Duchess of Sin by Laurel McKee

the grand title. “He is watching you.”
    Anna looked back to Adair. He seemed to watch not her but Grant, or rather he watched the two of them together. He had relaxed,
     his black-gloved hands loose on the reins, a strange, humorless smile on his lips. Yet even across the distance, she could
     feel the heat of those green eyes, glowing with fury.
    It was obviously not a happy family connection.
    “I have met him once or twice,” she said. She could certainly never tell the circumstances of those meetings, in a burned-out
     stable amid the fury of the Uprising, and in a deserted conservatory at the scandalous Olympian Club. She did not even want
     to think of them herself, her two darkest, truest moments. “But I would not say I know him. We have not been formally introduced.”
    “Then we should correct that oversight, Lady Anna, for I believe his ducal estate is not far from Killinan Castle,” Grant
     said, suddenly spurring his horse forward. He reached out to grasp Anna’s bridle, as if he would force her to follow.
    Anna tugged hard at her reins. “What do you mean?”
    He glanced back at her, those golden eyes burning. “I thought every lady longed to make the acquaintance of a duke.”
    “Not
that
duke,” Anna muttered. “And I am not sure why you would want to speak to him, either, Sir Grant. It’s obvious you don’t care
     for each other.”
    He dropped her bridle and laughed wryly, as if he justrealized 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 doyou, 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