Duchess of Sin

by Laurel McKee

  It was a fairly large chamber, with a tall window looking down on the street and letting in whatever meager light there was. His easel was set up there, along with a table littered with sketchbooks, paints, and charcoal pencils. The only other furniture was a narrow bed, a battered dresser, and one threadbare armchair by the tiny fireplace.

  Katherine removed her hat and gloves as she went to examine the half-finished portrait. Nicolas leaned back against the closed door, watching her in silence.

  She tried to forget he was there, his beautiful brown eyes on her, and just look at the work. She did know the Napiers and their daughters, two rather plain but sweet girls. In Nicolas’s painting, they sat, clad in matching ruffled blue gowns, at a round table, hard at work on their embroidery, surrounded by books, dogs, and parrots. He had managed to make them look like themselves yet better, glowing with health and good spirits, young ladies ready to be wives.

  “I fear that once this portrait is seen Caroline will lose you as her teacher,” she said. “You will be much in demand as a Society portraitist. Everyone will want you to paint their children.” She studied the smiles on the girls’ faces and wondered if the sight of the handsome artist had put them there.

  Nicolas laughed. He left the door to come stand beside her, studying the portrait with her. “It does pay well, but I should not like to spend all my time in such scenes. There is no—how do you say?—challenge in it. No fire.”

  No fire. She knew how that felt, the bland, dutiful sameness of days with no passion. “If you could paint whatever you liked, what would it be?”

  “I don’t know. The outdoors maybe, nature: light, storms, water.”

  She glanced out the window at the gray sky. Always gray. “There doesn’t seem much scope for that here, monsieur. Do you ever think of Italy perhaps? Or Lausanne? My daughter Eliza is there, and she says there is a great community of artists.”

  “Of course, I think of such places. But I have work to finish here first.”

  “Like this portrait?”

  He hesitated. “Among other things.”

  Other things? Katherine longed to know what they might be. What preoccupied him. But he said nothing else, and she turned to look at the sketches scattered on the table. Studies of Napier’s daughters, images of their dogs and parrots. But also trees and streams, and fields bisected by stone walls. Nature in all its wonder.

  Plein air painting was not held in the same esteem as history and mythology scenes, not seen much at the Academy, but she could see his great skill at such images. There was such passion in every pencil stroke.

  “You should go to Italy, monsieur,” she said. “The air there is so clear it makes the light shimmer. And it’s so warm, so full of life.”

  He leaned his elegant artist’s hands on the table beside her, so near she could feel the heat of his body. “It sounds as if you should go to Italy as well, my lady. That you should seek the sun.”

  “I would love that,” she said. Then she said something she had never admitted, even to herself. “I dream sometimes of escaping, of running to Tuscany or Capri and spending all day walking in the light. But I have other duties here.”

  “What of your duty to yourself?”

  “Myself? No, I have to think of Killinan, the girls…”

  “Lady Killinan—Katherine,” he said fiercely. He reached for her, clasping her arms to spin her toward him. He wouldn’t let her go, and the look in his eyes was as warm as that dream of Italian skies. “You are so beautiful, so full of life and warmth. Why do you hide it so? Why do you deny it?”

  She shook her head, balancing on the edge of something like panic. For so long she held herself in check, ferociously suppressing any hint of emotions or needs. Now all those tightly leashed feelings were slipping free, and she was powerless to imprison them again.

  “I deny nothing,” she insisted. “I am content in my life.”

  “Then why do you dream of escaping it? Why do you hide your true beauty?” He released her arms only to catch her face between his hands. He stared deeply into her eyes and would not let her turn her face away. “Katherine, ma belle, don’t hide from me now. I beg you. I can’t bear it any longer.”

  A sob escaped her lips, and she knew she could not hide. Not from him or herself, not now.

  He kissed her, and she had never been kissed like that before. Nicolas kissed her as if she was precious and beautiful, as if he had waited all his life for someone just like her and was filled with awe to find it. She, too, had been waiting, though she hadn’t realized it until this very moment. Waiting and hoping.

