Page 97 of The Heart of an Earl

Des tugged her forefinger from his face, his hand clutching hers. “Not the hands that I had intended for it.”

Her legs going queasy, Jules sank to sit on the arm of the chair, her knees curling onto his thighs as her chest tightened. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “It had been going according to plan. Wes and Murray had been the fourth and fifth at the table, we were the last ones left in the gaming hell—and the man, the bloody bastard that deserved that blasted box was sitting across from me. The worst of the worst. Mr. Lopson. A whoremonger, he owns several whorehouses and rolls every man that dares to lose consciousness in his territory. Countless deaths of good men are on his hands. He was the perfect recipient of the box and the ruination it would cause. And everything—the pile of coin, the Box of Draupnir—sat on the table with the last hand of loo. Wes and Murray were out and Lopson was salivating, rabid.”

Des’s words stopped with a shake of his head. “He was set to beat me, but then the last gentleman at the table who was soused to his core—and I was positive wasn’t coherent enough to toss his hand onto the table—managed to lift his head, open his eyes and flip down his cards. A blasted flush of hearts and Pam. He looed the board. The poor bastard won it all.”

Her knuckles flew in front of her mouth. “No.”

“Yes.”

Her hand flattened, spreading across the front of her bare neck. “Who was it?”

“Lord Gruggin.”

“Gruggin? I’ve not heard of him.”

“He’s a man that has managed to gamble away almost the entirety of one of the finest estates in England. His father was a feared man in the halls of parliament. The son is a fool, but not a bad person.”

“So what happened? Lopson must have seen the box and known exactly what he’d just lost?”

“Yes. Hence the cut across my cheek.” Des’s fingers lifted from her hand and went to his cheek, tapping on the scab. “Wes and I had to see the gentleman home and, as predicted, Lord Gruggin was attacked by Lopson and his thugs. Five of them. Not one of those idiots thought to look twenty steps behind Lord Gruggin or they would have seen us.”

A frown tightened her mouth. “You are all well?”

Des nodded. “Wes and I were within striking distance, so the three of us all escaped unharmed.”

She shook her head. “But what about the future? Lopson will continue to seek the box—men always do once they’ve seen it.”

At his silence, she paused and stared at him, a half smile creeping across her mouth. “You’ve already worried this conundrum to death, haven’t you?”

“Aye. I have. Wes has agreed to move himself into the man’s life, protecting him until the box makes its home elsewhere.”

“Wes has?” Her head twitched to the side. “That is…benevolent of him.”

Des grabbed her hand once more, his fingers rubbing along her knuckles. “He has business with Lord Gruggin that goes beyond the box.”

“Business that you’re not going to tell me about?”

“Correct.”

She sighed, her forehead crinkling. Her husband knew far too well how to hold secrets. “But the most important thing, the box is not our worry any longer?”

“Heaven help us, no.” His gaze went intent on her. “But we’ll need to help Wes and Lord Gruggin should the need arise. It is only right.”

“Of course.”

“But for now—hopefully forever, the blasted thing is out of our lives. Curse and all.”

A tentative smile crossed her lips, the weight that had been festering in her chest since walking out of Gatlong Hall with the box in her hand broke apart, dissolving into nothing. “No longer in our possession. No longer our curse.”

He nodded. “That is the hope.”

A deep breath, and her smile solidified. “Good. I am exhausted by it and I have something else I would very much like to concentrate on.”

“Me?” For all the weariness in his shoulders, a carnal gleam lit red hot in Des’s eyes and his hand dropped to her thigh, curling along her hip bone to her backside.

“You, of course.” She chuckled. “And someone else.”

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