Chapter 2
Even before Andromena was presented before King George IV at Court, gossip pages remarked upon her impending debut.
They coined her ‘one of those Scandalous McQuoid ladies.’ That purposefully placed emphasis made Scandalous seem as casual as conversations about the weather, and the real sin being the family Andromena harkened from.
That hadn’t stopped King George IV from declaring Andromena an Incomparable and a Diamond of the Season—an honor she shared with her since-married cousin, Lady Fleur nee McQuoid, now the Duchess of Hartwell.
Nor did Andromena take offense at the whisperings and outright talk that followed her still, even with the king’s approval granted, and even without having made any gaffes—that was public ones, anyway. Andromena and her kin did invite scandal and stories.
Many said it was a product of their Scottish origins.
Her uncle, after all, was the Scottish earl, Lord Abington.
Not even marrying a Diamond from one of the Town’s most prestigious families had improved the antiquarian known for a collection of hobnobs and goo-dads.
Andromena’s mother, the earl’s sister, hadn’t helped matters when she rebuffed a lofty match to a marquess for a mere Mister, a merchant at that, with a love for the sea.
As for Andromena, she wasn’t intentionally mischievous. Being the youngest of three sisters and brothers and six cousins, how could it not? Rather, it came as naturally to her as a needle and thread.
Nor had her siblings and cousins made it easy for her. Cousin Cassia ran off for a life at sea. It so happened she did not make it aboard one of their family’s ships, but aboard that of a frosty privateer who made her his Marchioness of Winfield.
Cousin Myrtle stayed behind one Christmas in the earl and countess’s empty residence and fell for a murderous neighbor next door. Fortunately, he hadn’t turned out to be a murderer—just a brooding duke.
And that didn’t even touch the tip of Andromena’s siblings.
Her brother Brone eloped with society’s Diamond that year, Lady Cora.
Cousin Dallin, Viscount Crichton, and Lady Alexandra’s sister followed in pursuit together.
Her eldest sister, Linnie, had encouraged the Earl of Culross’s suit but fell for Culross’s enemy, Captain Jeremy Tremaine.
After a hasty wedding came another accidental McQuoid sailing.
Linnie boarded Cousin Arran’s ship and found none other than Lord Culross.
They’d been set upon by pirates, and Linnie was emotionally altered following that voyage.
Her eldest sister Meghan’s wedding to Lord Jeremy’s brother, the Duke of Hartwell, ended before it began, following Meghan’s abduction by Lord Culross.
Their younger cousin had gone and fallen in love with Meghan’s former betrothed and was only just recently the Duchess of Hartwell, with the heir to the dukedom due in less than two or three months.
The McQuoids and Smiths hadn’t even sorted out how to explain that scandal in the wings.
Andromena went cross-eyed just trying to keep all the scandals straight in her own mind.
Her future was already preordained by the world. Why bother trying to prove them wrong?
Andromena resented that her male relatives were free to attend Lord and Lady Rutland’s infamous masquerade.
The final straw had been when the McQuoid and Smith men brought along a then-unmarried Linnie and all the other McQuoid lasses were left behind. Why shouldn’t Andromena, Meghan, and Fleur be afforded the same fun?
Just as she would later go on to guide her sister and cousin off that roadside during the drive to Meghan’s wedding, so too had she convinced the last unwed McQuoid lasses to don disguises and attend Lord Rutland’s masquerade.
From that moment, Andromena decided that if society was going to find some stain upon her, she might as well have her adventures and live free from fear of judgment. And so, for one magical night, she and her cousins played at Cinderella.
As it turned out, her logic had too many flaws to count—mistakes she only recognized in hindsight. Where Meghan and Fleur’s stories concluded with happily-ever-after’s, Andromena was left trapped in Cinderella’s midnight reality, stranded in nothing but tattered rags and bare feet.
Not at midnight. Instead, months later, delivered in the form of a note.
You shameless creature. I am well aware of your indiscretions at Rutland’s masquerade.
Your fellow fallen kin at least possess the wit to secure their fates before their ruin is exposed.
The same cannot be said of you. You were most careless that night.
Unless you wish your noble family and the entirety of the ton to be informed of your wretched depravity, you will be present at Rat’s Castle.
You will find a young woman waiting for you. Wait for further information.
Her female kin got joyous, loving marriages with men who kissed the bare cobblestones they walked upon. And Andromena?
Andromena got herself lured to the Rookeries and pinned to a wall by a monster.
Tears gathered.
Andromena’s body sagged.
She had made so many blasted mistakes.
“Swallow your spleen, have you, wench?”
His mockery burned away her misery. Here was yet another man who played with her fate and future. A fresh swell of indignation raged inside. She’d be damned if she let him break her.
Andromena lifted her chin and, by sheer will alone, resumed her negotiations. “I’m wearing my finest earbobs. If you release me, as much as it pains me, I will give them to you.”
“It pains you to be released by me, or—?”
“It pains me to give you, my earbobs!” she shouted. “You nob.” Was he this obtuse?
“You’ll give them to me, as you did your money?” The rough timbre of his voice contained amusement. “And here, I thought I availed myself—”
She stomped his foot and imagined it was his face. “As I said, they are very valuable and—”
“Your pair of earls must not care for you at all, if they have you in paste gems?”
“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.
He didn’t need to. A collapsed figure some four paces ahead lay in the middle of the thoroughfare. Hmph.
“Very well. I thank you for serving as my bodyguard, but expect no further gratitude from me. Now, if you will release me, I have affairs to attend.”
“Have I interrupted another masquerade?” The clouds moved and cast the moon’s light over the white flash of his sarcastic smile.
He glanced about. “Or given your unconventional choice of locations, are you playing a round of hide and seek in St. Giles?”
Andromena slammed her booted foot with full speed and force into his shin. When he didn’t budge, she kicked him harder.
A hiss sailed past her lips.
Through a blurry sheen, she caught the cynical curl of his mouth.
“A real gentleman would at least be contrite, Kerr.”
“A real lady wouldn’t be looking for fun in the Rookeries and kicking a gentleman who’d saved her from being raped and worse.”
“Worse!” Ignoring her smarting toes, she battered her boot against him over and over. “There is no one worse than you, Edgar Hollis, Viscount Cur.”
This time, he yawned. His boredom was worse—it was unforgivable.
Andromena let fly a litany of curses.
“Ye got a real shrew there.”
Startled mid-kick, the earth came out from under her. For all his iniquity, Kerr caught Andromena before she hit the brick wall and gently set her against it.