lord Ross!”
Conlan shoved her tight against the wall, covering her with his body. Over his shoulder, she watched the protesters surge past. Perhaps two dozen men bearing flickering torches, shouting and banging on cymbals and crude drums. Most frightening, they carried an effigy of Ross with a noose around his neck.
A shutter opened over a window across the street, but was hastily slammed shut again. Not another soul stirred. Perhaps the neighborhood that she had thought so peaceful and quiet was merely fearful and keeping its head down.
Anna clung to Conlan’s shoulders, remembering old tales of Paris in the Revolution. Men’s heads borne aloft on pikes. Women snatched from their carriages and torn apart by a howling mob. Blood running thick in the gutters.
She also remembered the dead bodies she saw in ’98, Irish peasants and British soldiers both, tangled together in a terrible carnage. Burned houses, the summer air foul with smoke and blood. Was it all going to happen again?
She leaned her forehead to his shoulder and closed her eyes until the noise of the mob faded. He had been part of it, too, hiding in that stable on that terrible night.
“They’re gone,” he said gently. “It’s safe to go home now.”
“Is it?” Anna opened her eyes to stare up at him. “Oh, Conlan. Someday I think you’ll have to kiss me someplace more comfortable. And private.”
And she would have to find out just why he was in Dublin. But for now, she was too tired and dizzy from everything that had happened between them to even think straight. He laughed humorlessly and took her hand in his as they ducked out of their doorway back into the night.
They made their way toward the river, out of the narrow streets, and into wider lanes Anna knew better. The more familiar environs didn’t instill comfort in her, though, for the city seemed eerily silent. It was very late, but usually even the wee hours of fun-loving Dublin were full of sound and motion. The streets were quiet and darkened now. Even the stars overhead seemed to be sliding toward the horizon, leaving the sky black.
Then it was not so silent anymore. As they came near the river and the large, old brick houses that lined the embankment, built to echo the Customs House, she heard shouts and the crackle of flames. It sounded like the mob that surged past their doorway, only amplified by the silence of the night.
Anna tightened her grasp on Conlan’s hand and looked up at him. His jaw was set in a taut line, his head up like a wild animal sensing danger. “What is happening?” she whispered. She had heard so many people warn of such things, at fine balls and tea parties, but she had dismissed their concerns. Were they right in the end?
He didn’t answer. “This way,” he said abruptly, tugging her down an alley. It was so narrow that they had to go single file. Conlan led her past piles of empty crates lined up along the brick walls. It smelled damp there behind shops that she had probably visited before, thick with rotting produce and the cold threat of freezing rain. The noise was muffled there.
They emerged from the end of the alley into another street, one she recognized well, for Caroline’s favorite bookshop was there. It was utterly blank and silent with the shops shuttered. From the distance, there was a plume of silvery smoke spiraling into the black sky like a ghost.
Anna pressed close to Conlan, watching the smoke with a growing sense of horror. It was all happening again! Burnings, battles, the terrible uncertainty of what could happen next. They had all been fools to think themselves safe in the city. Being trapped behind walls was surely even worse—there was nowhere to run.
She barely had time to clutch tightly to his hand before they were caught up in the surging crowd and carried away down the street. In the distance, she could hear the clang of bells, and the acrid tang of smoke was thick in her throat as they were swept closer to the river.
Panic welled up inside of her, and she dug her fingers into Conlan’s hand. She had to get away from there!
Conlan drew her closer to his side. “You’re not in danger, Anna,” he said close to her ear. “Not when you’re with me. Stay close, and I’ll get us out of here.”
And strangely she believed him. They were trapped in a mob, and he was the last person that she should trust because he was so very full of secrets. Yet as she looked up into his steady eyes, she did feel safe. A dreamlike calm descended on her, driving away that cold rush of panic.
“But what’s happening?” she said, stumbling against him as someone ran into her.
He had no time to answer. The crowd spilled out onto the river’s embankment, which was lined with old houses. One of them, a large old-fashioned structure, was ablaze, red-orange flames licking from
the shattered windows and engulfing the brick walls. A boat moored in the river was also aflame. Crates of linens and wool meant for export to England floated in the river, and more crowds stood watching the conflagration.
Any of them could have set the fire, but now they just stood and stared, transfixed. The wind grew sharper and colder there by the water, tinged with the sourness of smoke, but the only sounds were the crackle of flames and a few scattered cheers as another window exploded.
