The Heart of an Earl (A Box of Draupnir Novel Book 1)

by K. J. Jackson

  Things he’d missed. Things he hadn’t thought about in years. A parasol. A reticule.

  All things any fashionable lady would not dare to go outside without and Jules hadn’t asked for any of them.

  He looked to her. “Would you wait out here—I forgot to mention something to the shop girl.”

  Her eyebrow lifted, but she nodded. “I will lean against the brick of the shop.” A grin crooked her lips. “You know I cannot get far on these legs.”

  With a wink, Des ducked back into the shop, requesting a matching parasol and reticule for Jules. The shop girl hustled about the store, bringing him back several choices of each.

  “All of these would work well with her dress, sir.”

  Des stared at the items on the counter—foreign, all of them to him. And he had no clue what Jules would like—what she wouldn’t. Parasols and reticules had not made it into their topics of conversation.

  He knew nothing of the person she was on land. What she would like or dislike in the surroundings of the real world. Not the world defined by the few feet of his cabin.

  Des waved his hand over the items. “Whatever you think would work for her best will do.”

  He’d find out eventually—what she liked, what she didn’t, how she moved through the world now that it was hers again. He’d find all of that out eventually, but first, he had to get her home.

  The shop girl chose a reticule and a dove grey parasol, and Des quickly settled the bill, clutching the items without having them wrapped, and he went back out to the street.

  No Jules.

  He looked down the lane to where their hired coach had been waiting for them.

  No carriage.

  He searched back and forth along the rows of buildings in both directions, his look stopping at every nook and cranny, hoping for a glimpse of her.

  Panic swelled into his throat.

  He hadn’t even left her for five blasted minutes. Where could she have disappeared to?

  Des started down the street, moving toward the docks, his head swiveling, searching.

  Ten buildings ahead of him, a black carriage turned sharply to the left and cut off a wagon, the back of the cart nearly tipping over as it veered to avoid crashing.

  The hired carriage. But it hadn’t been just the hackney driver atop the coachman’s box. The driver had another man sitting next to him. Rough clothes. Scraggy beard. Someone just off a ship.

  Dropping the parasol and reticule, Des ran at full speed, shoving aside carts and people. He reached the crossroad the hack had turned on and looked for the coach. It crested the hill that lined the land just before the area of the docks. Too bloody far away for him to run.

  The coach would get lost in the maze of those streets in no time.

  Des looked around, frantic, and saw a man on a horse. Good enough. He jumped into the roadway and simultaneously grabbed the reins and the man’s arm, yanking him off the horse.

  A yelp, but the man didn’t fight it, surprised as he was to be falling and hitting the ground. Des tossed two sovereigns onto the man’s chest and then jumped onto the horse, yelling over his shoulder at the poor soul as he sent the horse running. “Apologies, sir. You’ll find her at the docks, unharmed.”

  Blasphemies rang into the air behind him, but Des had set the horse into a gallop down the street and the swearing quickly faded behind him.

  Blood pounding in his ears, he set his heels into the horse’s flanks, urging it past carriages and wagons bringing goods from the docks.

  He caught up to their hired coach just as it started to slow a street away from the waterfront. The horse reared as he yanked on the reins, and Des slid off the saddle jumping to the ground before it settled.

  He shifted into a spot directly behind the carriage just as it stopped.

  Muffled voices. Screeching.

  Jules screeching.

  The carriage door opened and Des peeked his head around the back corner of the coach. The driver sat stone still, the rough man next to him holding a pistol to the side of his torso.

  A man jumped from the interior of the coach, landing with a splash in the muck of the street. Des squinted at the man’s profile.

  Dammit to hell. The ass was part of the Red Dragon crew. One of the pirates he’d almost killed—should have killed.

  Shit.

  What in the blazes was he doing free, walking about?

  If he was here, that could only mean one thing. Johnson and the crew that went with him were dead, and the Red Dragon had fallen.

  Swearing, the brute spun around to face the interior of the coach.

  Feet first, kicking, Jules was manhandled out the door and tossed into the brute’s arms. She didn’t stop the fight, kicking—scratching—anything to injure the brute that was double her size.

  The carriage leaned to the side and a second man jumped down behind her.

  Des pounced, grabbing the head of the second man and slamming it into the side of the carriage. The man dropped in front of him and Des turned to the brute that held Jules just as the man sitting on the driver’s perch whipped around, his pistol flashing.

  The driver lifted his leg and with a swift kick, sent him flying off the high bench. The man landed, bones crunching as the pistol fired its sole shot into an adjoining building.

  The dagger from his boot drawn in an instant, Des sent it into the back side of the pirate holding Jules. He dropped her instantly, spinning, and Des met him with a fist ramming into his face.

  The man dropped, his eyes rolling up into his head.

  The pirate that had held the driver captive started to crawl away and Des leapt to him, his leg swinging. His boot met the man’s jaw with a crunch. It sent the man flying, landing face first into the muck of the roadway.

  Three bodies.

  Three inert bodies.

  Though probably not dead.

  All of that in five breaths, some of his quickest work ever.

  Des spun around. Jules.

