Lady of Seduction (40 page)

Dublin, December 1799

S
he really should not be doing this. It was a terrible, imprudent idea.

But that had never stopped her before.

Lady Anna Blacknall drew the hood of her black cloak closer over her pale gold hair, which would shimmer like a beacon in
the night and attract unwanted attention. She pressed her back tighter to the stone wall, peering out at the world through
the eyeholes of her satin mask. Her endeavor to become invisible seemed to be working as everyone hurried past her without
even a glance.

But where was Jane? If she turned coward and refused to appear, Anna couldn’t get into the Olympian Club on her own. Jane
was the one who was a member, and the club had a strictly enforced “guests of members only” policy. It wasn’t likely Jane
would abandon her, though. Jane, the widowed but still young Lady Cannondale, was the most daring woman in Dublin, always
up for a lark
or a dare. She was also Anna’s new bosom bow—much to her mother’s chagrin. Katherine Blacknall, Lady Killinan, feared Lady
Cannondale would land Anna in scandal and ruin.

It was fortunate Katherine didn’t realize that most of their pranks were Anna’s idea, just like the one tonight.

Anna pressed her hands tightly to her stomach where a nervous excitement fluttered like a hundred demented butterflies. This
seemed like such a fine idea when she first heard about the exclusive, secretive, scandalous Olympian Club and found out Jane
was a member. Tonight the club was holding a masked ball, the rare opportunity for non-members to see what went on inside
its hidden environs. Surely something so secretive must be worth exploring.

Strangely, though, Jane had tried to put her off, to laugh away the invitation to the ball. “It is sure to be quite dull,”
she insisted, taking the engraved card from Anna’s hand after she found it hidden in Jane’s sitting room. “The club has such
a reputation only because it restricts its membership. There’s just cards and a little dancing, like everywhere else in Dublin.”

Anna snatched the invitation right back. “How can a masked ball at a secret club possibly be dull? I’ve been so bored of late.
Surely this is just the excitement I need!”

Jane had laughed. “You have been to parties every night this month. How can you be bored?”

“All anyone talks about are the Union debates in Parliament,” Anna said. Those endless quarrels for and against Ireland’s
Union with England, rumors of who had been bribed with titles and money to switch sides, and who had come to fisticuffs over
the matter in St. Stephen’s Green. She was so vastly tired of it, tired of everything.

It did not distract her from memories of the Uprising, either—from the old, terrible nightmares of blood and death in battle.
Only dancing and wine and noise could do that, for a few hours, anyway.

She had finally persuaded Jane to take her to the Olympian Club’s masked ball. Anna crept out of her house at the appointed
hour, in disguise, to wait on this street corner. But where was Jane?

She tapped her foot under the hem of her gown, a borrowed frock of Jane’s made of garnet-red satin embroidered with jet beads
and trimmed with black lace. Her own gowns were all the insipid whites and pastels of a debutante, but this gown was much
better. The beads clicked and sang at the movement, as if they, too, longed to dance, to drown in the sweet forgetfulness
of music and motion. But if Jane did not hurry, they would have to leave the ball before it even started! Anna had to be home
before dawn if she didn’t want to get caught.

At last, Jane’s carriage came rattling around the corner. The door opened, and Anna rushed inside, barely falling onto the
velvet seat before they went flying off again. Her nervous butterflies beat their wings faster as they careened through the
night, and Anna laughed at the rush of excitement.

“I thought you changed your mind,” she said, straightening her skirt.

“Of course not, A.,” Jane answered, tying on her own mask around her piled-up auburn hair. “I promised you an adventure tonight.
Though I do fear you may be disappointed once you see how dull the club really is.”

“I’m sure it can’t be as dull as another ball at Dublin Castle,” Anna said with a shudder. “Terrible music, endless
minuets with stuffy lordlings. And Mama watching to see if I will marry one of them and cease my wild ways at last.”

Jane laughed. “You
ought
to let her marry you off to one of them.”

“Jane! Never. Just the thought of one of them touching me—that way. No.”

