Page 93 of The Heart of an Earl

Des picked up the box and stepped around Lord Gatlong, pulling Jules in front of him—his body between her and the pistol aimed at his back.

Silent, nothing but the crackling of dried grasses in the wind and the crinkling of fallen leaves underfoot as their boots crunched across the land.

Jules walked to the side door of Gatlong Hall, pushing it open, and Des followed her, stepping into a dark hallway.

“To my study, child,” Gatlong said from behind them. “Get in there. There aren’t any rugs in there.”

A slight gasp jarred Jules to a stop in front of Des, but then she took another step forward and turned to her right, opening the door to the study.

Lit by four sconces and a lamp on the desk, the space sat in a jumble. Rare artifacts rested on bookcases and display cases around the room—ancient Egyptian pottery, a Greek long spear, a delicate atlatl, carved tusks, a Roman gladius, Japanesesamurai armor complete with a gilt copper helmet and a gleaming katana, three medieval longbows, shreds of a red-stained white cloth draped over a cross, glittering stones of all shapes and sizes, and several iron strongboxes from three centuries past.

Papers were strewn everywhere. Books open, discarded on every surface.

A room of madness if Des were to guess.

Passing by the samurai armor, Jules stepped to the left, positioning herself by a long row of bookcases filled with weapons and random nuggets of history.

Lord Gatlong’s own personal museum.

Jules had mentioned her father collected the rarest artifacts, but this went beyond anything Des had imagined.

The Box of Draupnir was never anything more to him. Just another artifact to collect. The need to possess the unattainable a curse in its own right.

Des split away from Jules, going to the wide dark oak desk that centered the room. He held the Box of Draupnir, and the box was the only thing Lord Gatlong cared about at the moment. Splitting with her was strategic. If Gatlong dared to turn his attention to Jules, Des could attack him from the side. Easy to do if the man would just glance away from him, but Gatlong knew who to train his pistol on.

Jules’s father closed the door behind him and walked to the middle of the room, eyeing Des. What in the bloody hell did he think to do to them? Take the box and then kill them? Des wouldn’t put it past the bastard.

Des lifted his free hand, his palm open and attempting to placate. “Whatever you’re thinking to do to me, to do to us, Lord Gatlong, she’s your daughter. Julianna is your daughter. Your only child. You need to let her leave this room. Leave this place.”

Gatlong’s eyes went into a squint at Des. “My daughter is dead.”

Des met his stare straight on, refusing to glance at Jules. He didn’t want to see her face. See how her father’s voice struck, slicing deep with every word. “Yes, you told me that once and I was fool enough to believe it. But she is very much alive.”

Gatlong’s right hand shook, his face splotching red as he waved the pistol at Des. “She is dead.”

For all he didn’t want to bait Gatlong’s trigger finger, Des couldn’t stand by as the man declared Jules dead. Not when his daughter was breathing four feet away. Fury spiked his voice. “She’s standing directly behind you, Lord Gatlong. Real. Alive.”

“Dead. Dead and I’ll kill you if you say another word.” He took a step forward to Des. “Now lay your sword on the desk, you sod.”

His top lip pulling into a tight snarl, Des yanked free his cutlass and set it on the desk.

“Now open that box,” Gatlong said.

“What you want, you’ll never find in this box, Lord Gatlong.”

“You think you know what I want? You don’t have a clue, boy.” Gatlong stomped two more steps toward Des, his words screaming, filling the room, the pistol waving dangerously close to Des’s face. “I will have everything—everything with that box. You don’t know what it is—what you have in your hands. I’ll own the world with this ring. Now open the damn lid.”

Des looked down at the metal container that held the Box of Draupnir and flicked free the dirt that had crusted onto the edge. He flipped the latch and tugged the lid open, metal scraping against metal.

Before the lid had fully opened, Lord Gatlong sprung forward, his greedy left hand snatching the linen-wrapped box from the interior. He jumped back, his fingers shaking away the cloth from the wrapping.

The Box of Draupnir.

In the air.

In the light once more.

A manic giggle shook Gatlong’s chest as he lifted the box, his eyes glowing with madness. With the pistol still trained on Des, he swung the top of the box open with the fleshy butt of his right palm.

---