Page 37 of The Heart of an Earl

His right eyebrow cocked. “What does a box have to do with curses?”

She looked down, sending the cloth long across the bottom cut. “Everything. And I’ll not add to your burden.”

Des spun around on the chair, his gaze hard on her. “You need to tell me, Jules.”

Turning from him, she stepped to the basin and rinsed the cloth, watching specs of blood float from the fabric to swirl in the water, dissolving. “Whoever has the box is not only cursed, they are obsessed. My father was obsessed. Redthorn was obsessed. Men have died over the box—my father killed a man—Mr. Draper—shot him dead—in front of me to get it. He made us travel with him across the world for it, and then didn’t stop until he had it in his hands.”

“Men have died?”

“Yes, it is that important.” She squeezed the excess water from the cloth and turned around to Des. “When Redthorn boarded thePrimrose, my father made me hide the box in my skirts—because my skirts had deep pockets—my mother’s didn’t.” Her look lifted to the window, her gaze on the sea for a long breath. “It’s not that big, and it was that silly a difference—pockets—that I had the box and she didn’t when they came aboard.”

“So it was with you when Redthorn dragged you off thePrimrose?”

“Yes, and Redthorn found it almost immediately once he had me in his quarters.”

Des’s eyebrows drew together. “What, exactly, is the box?”

“They call it the Box of Draupnir—or at least that’s what my father called it. Him and Mr. Draper and the men that had been tracking its whereabouts.”

She looked down at the cloth twisted in her fingers, debating on how much to tell him. Even though she knew she owed him this—the truth. “But it’s more than a box—it’s what is embedded in the wood that weaves throughout the inside of the box. It’s a ring—ingrained somehow like branches grew around it, through it, and someone whittled down the outside of this tree into a box, so it could capture the ring within the wood forever. The ring is gold, nine strands of golden cords wove together, and they curl about the most magnificent ruby, large—too large to wear on a finger. And the ruby is dark red, so dark one has to flick the stone under the sun to watch it come alive. And it does come alive. It moves. Something inside of it that wants to escape. But it is married to the box. Bridled by the wood. It is believed that the box turns whatever riches one has into nine times the riches every third lunar cycle. It’s why my father was determined to find it—to possess it. He collects lots of things—rare artifacts—but this one—this one was special. It was the one thing he coveted but could not have.”

Her legs started to quiver and she sat down on the bed.

The box did that to her. Anytime she thought too long on it. Anytime Redthorn had talked to her at length about it. He had spent so much time staring at the blasted thing, mesmerized, jumbled words drifting from his mouth.

“It’s why I didn’t tell you about it. Everyone that has possessed that box—the ring—has become obsessed. Everyone. My father. The men he was on the expedition with. Redthorn. Obsessed and then cursed.”

“But not you?”

“No—not obsessed. But cursed, aye. That I have not been spared from.” Her look centered on him. “You don’t believe me.”

“If anyone believes in curses, it is me, Jules. You say you’re not obsessed, but yet you grabbed it.” His hand lifted, running along the back of his neck. “That was the one thing you took from theRed Dragon.”

“I respect it. That is why I grabbed it.” Her fingers weaved along the cloth on her lap. “I am already cursed and the box would have been found after theRed Dragonsurrendered—I was not going to take the chance of your captain finding it.”

“Why not?”

“He would take it for his own.”

“The box is, by all rights, Captain Folback’s—part of the booty from taking down theRed Dragon.”

“I understand that.” Her head shook. “But I’ll not chance the possibility that the curse takes your captain—and theFirehawk—down with him. Not before I get home. Not before I step back onto English soil. Until then, I’ll hold the curse.”

“Or you can let me hold it.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “I’m the one that is cursed and I’ll not let that same fate befall you.”

“You truly believe that?”

“I’ve lived it.”

“So why not throw the box overboard?”

Leaning to her right, she hung the washcloth on the rim of the basin. With a sigh, her look dipped to her fingers as she played with the bottom hem of her shirt. “I’ve thought about it—again and again.” Jules shrugged. “But wherever it belongs, it is not at the bottom of the sea. I believe the curse that is mine will be lifted when I can pass it on to its new keeper. That is what I’m holding onto—hoping for.”

Des’s mouth clamped closed for a long moment as though he was holding back words. His head angled to the side as he searched her face. “You truly believe that as well?”

“I do. Embarrassingly so—I know all of this sounds like a tale of witchcraft of old. Fantastical and not real. But I’ve witnessed the box’s power over men.” She paused, her right cheek lifting. “Plus, the practicality of keeping it did not escape me. I didn’t know if I would need leverage to get home—I still don’t know that. The Box of Draupnir is my leverage should I need it. The box—the ring—is invaluable and I can trade it for my own survival if necessary.”

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