Chapter 12 #2
Their bodies moved with smooth elegance and grace as she and Kilmartin stretched their arms to the enormous crystal chandelier ablaze with a thousand candles and casting a glow upon them.
How effortlessly they moved together. The sight of Andromena and Kilmartin, visual perfection: she, flawless, female beauty, and he good-looking, as Kerr used to be—not that Kerr cared either way about his altered appearance—commanded the room’s attention.
The chit didn’t look ready to cry or curse as she did whenever in Kerr’s company.
Just the opposite.
She was all smiles and deep dimples; dimples which Kerr hadn’t spied since a Yuletide event years earlier. It had been so long, in fact, he’d forgotten she bloody possessed them.
“One mustn’t forget the hopping,” said Culross.
Following their effortless movements, Kerr’s frown deepened. “I’m far less worried about the hopping than—”
He caught their amused looks, his body burning with hot anger. They thought the young lady’s reputation was a laughing matter. No wonder Andromena felt free to gallivant through London, unchaperoned.
He ground his molars together with a force that threatened to crack the bone. How fitting that would be—Kerr becoming even more monstrous against the pair’s beauty.
In the next turn, Kilmartin brushed his fingertips along the small of Andromena’s back.
“That!”
By God, surely Lord and Lady Culross next to him saw that stolen caress. Hands joined, they held expressions entirely too placid for that stolen caress.
Except, it appeared dulled wits were contagious as the previously perceptive Culross appeared similarly perplexed as his wife.
Kerr dropped his voice. “The way he is touching her.”
It finally penetrated: the way the husband and wife stared not at Andromena—as they should be doing—but at Kerr, like he was some bizarre creature from another planet.
“Are you all right, Kerr?”
“Am I all right?” he echoed his business partner’s query. Culross bravely chose to put that question to him? “She is with Kilmartin.”
Blank stares met his announcement.
“Uh…we’ve already established—”
“Do I have to be the one to remind you. He is Tremaine’s quartermaster and the Duke of Hartwell’s man-of-affairs.
” Their bloody enemies and rivals, whom, through Culross’s marriage to a McQuoid, linked them.
That did not erase years of enmity. It did not mean they ceased to be enemies, nor did it mean they trusted each other.
Understanding hit husband and wife at the same time, in the form of matching ‘ah’s’.
At bloody last.
“Kilmartin is loyal to the McQuoids,” Lady Culross said, sounding bizarrely regretful. Her inflection declared the matter done.
Kerr barely restrained the violent urge to flip chairs and smash champagne flutes.
He put his sights on the man who’d previously had flawless judgment when it came to rivals. “Culross?”
The earl looked between best friend and wife, like he was traversing quicksand, which, given the mercurial nature of women, Kerr appreciated the other man was, in fact.
Kilmartin drew Andromena in closer, lowered his mouth to her temple, and whispered some manner of wickedness in her ear.
Her cheeks already enchantingly flushed from dancing grew several shades brighter.
Andromena laughed; her happiness lifted above the whine of violins and cellos and humming of quiet whispers of hundreds of guests; the timbre, clear as bells.
Her mirth wasn’t the practiced tittering, but bold and unrestrained as the siren herself.
By God, what in thunderation was the chit thinking; not laying him flat on the mahogany floor?
This was really enough.
“Here.” Kerr shoved his glass into Culross’s spare hand. “If none of you have the sense to save the lady from herself, I’ll be the one to do so.”
Pushing past twirling dance partners, Kerr cut a quick path back to the ballroom. Whispers naturally followed him. He cared even less now than he ever had. His narrow-eyed gaze stayed centered on the blitheful pair.
So it happened that Kerr came to be standing in the path of the offending couple.
“I am cutting in,” Kerr said bluntly. He reserved his death stare for Kilmartin.
Kilmartin looked incredibly bored by both the interruption and Kerr’s presence.
Kerr tightened his jaw. Worse, the bloody bastard turned to Andromena as if to say; ‘how should we dispense of this nuisance?’
“You cannot…just cut in,” Andromena said while couples swirled and twirled all around them.
Kerr froze in the center of the ballroom, his voice still echoing with a demand for London’s newest Diamond.
The crowd’s quiet hum locked into focus, spelling out the public rejection waiting the second Andromena chose the other man.
She looked from Kerr to Kilmartin. Cold sweat broke across Kerr’s palms, slicking his skin.
He had not felt this helpless sting since Eton, and the present vanished into that old, familiar hell.
“Lord Kilmartin, please excuse me. I need to finish our dance with Lord Kerr.”—A cold heavy weight lifted from his chest. “The viscount feels very badly for the intrusion.” She gave Kerr a sharp, hard look. “Isn’t that, right?”
Kerr didn’t blink. “No.” He stepped in close. “Get the hell out, Kilmartin.”
The amused captain bowed over Andromena’s hand and said, “I look forward to our dancing the dinner set.”
The notorious Corinthian had not only reserved a second set; he’d chosen the one that paired him with the lady for dinner.
“I am very much looking forward to it,” she said, favoring the other privateer with a dazzling smile.
Kerr’s nostrils flared.
The moment Kilmartin retreated, and Kerr had her in his arms for the same ridiculous turns, her frown naturally returned.
“Edgar,” she whispered furiously. “What are you doing? You’ve caused a stir.”
“I have?” he grated out from between his teeth. “And not you by letting that blackguard put his hands all over you.”
Fierce light flashed in her eyes. “Letting him…?” She dug her heels in, bringing them to an awkward stumble. “It is a blasted dance. It requires touching and holding and—”
Growling, he hauled her back into motion. Kilmartin hadn’t hauled—he hadn’t needed to. She’d gone willingly, her dimpled, smiling face burning behind his eyelids. Happily, he thought, with a boyish surge of rage. She’d spun and undulated in Kilmartin’s arms with that same bright, infuriating joy.
“We were dancing a proper set, until your unrefined arrival.”