Page 20 of The Forsaken

“But you did say it,” she delighted in pointing out.

That would be what she harped on.

A handsy stranger tried to finger her wool cloak.

Cursing, Kerr pulled her nearer. Weapons in either hand, he grabbed both sides of her hood and yanked the feather-trimmed fabric higher up.

“J’ai changé d’avis.” I changed my mind. “Une fois que je t’aurai mis en sécurité, loin d’ici, et ramené auprès de ta famille, tu finiras illico sur mes genoux.” Once I have you safely away from here and delivered to your family, you’re going straight over my knee.

“He said, “What I get is out of the fire

so please strike home and redouble the blow…”

The colossal tavern keeper lunged with a metal shovel, moving with unlikely speed and agility.

Before the other man’s boots hit the counter, Kerr’s arm was already banded around Andromena’s narrow waist. He drew her tighter to his side.

Even in her defiance, the impudent minx possessed enough survival instinct to curl against him like a kitten.

The proprietor struck the ceiling with several solid thwacks. Large flakes of white plaster dropped like snow into the drinks. Patrons with red-rimmed eyes swallowed from their tankards without missing a beat. “We got a lady ’ere!”

His blithe Riding Hood stepped away from Kerr’s protection and into the belly of the wolf. “Oh, you needn’t have them halt on my account, sir.”

The oil-slicked haired proprietor looped his dirt-encrusted fingers under his checker-patterned vest and rocked onto the balls of his feet. “’ere that, the lady called me a ‘sir’.”

Ribald laughter ensued.

By this point, the patrons who had been gambling, whoring, and dealing in whatever illicit business upstairs had found their way to the show Andromena was putting on.

With the hand still holding his dagger, Kerr reeled her back in.

“Not another word, hellion,” he said into her ear. He sized up their suddenly sober-looking audience. “Your ‘sir’ just let the entire bloody tavern know there’s a lady in their midst.”

At best, he could take down a dozen before they got to her. Silently cursing her and the trouble she invariably found, he backed them away—or tried to.

The chit dug in tenacious heels and whispered, loud enough to be heard in Mayfair. “Since when did you become a snob?”

Her question was met with a fresh round of derisive laughter.

Heat snaked up his neck as all over again he became Mad Jack’s bullied son. Oh, yes, he’d like to put a birch rod to her plump buttocks. Then he recalled the surprisingly soft, lush feel of her arse in his hands months earlier. That bloody hungering for her enraged him all the more.

“Gentlemen, you may carry on with your lovely song.”

A fresh round of laughter pealed.

“I recognize it from somewhere.”

And Kerr fought his first real amusement since he’d found Andromena McQuoid traipsing through the Rookeries. “Yes, it is a very lovely song,” he murmured. “You might recall it from Sunday sermons.”

“Please, feel free to resume your earlier song.”

“I’m sure that’s not it.”

Andromena lifted her hands—to toss her hood off? He made to stop her, but she only cupped her hands around her shielded mouth. “Please, do not pay my friend any heed.”

“Ain’t paying him any ’eed!” someone slurred from the rafters.

Why would they look at his ugly mug when they had a real lady of the ton in their midst? They might as well have an angel in the Devil’s midst.