Page 81 of The Forsaken

The skin around the earl’s mouth looked carved from dry bone, turning the room suddenly airless.

“Where is the meeting?” He forced his tongue to form the words slowly.

“My boy Aragon’s, off—”

Kerr stood. Years of suffering through gatherings with the McQuoid and Smith families finally paid off.

Panic fueled his steps.

I did this…I ran her off…

She had given him all the ocean’s treasures combined, and he’d left her adrift.

His legs moved faster than his mind.

At his side, Greyhold waited to speak until they cleared the ballroom and reached the duke and duchess’s main living quarters. “What do you need?”

“Check the gardens first, and then the alcoves.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Kilmartin,” his brother said.

“Kilmartin isn’t a concern.” He clenched his jaw. “Get him to help us find her.”

Greyhold tore the other way.

Kerr had no pride left where Andromena was concerned. He would humble himself before the Tremaines, Ellsbys, and McQuoids if it meant she was safe. He was the one who had hurt her, the one who drove her away. Now, he would spend the rest of his days atoning for those sins.

Kerr reached Aragon’s office and assessed the scene outside: four bewigged footmen: one on either side of Aragon’s office and another pair adjacent.

He grabbed the cast-brass knob and turned. “I’m with Lady Culross.”

“My lord, you cannot—”

Kerr let himself in. He scoured the crowded office for the only person he gave a rat’s arse about, praying she was here and that she had been found.

His shoulders sloped. “She is not here?”

The Duke of Aragon stormed to his feet. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Your Grace, my apologies,” the tall footman sounded ready to cry. “He shoved past and—”

With a quiet gesture of the hand, the Duke and Duchess eased the young man’s worries and excused the servant.

The footman backed hastily out and drew the doors closed behind them like he feared his employers would rescind their magnanimity.

Such quiet and calm greeted Kerr that, for a moment, he thought he had worked himself into a panic for nothing based on Abington’s foolish words alone. He prayed he was making an utter arse of himself, rather than facing the alternative.

Lady Abington found her voice. “Lord Kerr, if you would, we are—?”

“No.”

The McQuoid matriarch shook her head in bemusement, with the detached grace of a noblewoman who had never heard the word ‘no’.

His pulse thudded against his ribs. “Where is she?”

His question was met with continued silence. The Duke and Duchess of Aragon sat at the head of the ducal satinwood partner’s desk, while more than a dozen McQuoids and Smiths and their respective spouses stared back at him. Hell, even Culross, at his wife’s side, narrowed his eyes on Kerr.

They could all hang.