Page 78 of The Forsaken

“What the hell do you want, Culross? You got me tied up with Abington. As if I don’t have a thousand other things to see to than your damned uncle-in-law.” Kerr squeezed his fist so hard, he broke his cigarillo. “Sod it all!” He dropped the barely smoked scrap and smashed it several times under his boot.

Greyhold made the mistake of offering advice. “I believe with your pent-up frustration, a visit to your mistresses at the Den is in order.”

“I’ve already told you,” Kerr snarled. “They are not my mistresses.”

Culross had a strange look to him.

“What?” Kerr snapped.

Click.

All three men whipped around toward the door.

A McQuoid, prettily dressed in green silk, and definitely not the woman he wanted it to be.

“My apologies,” the Duchess of Hartwell said somberly. “August, my sister requires your presence.”

Culross was all seriousness. “Is she—?”

“She is well. Dinner will be served shortly, and Meghan asked that I fetch you.”

The earl pressed a hand on either brother’s back. “If you two miserable bounders will excuse me, love beckons.”

When Culross reached the duchess, Greyhold whispered, “There is no glass.”

Kerr stared at the pair ahead. It took him a moment to notice his brother. “What?”

Kerr looked at his brother’s serious face.

“You said you wanted another drink. There is not even a glass here.” Leave it to his sharp brother to catch that detail.

“I…” Greyhold looked back.

Kerr frowned and followed his stare.

An ashen Duchess of Hartwell and Culross spoke for another moment, then hurried away with urgent steps.

He watched them go.

The same senses he’d used to stop a mutiny before it started now stirred to life.

“What in hell was that about?” Greyhold mused.

“With the McQuoid and Smith families, it can be anything, but never nothing.”

Greyhold thumped him between the shoulder blades. “Dinner is when we make our escape.”

“…I look forward to our dancing the dinner set…” Kilmartin had purred.

Jealousy snaked through him. “No.” Kerr would cut Kilmartin’s arms off before he let the bastard put his hands on her for the dinner set, or any other damned occasion.

Greyhold sighed. “I’d feared you’d say that. We had a good run of it as rogues together.”

A cold smile touched Kerr’s lips. What kind of privateer would he be if he didn’t claim what he wanted?

Andromena.

Kerr headed for the Duke and Duchess of Aragon’s head table to find her and tell her…