“Conlan, you’re here!” a man shouted.
Anna glanced over Conlan’s shoulder to see a tall man hurrying toward them. He was clad all in black, his lean face streaked with gray ash.
Conlan let go of her hand to slide his arm around her waist and hold her to his side. “McMann,” he said. “What’s going on here?”
“Committee business,” McMann answered with a humorless grin. “Lord Ross will rue the day he took English bribes, I would wager.”
“I don’t remember any such business,” Conlan said tightly. Anna looked up to see the flare of anger in his eyes, illuminated by the flames. “Where is Foster? Was this his doing?”
“He’s in the alley behind the house,” McMann said. “He had to supervise the distribution.”
“We’ll see about that.” Conlan took Anna’s hand again and said, “McMann, take the lady home while I have a wee word with Foster. It’s clear matters have gotten out of hand here.”
McMann’s face twisted with disappointment, but he said, “Of course. I’ll be back quickly.”
“You’d best not. Trouble is not far ahead,” Conlan said.
“No!” Anna cried as he started to let go of her hand. “I want to stay with you, to help if I can.”
He kissed her palm quickly and then gently pushed her away, toward McMann. “You can’t help here, Anna; it’s too dangerous. Go with McMann now, he’ll see you safely home. He may be an impulsive fool about some things, but he can be trusted.”
“But…”
“Go on now, cailleach. I have to take care of some business now.”
Those clanging bells grew closer, louder, and the crowd that had been enthralled by the flames scattered in sudden noisy confusion. The roof of the warehouse caved in with a great roar, sending flames shooting high in the air.
“Go!” Conlan shouted. He pushed her to McMann, who grabbed her firmly by the arm and half-carried her through the roaring crowds. He was too strong for her to break away, and over his shoulder, she saw Conlan’s figure disappear along the embankment.
Ireland was in flames yet again, and Conlan was a part of it all. Was she being a damned fool to be so drawn to him? To give up a safe place in the world to go with him?
“Will he be caught?” she said as McMann led her over a bridge and farther and farther from the chaos. Her heart ached at the thought of Conlan in prison.
McMann laughed roughly. “Not him, miss. We need him too much.”
Anna wanted to ask who “we” could be, but she was afraid of the answer, of knowing everything once and for all. Besides, she was sure McMann would not tell her anything.
She was suddenly so weary. All the excitement of the night drained away, leaving her tired and confused. She followed McMann numbly, wrapped in her own thoughts.
“Where do you live, miss?” he said as they left the district of shops and old houses behind for the relative safety of newer, finer townhouses and squares. It was eerily silent there without the flames and bells.
“Henrietta Street,” she said automatically.
Surprise flickered over McMann’s face at the mention of the fine address. He wondered who she was, to live at such a place and be here with a man like Conlan McTeer. Anna could see that. She often wondered who she really was, too.
“The servant’s entrance,” she said, and hurried on into the mysterious night.
Chapter Eleven
Well, I suppose Lord Ross is fortunate that no one was home last night, and that he is already building that fine new house on Fish Street,” Katherine said. She, Anna, and Caroline rode in their carriage on the way home from the shops, mired in the traffic snarl that formed while everyone stopped to gawk at Lord Ross’s partially burned house by the river.
Anna stared out the window at the smoke-stained walls, starkly outlined against the gray sky. So that was the end result of all that ruckus last night, a pro-Unionist’s house destroyed. “It’s lucky the flames were put out before those warehouses over there caught fire.”
Caroline put down her book to peer past Anna’s shoulder. “They’re full of bales of linen and wool, not to mention whiskey and rope. They would have gone up like a Catherine wheel. Were the culprits caught?”
“Some of them,” Katherine said. “But I heard many of them escaped into the night.”
“That’s a surprise, considering how many extra troops are quartered in Dublin for the Union vote,” said Caroline. “I suppose they were all busy elsewhere, in the taverns and brothels, and couldn’t get here until too late.”
“Caroline, please,” Katherine murmured. “You shouldn’t speak of brothels.”
“No one can hear me but you and Anna,” Caroline said. “I’m sure I can’t shock the two of you. Everyone knows that’s what soldiers get up to. Brothels, brothels…”
“All right, Caroline, that’s enough,” Katherine said sternly, but Anna could see she wanted to laugh. Anna pressed her hand to her mouth to hold back her own giggles. She must be hysterical from lack of sleep.
