Page 44 of The Forsaken

And Kerr knew precisely the reason for the long stares, whispers, and more than mild amusement from his trio of friends, which only called for the memory of how close Andromena came to having her body broken, and drawing her last breath. A fresh burst of blood rushed into his ears.

Lord Archdale’s voice came muffled. “You saved Miss Smith not once, but twice.”

Three times. He clenched his teeth. “I’m aware.”

Greyhold, as any good brother, sensed his need for a refill.

As for Culross’s sibling, the young man continued down a dangerous path. “Surely you didn’t expect word of your heroism didn’t find its way to White’s?”

Kerr caught the look Culross and Greyhold shared.

The earl gave his head a slight shake. “Arch.”

Culross’s warning went unheeded.

Archdale burst out laughing and drew stares from the members. “Oh, my God, you actually did!”

“I’m seriously regretting my decision,” Kerr muttered, but that wasn’t true. The only thing that made him truly uncomfortable was the sight of Andromena’s tears, and her slumped shoulders as she forlornly walked off. He frowned. What if she had been hurt? He had taken the force of the fall, but she had hit twice and landed right on top of him, and he certainly hadn’t offered any actual cushion to—

Greyhold gaveled the table to order. “Details.”

Cutting through the noise in his own head, he measured his silent audience with a cold, steady look.

Details? They wanted bloody details. “The youngest Miss Smith stopped in the middle of New Bond Street—”

“That news already made the rounds.” Kerr’s impatient brother made an impatient sweep with his hand.

“—for no bloody good reason. The chit nearly got herself run down by a carriage. And not even five or so minutes later, she was almost trampled by a mount,” he raged. “Your sister-in-law is a bird-wit, Culross.”

“She’s a McQuoid,” Greyhold reminded.

That Culross didn’t disagree with that assessment of his in-laws revealed much.

Kerr’s blood hammered a fresh beat of fury against his temples. “How casual you are about the lady’s life,” he bit out, his voice a low, gravel-scrape in the well-lit room. “First last night. Now this. By all that’s holy, she walks about like an open prize for every rogue,” And worse. “Who cares nothing for her sharp tongue.” He snatched up his snifter, threw back the raw amber liquor, and let the burn scour the rage down his throat.

It didn’t help. “What are you thinking?” he whispered furiously. “I’ll tell you; you aren’t. By God, she’s trouble for any man who can handle her sharp tongue. She’s going to get herself killed, and it will be entirely your fault.”

A trio of slack-jaws and peculiar stares met him.

“What?” Kerr snapped.

Culross answered for the group. “It don’t recall ever seeing you in such a state.”

“Yes, well, that’s because I never had to deal with Andromena Smith.”

He grabbed his glass, remembered too late it was empty, and put it down hard. The stem cracked and the round bowl of his glass splintered like ice.

A servant rushed over.

Kerr’s glacial glare sent the footman racing for the shadows.

The younger brothers fell into a private conversation. They knew better than to say a bloody word.

Culross tightened his jaw, his voice hard and flat. “I had no right to mock what almost took Andromena from us.”

“Damned right you didn’t.”

“I’m grateful for all you’ve done to help my sister-in-law,” Culross said.