Page 65 of The Forsaken

“We didn’t say anything,” Culross spoke with an infuriating equanimity. “You appear to be doing fine enough carrying this entire conversation entirely on your—”

“How in God’s name will you let Kilmartin, of all gentlemen, near your reckless sister-in-law?”

At last, Culross’s expression settled into a proper gravity. “You are right,” he spoke quietly. “We both forget how scandalous the Allemande is.”

“Too bloody right it is. All the bloody hand-holding and—”

“Wicked turning,” the countess correctly added.

“Precisely!” Kerr searched for Andromena and Captain Kilmartin. He easily found them.

Her. Even with the blackguard standing half a foot taller, Kerr found her.

Draped in foamy pink organza and silk, its luminescent sleeves slipped below her shoulders, every inch embroidered with crystals. With every graceful movement, she glittered like a water nymph emerging from the sea.

Kerr pressed his lips to a thin, hard line.

That stunning gown, which dipped too deep at the bodice and revealed the creamy expanse of skin, ought to be outlawed.

Andromena’s fingers entwined, the roguish sailor’s right hand linked with her left, and vice versa in one of those aptly called ‘wicked turns’.

Their bodies moved with smooth elegance and grace as she and Kilmartin stretched their arms to the enormous crystal chandelier ablaze with a thousand candles and casting a glow upon them. How effortlessly they moved together. The sight of Andromena and Kilmartin, visual perfection: she, flawless, female beauty, and he good-looking, as Kerr used to be—not that Kerr cared either way about his altered appearance—commanded the room’s attention.

The chit didn’t look ready to cry or curse as she did whenever in Kerr’s company.

Just the opposite.

She was all smiles and deep dimples; dimples which Kerr hadn’t spied since a Yuletide event years earlier. It had been so long, in fact, he’d forgotten she bloody possessed them.

“One mustn’t forget the hopping,” said Culross.

Following their effortless movements, Kerr’s frown deepened. “I’m far less worried about the hopping than—”

He caught their amused looks, his body burning with hot anger. They thought the young lady’s reputation was a laughing matter. No wonder Andromena felt free to gallivant through London, unchaperoned.

He ground his molars together with a force that threatened to crack the bone. How fitting that would be—Kerr becoming even more monstrous against the pair’s beauty.

In the next turn, Kilmartin brushed his fingertips along the small of Andromena’s back.

“That!”

By God, surely Lord and Lady Culross next to him saw that stolen caress. Hands joined, they held expressions entirely too placid for that stolen caress.

Except, it appeared dulled wits were contagious as the previously perceptive Culross appeared similarly perplexed as his wife.

Kerr dropped his voice. “The way he is touching her.”

It finally penetrated: the way the husband and wife stared not at Andromena—as they should be doing—but at Kerr, like he was some bizarre creature from another planet.

“Are you all right, Kerr?”

“Am I all right?” he echoed his business partner’s query. Culross bravely chose to put that question to him? “She is with Kilmartin.”

Blank stares met his announcement.

“Uh…we’ve already established—”

“Do I have to be the one to remind you. He is Tremaine’s quartermaster and the Duke of Hartwell’s man-of-affairs.” Their bloody enemies and rivals, whom, through Culross’s marriage to a McQuoid, linked them. That did not erase years of enmity. It did not mean they ceased to be enemies, nor did it mean they trusted each other.