  She had fallen toward the coach, her hands gripping onto the edge of the doorframe, staring at him.

  Her hands—her body—shaking. Fear. Stark cold fear in her eyes as she looked at him. Fear that the bowels of the underworld had opened and demons were after her.

  Her head started shaking. “I wasn’t with them, Des. I wasn’t. They—they came from nowhere—I wasn’t with them, Des, I swear. I fought. I wasn’t with them. I didn’t go. I—”

  He grabbed her, yanking her into him, his arms collapsing around her, a wall between her and the bodies. Between her and the world.

  His right hand angled up, his palm clutching the back of her head tucked under his chin. “I know, Jules. I know.”

  Her body crumpled into him at the words.

  The fear in her hadn’t been at the pirates. It’d been at him.

  Fear of him.

  Fear that he would think she went with them, willingly.

  Heaven help him, had her spirit been so warped during the past six years that she couldn’t trust him to see her for who she was?

  He looked up at the driver still on his perch. “Good man—thank you for the assist.”

  “Yes, sir. I don’t care fer anyone sticking a pistol in me ribs.”

  “You are still willing to drive, man?”

  “Aye.”

  Des nodded and picked Jules up, lifting her into the coach, and then he hauled himself up through the opening. He leaned out of the carriage, his hand on the top of the coach’s door. “We drive on to Gloucestershire as fast as you can push the horses.”

  The driver tipped his head, flicking his horses onward.

  Des slammed the carriage door closed, then collapsed onto the bench beside Jules and pulled her into his arms.

  Her shaking hands went to his chest. “I wasn’t with them, Des. I swear.”

  “Why would you think I would ever imagine that?”

  She pushed slightly away to look at him, blinking back tears. Distrust. Seeds of distrust in her eyes.


  His grip tightened around her back. “What were they after?”

  Her eyes closed and she swallowed hard. “Me. The box. They wanted the box.”

  He could feel it in her skirts, pressing into his leg. She hadn’t handed it over.

  “How did they get free off the Red Dragon? How did they get here?”

  “I don’t know—I asked—I screamed it, actually—and they said no feeble English crew could hold them down.”

  “Johnson is gone?”

  She shrugged as her head flew in a furious shake. “I don’t know—it—it happened so fast. I was standing there and then Rubio appeared in front of me, his black teeth smirking—and a dagger was in my side and they dragged me to the carriage and shoved me in. I fought—I swear I fought. But I didn’t have my blade—I had nothing. I left it in the damn shop because I thought—I thought—stupid. I thought I could leave it behind and that was stupid. And then the coach stopped and they forced me out and you were here.”

  Her head bowed, a quivering exhale seething out of her as her head continued to shake. “I never…I never…”

  “Never what, Jules?”

  “I never should have thought I was safe.” Her look lifted to him, her voice dwindling to a whisper. “I started to believe. Really believe. You made me believe. Believe I could be home. Be safe. That I was safe. But I’m not. And I don’t even know how to protect myself anymore. I tried to forget all of what had happened—all of what I was forced to be when it’s the very thing I should have been holding onto.”

  He pressed her head against his chest, rage spinning fire in his veins—even more so than before.

  He should have killed the bastards. Right there on the street, sent them to their graves.

  He hadn’t actively tried to kill anyone since stepping off the warship. All those battles with the crew of the Firefox, he’d swung to injure, disarm, never to kill. Never to kill again if he could help it. Let others judge who should live or die.

  But this—the desire to sink a blade deep into a man to send him to his grave swept over Des.

  He should have sliced them through.

  And if he hadn’t needed to be holding Jules, calming her, he would have reversed course and finished what needed to happen to those cutthroats.

  But it wasn’t an option. Not until Jules was safe.

  Des stifled the fury taking over his body, his words raw. “You’re safe, Jules. Safe. I have you.”

  Her head stilled on his chest, silent.

  Whether she believed him or not, he couldn’t tell. And he didn’t want to ask.

  His arm tensed around her torso.

  They’d stepped off the ship only hours ago and he’d almost just lost her back to the bloody sea.

  It didn’t sit well with him.

  Not at all.

  { Chapter 14 }

  Jules leaned forward in the hip bath in front of the fire, scrubbing her left leg. Years of salt crusted on her skin vanished with each swipe of the cloth.

  There was only one thing more glorious than her skin finally being freed of the coating of her life of the past six years, but that feeling involved Des and he was currently out of the room at the coaching inn they’d stopped at for the night.

  A key clinked in the lock, and Jules bent over at the waist, shielding her naked body.

  Des’s head poked in.

  A quick sweep with his eyes across the room and he found her in the hip bath. An outrageous smile cut across his face. “It looks as though I arrived in time.”

  “If you brought food with you, then yes, you did.”

  After a quick glance over his shoulder, Des moved into the room as he balanced a tray of two platters filled high and centered with what smelled like roasted grouse. Or what she thought was grouse. The smell hadn’t tickled her nose in years.

  He closed the door behind him and went to the table on the far end of the spacious room, setting the tray atop. Port was already at the table—Des had brought it up after they had first arrived at the inn.