“It only lasts a moment or two, A., I promise. And then you have freedom you can’t even imagine now. My Harry was a terrible
old goat, but now I have his money
and
my Gianni, who is quite luscious.” Jane sighed happily. “It is a marvelous life, truly.”

“But you are Harry’s widow, Jane. You no longer have to endure his—attentions.” Anna stared out the window at the city streets
flashing by, a blur of gray-white marble, austere columns and black-painted doors. She thought of old Lord Cannondale before
he popped off last spring, his yellow-tinged eyes that watched Jane so greedily, his spotted, twisted hands. And she thought
of someone else, too, that crazed soldier who had grabbed her in the midst of battle…“Not even for freedom could I endure
sharing my bed with someone like that.”

“Well, what of Grant Dunmore then? He is young and so very handsome. All the young ladies are in love with him, yet he wanted
to dance only with you at Lady Overton’s ball last week. He would not be so bad.”

Yes, there was Sir Grant Dunmore. Not so very old at all, and the most handsome man in Dublin, or so everyone said. Surely
if she had to marry someone, he would make a fine enough choice.

“He’s all right,” she said neutrally.

“Oh, A.! Is there no one in all of Dublin who catches your eye?”

Anna frowned. Yes, once there had been a man who caught her eye. It felt like a hundred years ago, though in fact it had not
even been two. When she closed her eyes she could still see him there. The carved lines of his dark, harshly elegant face,
and the glow of his green eyes. The way his rough, powerful hands felt as he reached for her in that stable…

The Duke of Adair. Yes, she did still think of him, dreamed of him at night, even though they had not met since those fearsome
days of the Uprising. She was on the run with her family, and he was intent on his own unknown, dangerous mission. He would
not want to see
her
again, not after what she had done to him.

She shook her head hard, trying to dislodge him from her memories—to shake free any memories at all. The past was gone. She
had to keep reminding herself of that. “No, there is no one. I’ve never met anyone who appealed to me as your Gianni does
to you.”

“We shall just have to change that then,” Jane said. “Oh, look, here we are!”

Desperately glad of the distraction, Anna peered out the window to find a nondescript building. It could have been any other
house on Fish Street, a square, harsh, classical structure of white stone. The only glimmer of light came from a leaded, fan-shaped
window over the dark blue door. All the other windows were tightly shrouded with dark drapes.

Anna smoothed her black silk gloves over her elbows, taking in a deep, steadying breath as a footman opened the carriage door.

“Are you quite sure this is the place?” she said. “It doesn’t look scandalous at all.”

“I told you it might be disappointing,” Jane answered, stepping down to the pavement. “But then again, the most delicious
forbidden places are adept at disguise.”

Just like herself? Anna had found she, like this house, was very good at putting up façades and pretending to be what she
was not. Or maybe trying on different masks to see which was really her, to hide the terrible hollowness inside. But that
would require far too much introspection, and that she did not have time for.

She followed Jane up the front steps, waiting just behind as her friend gave the unsmiling butler her invitation.

“Follow me, if you please, madame,” he said, letting them in after examining them carefully. As two masked footmen stepped
forward to take their cloaks, the door swung shut with an ominous, echoing clang. Now that they were really in that strange,
cold, silent house, Anna wondered if Jane was right—maybe they should not be there.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror as the butler led them up the winding marble staircase, and she scarcely recognized
the woman who stared back. In that sophisticated red gown, with her face covered by a black satin mask and a beaded black
lace net over her blond hair, she looked older than her eighteen years.

That was good. Sometimes she did not want to be herself at all, didn’t want to be Anna Blacknall, with all those duties and
expectations and memories.

And she didn’t want anyone else to recognize her, either. If anyone discovered she was here, she would be quite ruined. She
would disappoint her mother and family yet again, in the worst way. But on nights like this, it was as if a terrible compulsion,
almost an illness, came over her, and she had to run away.

They turned on the landing at the top of the stairs, making their way down a long, silent corridor. Medieval-looking torches
set in metal sconces flickered, casting bronze-red shadows over the bare walls. At first, the only sound was the click of
their shoes on the flagstone floor. But as they hurried farther along, a soft humming noise expanded and grew, becoming a
roar.

