Duchess of Sin by Laurel McKee Page A

of you.…”
    He slid that whip lightly down her bodice, his gaze following its path as Grant shouted in fury. But Anna had had quite enough
     of Adair’s game. She grabbed the crop, snatching it out of his hand and throwing it to the ground.
    “Enough, both of you!” she cried. “I came here for a pleasant outing, not to find myself a bone between two snarling mongrels.
     If you must quarrel, then go off and compare the size of your—estates elsewhere. You don’t belong among civilized people until
     you can learn some manners. And I do not care if they’re Irish or English manners.”
    Grant looked at her with temper in his eyes, as if he would turn his anger onto her, but Adair just laughed. He sat back in
     his saddle, watching her with approval.
    “Bravo, Lady Anna,” he said. “Well stated. You arequite right. We don’t belong near fine ladies such as yourself. I apologize.”
    “As do I,” Grant said grudgingly. “I should not have allowed you to be exposed to a private family quarrel, Lady Anna.”
    “Oh, I am sure her ladyship has been
exposed
to far worse,” Adair said.
    Grant swung back to him angrily. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
    “Nothing at all, cousin,” Adair said coolly. “What do you think it means? What thoughts lurk in my filthy Fenian mind?”
    “I said enough, gentlemen, and I meant it,” Anna interrupted. She tugged at Psyche’s reins, trying to edge around Adair. He
     stood his ground, watching her.
    She stared back at him, unable to look away. The rest of the world—the park, Sir Grant, the distant sound of laughter—faded
     around her as she looked into Adair’s eyes and remembered the feel of his kiss, his touch.…
    She tore her gaze from his, blinking away those blurry, urgent images. “Fisticuffs might be amusing some other day,” she said,
     trembling as if caught in a buffeting wind, “but I am weary of this now.”
    Suddenly, a sharp cracking noise split the air, followed by two more. It was a startled instant before she realized it was
     gunshots, whizzing right past her ear.
    Her terrified horse reared up beneath her, and she was too shocked to grasp the reins. She felt herself falling, falling,
     her heart dropping to her feet. The sky whirled over her head and the wind rushed past her in a shrieking whine.
    There was no time to scream, almost no time to realizewhat really happened. Anna hit the ground hard, all the breath forced out of her body, and her head collided with the gravel
     path. Stars spun before her eyes, followed by a hazy gray fog.
    Distantly, she felt pain in her shoulder and a dull ache in her hip. Vaguely she could hear shouts and screams, but they were
     muffled and so far away. She closed her eyes against those reeling stars, and she was back
there
again. Lying helpless in a field as bullets ricocheted overhead and exploded in a deafening roar. The sun was blazing hot,
     and the coppery smell of blood was thick and sickening in her throat.
    Someone touched her arm, and for a moment it was that crazed soldier, forcing her legs apart as he heaved his sweating, stinking
     body over hers. She screamed and tried to fight, but the pain sharpened, flooding over her with a paralyzing force. Still
     she pushed at him, sobbing.
    “Anna!” a voice called, full of urgent fear and a thick Irish accent. No redcoat then. “Anna, for fuck’s sake, quit fighting
     me. Y’have to lie still,
cailleach,
I beg you.”
    Anna made herself open her eyes, gasping for air. The sky still swayed, tilting to and fro as if she had drunk far too much
     wine, but she forced herself to focus on the face above her. It was
not
that soldier intent on rape, but a dark, lean man who looked completely uncivilized with black, rumpled hair and wild green
     eyes. He didn’t belong here at all, but on some ancient Celtic battlefield.
    “Adair?” she whispered.
    “You recognize me?”
    “Of course. I could never mistake you for anyone else. But you should not be