“I’m glad we’ll be going to the country soon. Hopefully the Christmas festivities will distract you from such gossip,” Katherine added.
The carriage at last lurched forward into a break in the crowd, and they slowly rolled toward home.
“Maybe the mistletoe will finally inspire Anna to choose one of her suitors,” Caroline said.
“Maybe Caro is in a hurry to get me out of the way so she can marry,” said Anna. She thought of the stark anger on Conlan’s face last night as they watched the burning warehouse. Maybe Sir Grant was the right and safe choice after all.
“She can’t do that until she finishes her studies and makes her debut,” Katherine said. She glanced at the little watch pinned to her pelisse. “Speaking of which, this delay has made us late for Monsieur Courtois’s first drawing lesson. He will think us so terribly lax.”
“I’m sure that’s not what he thinks of us,” said Caroline as she opened her book again. “Especially not you, Mama. You are the Angel of Kildare. You can do no wrong.”
Katherine laughed. “Angels can be tardy, too, I suppose.” She glanced over at Anna, who still stared blindly out the window. “Are you quite well, Anna dear? You look tired.”
Anna tore her gaze from the passing streets to smile at her mother. “I’m fine, Mama. Never better.”
“I knew you should not have gone to the ball last night. You are wearing yourself out.”
Anna almost laughed to think what her mother would say if she knew the real reason why her daughter was so sleepy. Drinking in a tavern; kissing an Irishman in a dark doorway. Letting him kiss her down there. And then the fire…
She shivered at the memory of his mouth on her, of that terrible, wondrous pleasure, and the shock of violence that came afterward. She clutched her fists tight in her fox fur muff. “I am fine,” she said again. “I just didn’t like seeing that burned building. It was too much like—then.”
“Of course. I don’t like remembering, either,” Katherine said quietly. “But it is behind us, my dear. It won’t happen again.”
Anna nodded, even as she had her grave doubts. Ireland was always like a powder keg set too near a flame; perhaps it always would be. Much like Adair himself.
They arrived back at Henrietta Street at last, only to find the foyer bustling with activity. As footmen took their wraps and saw to the shopping parcels, Smythe handed Anna two boxes and Katherine a stack of cards.
“Monsieur Courtois is waiting for Lady Caroline in the library, my lady. And Lad
y Anna had two callers while you were out, Sir Grant Dunmore and His Grace the Duke of Adair. They both left flowers.”
Anna looked at him in alarm. “They were not here at the same time, Smythe?”
“No, Lady Anna.”
Of course not, or surely their furniture would not still be intact. Anna opened the boxes to find Grant’s violets and a sheaf of deep red, almost black orchids from Conlan. She buried her nose in them, inhaling the faint, earthy scent of the orchids.
“Sir Grant has invited us to a party at his house,” Katherine said as she perused one of the cards. “Supper and whist with a few friends. Shall we go, Anna dear?”
“Of course, if you like, Mama,” Anna said. “I don’t think Sir Grant has ever opened his house to guests before. How curious.”
“It seems his aunt, Lady Thornton, is to play hostess. That should be interesting. The last time I met with her, she had gone quite deaf and liked to converse with the teacups. But we can certainly attend.”
She glanced at the card underneath, and her lips pursed. “What is this, Smythe?”
“That, I fear, is the other matter, my lady,” Smythe said. “Captain Hayes waits for you in the drawing room. He did insist on waiting for your return.”
“Oh, dear,” Katherine sighed. “Did you give him tea?”
“He asked for brandy, my lady. Most emphatically.”
“Whatever could George want? Besides our liquor, that is,” said Katherine. “I suppose I will go in. It gets close to dinnertime; surely he will have to leave soon.”
“I must go in for my drawing lesson,” Caroline said quickly, backing toward the library. “Mustn’t keep monsieur waiting!”
“And I must go upstairs and rest,” said Anna. She had no desire to see George, to feel that slimy, speculative sort of look that he always gave her. “I am quite tired after all.”
“Cowards,” Katherine murmured. She squared her shoulders and marched toward the drawing room, like a martyr going to the scaffold.
As Anna fled up the stairs, she heard George’s booming, slurred voice. “Katherine! Took you long enough. What’s this I hear about your Frenchie drawing teacher? Most unwise, I would say. The dirty villains are just biding their time before invading again. He’s probably a spy.…”