The butler threw open a pair of tall double doors at the end of the corridor, and Anna stepped into a wild fantasy.

It was a ballroom, of course, but quite unlike any other she had ever seen. The floor-to-ceiling windows were draped in black
velvet; streamers of red and black satin fell from the high ceiling, where a fresco of cavorting Olympian gods at an Underworld
banquet stared down at them. More gods, stone and marble, stood in naked splendor against the silk-papered walls. The air
was heavy with the scent of wax candles and exotic orchids and lilies, tumbling over the statues in drifts of purple and black
and creamy white.

A hidden orchestra played a wild Austrian waltz, a sound strange and almost discordant to Anna’s ears after the staid minuets
and country dances of Society balls, but also gorgeous and stirring. Masked couples swirled around the dance floor, a kaleidoscope
of whites, reds, blacks, and greens. It was a primal scene, bizarre and full of such raw energy.

That nervous feeling faded, replaced by a deeper stirring of excitement. Yes, this Dionysian place was exactly what she needed
tonight.

Jane took two glasses of champagne from the proffered tray of another masked footman, handing one to Anna.
“Cheers, A.,” she said, clicking their glasses together. “Is this more like what you expected?”

Anna sipped at the sharp, bubbling liquid, studying the dancers over the golden rim. “Indeed so.”

“Well, then, enjoy, my friend. The card room is over there, dining room that way. They have the most delectable lobster tarts.
I think I will just find myself a dance partner.”

“Have fun,” Anna said. As Jane disappeared into the crowd, Anna finished her champagne and took another glass, making her
way around the edge of the room. It was decidedly
not
a place her mother would approve of. It was too strange, too dark—the dancing much too close. One man leaned over his partner,
kissing her neck as she laughed. Anna turned away from them, peeking into the card room where roulette and faro went on along
with more intimate card games. There seemed to be a great deal of money, as well as piles of credit notes, on the tables.

No, the Olympian Club was assuredly not Dublin Castle, the seat of the British government, and not some stuffy Society drawing
room, either. And that was what she wanted. There was no forgetfulness in staid reels and penny-ante whist.

She took another glass of champagne. The golden froth of it along with the rich scent of the flowers was a heady combination.
For a moment, the room swayed before her, a gilded mélange of red and black and laughing couples, and she laughed, too.

“You shouldn’t be here,
beag peata
,” a deep voice said behind her, rough and rich, touched at the edges by a musical Irish accent. Though the words were low,
they
seemed to rise above the cacophony of the party like an oracle’s pronouncement.

Anna shivered at the sound, the twirling room slowing around her as if in a dream. Her gloved fingers tightened on the glass
as she glanced over her shoulder. And, for the first time since she stepped into the alternate world of the club, she felt
a cold frisson of fear trickle down her spine.

The man stood far enough away that it would be easy for her to run and melt into the crowd. Yet something in his eyes, a fathomless,
burning dark green behind the plain white mask, held her frozen in place as his captive.

He was tall and strongly built, with his broad shoulders and muscled chest barely contained in stark black and white evening
clothes. And he was so dark—bronzed, almost shimmering skin set off by close-cropped raven-colored hair and a shadow of beard
along his sharp jaw. Dark and hard, a Hades in his Underworld realm, yet his lips seemed strangely sensual and soft.

They curved in a wry smile, as if he read her fascinated thoughts.

“You don’t belong here,” he said again.

Something in that gravelly voice—the amusement or maybe the hint of tension—made Anna prickle with irritated anger. He did
not even know her; how dare he presume to know where she belonged. Especially when she did not even know that herself.

She stiffened her shoulders, tilting back her head to stare up and up into his eyes. He really was cursed tall! She felt delicate
and small beside him when she wanted to feel like a powerful goddess.

“On the contrary,” she said. “I find this all remarkably amusing.”

“Amusing?” His gaze swept over the room before landing on her again, pinning her as if she were some helpless butterfly. “You
have strange taste in amusement,
beag peata
.”