  His tongue lightly traced the curve of her lips, and she opened for him, meeting his kiss with her own. She wound her arms around his shoulders, holding on to him tightly so he could not vanish from her. He tasted warm and sweet, like springtime, and she felt her long-cold heart melt.

  “You’re trembling,” he whispered, his lips trailing over her cheek.

  “I—I thought such things could never be mine,” she said. “I thought they could only belong to the young.”

  He laughed and held out his hand. “I’m trembling, too. Oh, Katherine, I never thought I would find you, but here you are.”

  “Find me?”

  He pulled her close, and she felt him rest his cheek on top of her head. She heard his deep, ragged breath as he inhaled the scent of her hair. She closed her eyes and curled her hands tightly into his coat. How she wished she could stay like that forever. Just him and her, and no one to judge them.

  “I used to dream of a woman like you,” he said. “Beautiful, kind, wise. A muse. An angel.”

  “Angel?” She laughed harshly. “Everyone is so very wrong about that.”

  “Non, Katherine.” He pressed a fevered kiss to her temple. “You are an extraordinary woman. You have made me see life in a new, glorious way. Not just art but everything. I was in despair before, angry, drifting, always searching for some purpose. Some reason. Then I saw you.…”

  Katherine tilted her head back to study his face, amazed at his passionate words. “I did all of that?”

  “And more. I have never known anyone like you, Katherine. You are—amazing.”

  She dropped her head to his shoulder. How she wished she could believe him! His words filled her with such joy and hope. All her life she lived for others—her parents, her husband, her children, the people of Killinan. When Nicolas looked at her she felt beautiful, and young, and whole, with a world of possibility before her.

  But those were only feelings, wild hopes. She could give him nothing. She was older than him and bound by her duties. He surely was caught in some infatuation, just as she was.

  It was very sweet while it lasted, though. And why should she not have a little, secret moment for herself?

  She slid her hands up his neck, into his hair, holding on to him so that she could look deeply into his eyes. She read no artifice there, no flash of hesitation or doubt. He looked at her as if she were indeed an angel.

  “Kiss me again, Nicolas,” she whispered.

  He smiled at her. “With the greatest pleasure, Katherine.” And he did, his lips covering hers hard, as if he would not ever let her go.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Anna stood in the shadows of the little minstrels’ gallery high above the Connemaras’ ballroom. She rested her elbows on the railing and stared down at the brilliant whirl of activity far below. Usually she adored such gatherings, loved being a part of the music and dancing, especially at Christmas. Tonight, though, she felt strangely reluctant to join in.

  The elaborate pattern of the polished parquet floor was covered by a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, whites, and purples, in shimmering satins, lustrous velvets, and soft, floaty muslins. Jewels flashed and sparkled in the glow of hundreds of candles. The air was thick with the scents of evergreen, red roses, and holly. Wreaths and loops of red ribbon were draped along the white walls.

  The orchestra played a lively rendition of that omnipresent �
�Wren Song” as the dancers twirled and skipped over the floor. Everyone who did not dance crowded around its edges, the laughter growing louder and rowdier as the punch flowed.

  Anna didn’t know where Lady Connemara had found so many people on Christmas Eve or how she had lured them out into the cold night from their own holiday hearths. Along with the house party guests, there was all the Kildare gentry and more from even farther afield. She saw Caroline sitting in the corner with Lord Hartley, the two of them actually ignoring the dance to study a book. Her mother talked with the local vicar and his wife by one of the large holly wreaths. Jane danced with Lord Connemara, clad in another enviable gown of amber-colored silk.

  But there was no Duke of Adair.

  Anna carefully studied every newcomer who crowded through the doors and down the stairs to the ballroom, and none was ever him. She was quite disappointed.

  She tugged at the Christmas-green sash of her white silk gown, fiddling with the corsage of artificial holly tucked into its satin folds. She had taken even greater care with her appearance than usual, filled with dreamy visions of dancing with him in front of everyone. Of celebrating Christmas with him, forgetting their troubles for one night, just being with him. Pretending they belonged together.

