Page 64 of The Forsaken

Which only created problems of another sort because whenever she snapped and hissed like a hellcat, Kerr got harder than a lad with his first doxy.

But that was preferable to her blasted tears. Or, he thought, anyway.

With Andromena Smith, it was always a breathless gamble: she would twist his meaning into an insult one second, then bat her eyes at accidental praise the next. And he couldn’t even get close enough to figure out why. All week he had tracked her—the fierce snap of her gaze, the defensive gather of her skirts, her silent retreat. If she were any other woman, he might have believed it was all a coy act. There was, however, not a single coy thing about Andromena. She told a fellow exactly what she was thinking and precisely where he could go. She was also the one woman who didn’t fall willingly into his arms, but had to be dragged into them.

Which was fine. More than fine, it was a bloody relief. The less time he spent with the chit, the longer he kept his sanity intact—and the safer they both were from his reckless touch.

Except…

He was going mad.

The image of the chit took root in both his waking and sleeping thoughts.

In the dark of his mind, he imagined her on his lap, finishing what they had started in the Rookeries; her gowns were pushed up, his trousers undone, and she rode him hard.

Not all his dreams began with her riding him. Far worse, it started with him schooling the vexing virgin and relishing every moment before he took her. He had claimed her every which way: pressed into a feathered mattress, hard against a stone wall, submerged in a porcelain tub, and upon his frigate as the waves rocked beneath them. Even now, at the Duke and Duchess of Bainbridge’s staid ball, Kerr’s blood heated and a familiar hunger ignited just recalling those debauched dreams.

Fortunately, lusting after a virgin in the middle of a ball was enough to kill an inconvenient erection.

That same virgin who captured their volatile embrace and gave it life in her book… his body tightening as he imagined her hands reliving it all while she wrote.

Kerr drew in a ragged breath.

Christ.

He finished his drink.

A uniformed servant was instantly there to take and replace.

Kerr returned to watching Andromena, or rather, the swarm of young bucks that stood like an erected wall between them.

The crowd parted as a tall, charming scoundrel pushed through. Kerr narrowed his eyes. Not a suitor, a fop, or a dandy. A fellow privateer.

A rival privateer.

And yet again, no protective mother, aunt, or sister stood guard. He ground his back teeth in frustration. What in hell was wrong with the lady’s foolish family?

Conveniently, a family member turned up as a place to direct his rage.

“Leave it to you to find the one place to hide at a private ball, Kerr.”

His free hand curled into an iron fist. “What in hell do you think you are doing?” he demanded. Kerr turned his focus on another deserving outlet for his outrage. “With all the harm the lady has nearly gotten herself into, not one of you thinks to stay at her damned side?”

“How very good it is to see you, too, Lord Kerr.” Andromena’s sister, Meghan smiled like he’d delivered a witty quip and not as if he’d berated—as she deserved.

“Kilmartin,” he snapped. “Blasted Kilmartin?”

At her husband’s side, Lady Culross went wide-eyed.

Kerr finished his drink. A uniformed servant was instantly there to take and replace it.

The dotty couple exchanged confused glances. Kerr jammed a finger forward, and the pair wisely followed the absurd, bunny-like hop Andromena and the scoundrel made toward each other.

The countess spoke for herself and her husband, dragging out her syllables: “What… of him?”

His neck went hot. She was reading far too much into his reply. Nothing else could explain this sudden, inconvenient surge of protectiveness for the young miss—it was nothing more than worry, pure and simple. He had once been a fragile creature himself, leaving him with a quiet, dangerous softness for such vulnerable souls. Unlike Kerr at Eton, who had Culross to protect him, the reckless, naïve young lady lacked anyone with the sense to guide her. The lady’s recent foibles were a testament to that.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he ground out. “You’re wrong.”