  He’d told the innkeeper they were married and Jules had no moral objection to the lie. The world where she could hold tight to morals had left her long ago.

  Des pulled the platters from the tray, setting them onto the table, and then turned around to her. “I found you something.”

  She gave him a sideways look as she dragged the washcloth along her calf. “You did? Des, you’ve already purchased me far too much today.”

  His left hand disappeared, digging into an inner pocket of his coat. “I think you’ll appreciate this one.”

  He pulled free a thin leather strap with a brass buckle on one end and held it up. A belt, but much too short to fit around a waist.

  Her head cocked to the side. “Leather? How…thoughtful?”

  He grinned. “It’s to go with the sheath of one of my daggers—for you to strap around your calf. I’d rather you have a blade on you after this morning.”

  “That makes the both of us.” A frown set on her face as she nodded. “You don’t think we lost them on the journey here?”

  “Switching carriages three times should have ensured we have left the Red Dragon crew far behind. They don’t know who you are, or where we are traveling to, so we should be safe.” Des turned to set the strap on the table and picked up a green bean from a plate and ate it. He looked to her. “That said, I’d still feel better if you kept a blade on you.”

  She had to smile at the worrier in him. “Thank you—I cannot think of a better gift.”

  “I do believe you are the only lady I’ve ever met that would be pleased with such a gift.” His look ran down and up her outstretched leg and his forefinger waggled in a circle at her. “Can I help you with that?”

  Scrubbing the cloth between her toes, she looked to him. “Are you going to help or are you going to distract?”

  He popped another plump green bean into his mouth and strolled over to her with a wicked grin on his face. “Probably both.”

  “Devil.” She chuckled, her head shaking. “Before you distract, I would love some help with rinsing the soap out of my hair.”

  “Gladly.” Des tugged off his coat and waistcoat, then pulled off his lawn shirt. “So I don’t get wet,” he said with a wink and picked up the pitcher that sat on the floor next to the bath. “Bend over.”

  She leaned forward, centering her head over the widest part of the hip bath.

  The chill of the water flooded the back of her head, spiking goosebumps along her spine. “That got cold in a hurry.”

  “Then let me warm you up.” His hand slipped down along her back, sliding in along her waist and then curling to the inner skin of her upper thigh.

  She laughed, her fingers grabbing his wrist before he could dive further. The water was already cold and she didn’t want to have to rinse again in a half hour with even colder water after she was done being distracted.

  She flipped her head to the side, dragging the wet strands of her hair across her head so she could look at him. “Wait—I need you to pour the rest of the water over my shoulders to rinse the soap—but fast, because it’s so cold. I’m not accustomed to these temperatures.”

  An exaggerated frown crossed his face. “Clean is overrated.”

  “Not when one has not had a proper bath in years.”

  His gaze flickered across the tin bath. “This is not at all proper.”

  “No?”

  “No. Proper would be a big copper tub with enough room for the two of us. Warm water—so hot you would stay in there with me for hours.” His frown vanished, replaced with a lascivious smile. “Maybe at the next inn.”

  She stood straight up in the bath, her hands curling into fists as she cringed. “I’m ready. Do it now. Quick.”

  He trickled a stream of cold water onto her shoulders and her muscles tensed.

  Dripping the water slowly for his own amusement, the bugger.

  Her teeth chattering, she glared at him.

  He shrugged, hi
s mischievous grin still in place. “It’s worse for me.”

  “How so?”

  “The water slipping down the crevices of your body is driving me quite mad.”

  “Good.”

  He dripped the last drops from the pitcher onto her body and then grabbed the towel on the chair by the fire and wrapped it about her body. Tucking it fully around her, his hands moved across the towel, drying off the nooks and crannies. Something she could very well do for herself, but she rather enjoyed his attentions.

  Des was like that. Looking for the smallest comfort for her when he could. The man didn’t miss a detail. Which was probably why he was such a worrier.

  Her look went intent on him. “You didn’t think I was with them this morning at the docks—the Red Dragon crew.”

  His eyebrows drew together with a slight shake of his head as he took a corner of the towel and wiped it along her neck. “I told you, Jules—not for a moment.”

  An exhale sent a quiver through her entire body. “How? How was your first thought not that I was with them—that I went with them willingly? Not that I had only used you to save my life and I was deserting you to get back to the sea the first chance I got?”

  His hands paused and he met her gaze. “Are you asking me how I manage to trust you?”

  She nodded. “After all you’ve been through—your life on the sea. The injustice of it—so many that have harmed you. It’s why you worry, I know. So how do you manage to trust?”

  “That’s an easy answer.” He slid the edge of the towel along her clavicle, dipping it into the hollow at the base of her neck, his stare on her skin. “My body knows yours, Jules. Knows your soul. Knows how you react when you are most vulnerable. You’ve given me that. Given me you. So yes, I trust you.”

  “But, I—I could have been lying this whole time.”

  His hazel eyes met hers. “Aye, you could have. Were you?”

  “No.”

  Without a word, he walked around the bath, stopping behind her. His hands slid around to her belly and he leaned forward, his mouth along the wet strands of hair next to her ear. “It never even occurred to me to think you were.”