  She couldn’t do that if he did not even show up.

  The door behind her clicked open, and she spun around in a flare of wild hope. But it was not Conlan. It was Grant Dunmore.

  Her heart sinking again, Anna leaned back on the marble balustrade as he shut the door behind him. She could see why all the ladies loved him so much. He was so perfectly handsome, like a hero from a book, so impeccably stylish, so admired and well-connected. Everything she herself should want, had once thought she did want.

  Yet she felt nothing when she looked at him or when he smiled at her. She could no longer summon up even a halfhearted desire for him and the glittering life they could have together. Not even for duty and expectations.

  He gave her a dazzling smile. “So this is where you are hiding, Lady Anna.”

  “I was not hiding, Sir Grant,” she said, taken aback by his sudden appearance and by a certain quality to that smile she had not noticed before. A certain smugness, as if she was a pretty child that he meant to indulge. “I merely did not feel like dancing.”

  “You? The finest dancer in all Kildare? I find that hard to believe.” He joined her at the balustrade to peer down at the party.

  “I cannot rival Lady Cannondale for dancing.” She gestured to Jane, dancing so beautifully in the patterns of the reel, full of vivid life. “Or our hostess.”

  “Nonsense. You are famous for your grace and beauty, Lady Anna, and everyone knows it.” He leaned his elbows on the railing, as she had done. Even in that, he looked like casual perfection. “Perhaps you are imagining what your own Christmas ball would be like, if you were the hostess.”

  “I doubt I would have a house as grand as this,” Anna said carefully.

  “You would make any house grand. And attract the cream of Society to all your gatherings.”

  She laughed, suddenly uncomfortable in his presence as she never had been before. She couldn’t explain it, but the gallery felt too small and close. “I have no such ambitions, Sir Grant.”

  “Do you not? You could rule this world if you wanted. You could have anything at all you desired.” He caught her hand in his, startling her. She tried to pull away, but he held on tightly. “I could give you that, Anna. Together we would be the most sought-after, most powerful couple in Dublin. Maybe in all Ireland. London, too, if that was what you wanted.”

  “I—I don’t think…” she stammered, confused. She had refused proposals before, but she had never been caught so off her guard. “I don’t think so.”

  Grant, usually so smooth and charming, so correct, scowled at her. His hand flexed on hers. “What do you mean? I am asking you to be my wife,” he said. “Surely you have been aware of my intentions toward you. Our situations in life are so suited to each other, by fortune and connection. You must know that.”

  Their situations—not themselves. Not their hearts. He did not even seem to see her, and she remembered Caroline’s warning in the garden, and her own fears. He wanted her for an ornament, a piece in his puzzle of social advancement and ambition.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Grant, but I had no idea you had a—a regard for me,” she said. She carefully tried to tug her wrist away, but he held on to her. “I thought you were only polite to me, as to any lady.”

  “Of course I was not being polite!” he said, his silken charm turning rough. “There is no lady better suited to be my wife. You are beautiful, of good family. I can give you a home where you can shine.”

  Anna shook her head. “Where I can be an ornament?”

  “A diamond.”

  “I don’t want that, though,” she said. “I want to be useful, to have a real purpose.”

  “Useful? You would be useful to me,” he said impatiently. “I have ambitions in politics, as I’m sure you know, and I need a suitable wife and hostess to help me in that.”

  “Many ladies could be that for you,” Anna said. Grant had many feminine admirers, and he admired them in return. Surely one of them would be most happy to grace his table, as well as his bed, lead his political salon. She could not. Even to make her family happy, she could not. She would wither and die.

  “But there is no one as beautiful as you,” he said.

  “Of course there is! I am very honored at your proposal, Sir Grant, but I fear we would not suit. I am sorry.” She twisted her wrist again, hard, and at last he let her go. His golden eyes darkened, like thunderclouds, and she whirled around to hurry to the door.

