Page 13 of The Forsaken

“That is quite rude.” She connected a second heeled boot with the top of his foot. “I am very much loved.”

“If that were so, you wouldn’t be traipsing around the Rookery.”

“I sneaked out,” she snapped. “I’m very good at sneaking.”

“The dozen or so men who nearly got you before I did say different.”

“I didn’t see any man, let alone a dozen of them.”

“That is my point, chit.”

Straining on tiptoe, she whipped her head left and right, trying to find a piece of exposed skin to sink her teeth into.

Laughter met her efforts.

Hissing and cursing, she redoubled her attempts.

“My God, have you gone rabid? Draw your fangs in, Andromena.”

Andromena?

Two things penetrated: that darkly sarcastic jeering and the smoke-roughened voice with the gall of speaking her given name.

She stilled. Her chest rose and fell like the billows of a ship as her heart galloped against her sternum.

Andromena noted previously ignored details.

Her captor did not smell like a monster. His scent—a mix of fine brandy, cheroot smoke, and bay rum—was that of a very familiar gentleman privateer. One who spoke in graveled, low tones but in perfect King’s English.

The words he used to taunt and humiliate, the powerful way in which he imprisoned her, and stroked her thigh through her skirts like he staked a claim with his improper touch, all marked him a monster. The gloved leather hand he’d moved over her with shocking familiarity was fashioned by the finest glove smith.

Through her favorite redingote, he sank his fingers into her thigh.

Only one dastard had dared such familiarity.

A curtain of red fell over her vision: not the muted shade of red ochre or the earthen lead-red, but a brilliant mercurial vermilion.

No. It was unfathomable. Inconceivable.

“I didn’t believe you capable of such silence, darling—”

It was him! Andromena shrieked.

“I spoke too soon.”

“You bastard!” she growled.

He sighed. “No ‘thank you’? Not that I should have expected any thanks from you, you ungrateful wench.”

Being the youngest amidst a brood of older cousins and siblings who went out of their way to drive her mad, she’d been called far worse. That didn’t make it any easier to not go for his neck like the rabid creature he’d accused her of being.

“You are no savior. You’re the bane of my days, Lord Kerr.”

“The bodies I left in your witless wake tell a different tale.”

Andromena gave a nonchalant toss of her curls. “I haven’t seen a single body to prove that there’s been any dastard, that is, other than you, to accost me.”

The vexing viscount took her fast by the shoulders, and guided her around. Dropping a long arm over her shoulder, he pointed north.