Page 58 of The Heart of an Earl

He had kept his feet moving, walking in the direction of the village Jules had said was only a few miles away.

She had chosen her father. Chosen to go back to the blasted coward.

Des had never told Jules what he thought of her father. Never spoke of her father’s cowardice on thePrimrosewhen it was attacked by pirates. Des knew it was something she never wanted to hear. But if she could admit it to herself, she would have recognized his actions the same as Des did.

The coward’s way. Refusing to protect his own daughter.

Which was probably why the man was murderous.

Evidence of his own cowardice, back in the living, back to confront his failings. Of course the man would want to kill that. He couldn’t kill his daughter, but he could kill Des.

Des kept his feet moving, refusing to look back over his shoulder at the men on horseback he could hear quickly approaching.

They got to him before he reached the town.

He heard the shot before the pain hit him. The crack of a rifle echoing over the frozen landscape, bouncing off the cold trees.

Into his shoulder, an explosion that swallowed his torso whole. Sent him flailing, stumbling forward.

They shot him in the bloody back.

The bastards shot him in the back.

Cowards. Just like their master.

Des hit the ground, his head heavy into the snow. The slushy muck caked his face, frozen chunks slipping into his mouth as he gasped a breath, blood splattering from his lips onto the white crystals.

Boots by his head, in front of his eyes.

A numbness fell over his body, taking the need for breath. The need for thought.

“We drag him to the river.” Words from above. High, high above.

One last gasp.

Blackness.

{ Chapter 17 }

“Where is Mama?”

Jules sat at the table in the enormous dining room of Gatlong Hall. The same as she’d remembered it. Tapestries lining one wall, the row of windows behind her encased in gold-gilded trim. Four heavy crystal chandeliers lining the center length of the room. The nooks under the sideboard where she would hide from her mother, giggling, in games of chase.

Yet only two place settings on the long oak table capable of seating thirty-four.

Her at one. Her father at the other.

She’d gone through the motions of bathing, changing into clothing that had still been in her room from her past life here at Gatlong Hall, and letting the maid that she didn’t know plait and style her hair. She’d done it all, waiting.

Waiting for her father to calm. For her mother to intercede.

When she’d been called from her room to dine, she’d assumed her mother had worked her magic and had nullified the beast that her father had become.

But now this.

Two place settings.

A deep, dark rock swallowing her stomach, her palms went flat on her belly, pressing inward as she looked to her father. “Father. Where is Mama?”

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