  “Is it because there is someone you prefer?” he called to her.

  Her hand froze on the door handle. There was such fury in his voice, tightly leashed anger that she could not have imagined he possessed under his perfect surface. But she knew she shouldn’t be surprised, not after seeing the way he confronted Conlan on St. Stephen’s Green. A man who would try to steal his own cousin’s ancestral estate was not a man to be thwarted.

  “I am not ready to marry anyone,” she answered.

  He laughed harshly. “I cannot believe that, Lady Anna.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe, Sir Grant, it is the truth. Now I must return to the party.” She rushed out the door, slamming it behind her. She had the strongest urge to pick up her skirts and run, but there were people strolling in the corridor, so she made herself slowly walk to the staircase. He didn’t follow her to press his suit, thankfully, and when she slipped back into the ballroom, it seemed more crowded than ever. Surely there was safety in such a press.

  The reel was ending, and she made her way through the laughing throng in search of her mother or sister. Her head ached; some of the brightness of the holiday dimming as her fear lingered. She had closed the door on one path, the path everyone expected her to take, and she didn’t know what to do now. She hadn’t expected Grant’s anger, and the chill of that lingered, too.

  She couldn’t find her mother, but she glimpsed Caroline walking toward the dance floor with Lord Hartley. So the two of them could abandon their books sometimes. As Anna glanced back, she saw the ballroom doors open again, and Conlan appeared there at last. He stood still for a moment, at the top of the steps, and everything else faded to a blur around him.

  Anna realized that she had only rarely seen him as the Duke, and when she had it did not go very well, but here he fulfilled his position entirely. Tall, powerful, and dressed in stark, perfectly tailored black and white, he surveyed the company with casual confidence as Lady Connemara hurried to greet him. He didn’t even seem to notice all the curious stares and the whispers that turned his way. The reclusive duke, here!

  But he did notice her. He gave her a quiet and intimate smile and then disappeared into the crowd. Still in a daze where everything seemed slow and silent, Anna pushed her way past the laughing, tipsy people, search
ing for him.

  She found him standing beneath one of the kissing boughs.

  “So you came after all,” she said breathlessly.

  “You did say I should cultivate connections with my neighbors,” he answered. “That I should not hide away like an angry bear on my estate, an old recluse.”

  Anna laughed. “I did not exactly say that, Your Grace. Angry and reclusive you may be, but a bear—well, yes, you can be that as well.”

  “Now that I am here, though, I scarcely know what to do next. You must help me.”

  Anna could hear the orchestra tuning up for a scandalous Viennese waltz, just like at the Olympian Club. There was the great rustle of silk, footsteps, and laughter as couples hurried to take their places. “I think you should begin by dancing with me.”

  “Dancing?”

  “Of course. You cannot pretend you don’t know how, for we have danced together before. Now you have to show everyone here your graceful, refined side.”

  He snorted. “Grace and refinement will always be beyond me, I fear. Yet I would never turn down the chance to dance with the prettiest lady in the room.”

  He offered her his arm with a bow, and she let him lead her onto the dance floor. This time there were no concealing masks. They were only themselves, together in full sight of everyone.

  And everyone certainly did watch. A place was made for them at the center of the floor, right next to Caroline and her Lord Hartley. Anna’s sister looked mischievously delighted, but Anna ignored everyone. She watched only Conlan as he slid one arm about her waist and took her hand in his. She rested her other hand lightly on his shoulder. Even though they stood the proscribed, correct distance apart, she couldn’t help the rush of excitement that shivered through her.

  “They say the waltz is still terribly scandalous in London,” she said. “All the high sticklers say it incites improper lust.”

  He grinned down at her. “No wonder it’s so popular in Dublin then.”

  Anna laughed as the musicians swung into the lilting tune, and Conlan whirled her in a circle. He was a good dancer, even without the wild freedom of the Olympian Club. Their steps were perfectly matched, their movements as one as they turned and dipped and twirled. The giddy patterns made her want to laugh in delight, to whirl on and on with him just like this forever.