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If you liked reading The Heart of an Earl, Box of Draupnir, please consider leaving a brief review. Even if it is only a line or two, that word of mouth is an enormous help and crucial to a book’s success—all of which allows me to keep doing this job I love! I thank you so much!
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Don’t miss my other books
Historical Romance
If you haven’t already, be sure to check out my other historical romances—each is a stand-alone story and they can be read in any order (here they are in order of publication and series):
Hold Your Breath
Stone Devil Duke, currently free!
Unmasking the Marquess
My Captain, My Earl
Lords of Fate
Worth of a Duke
Earl of Destiny
Marquess of Fortune
Lords of Action
Vow
Promise
Oath
Revelry’s Tempest
Of Valor & Vice
Of Sin & Sanctuary
Of Risk & Redemption
To Capture a Rogue, A Logan’s Legends Novella
To Capture a Warrior, A Logan’s Legends Novella
The Devil in the Duke
Valor of Vinehill
The Iron Earl
The Wolf Duke
The Steel Rogue
Box of Draupnir
The Heart of an Earl
The Blood of a Baron
Paranormal Romance
Flame Moon #1, currently free!
Triple Infinity, Flame Moon #2
Flux Flame, Flame Moon #3
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The sneak peek of The Blood of a Baron, A Box of Draupnir Novel…
{ Chapter 1 }
Gruggin Manor, June 1826
Lady Elania stood outside the front of Gruggin Manor, the perfectly folded white handkerchief clutched in her hand. There, just in case.
Though she didn’t think it likely.
Laney had cried the entire Irish Sea full of tears during the past week, waiting for this moment.
But this morning she’d woken up, not a single tear to tip her eyelashes.
She was dry. Done.
Though her eyes were still puffy, red. And permanent mottled pink splotches had morphed onto her face that refused to ease no matter how many warm washcloths she draped over her cheeks.
Everything would be easier after today.
Everything had to be easier after today.
Her toes shifted on the grey gravel of the drive, the grinding of the flecks of stone the only sound save for the slight swish of skirts behind her.
Mrs. Hopper the head housekeeper, Mary the maid, Mr. Flanders the butler, Mrs. Jones the cook, and the two footmen, Larry and Cory, stood behind her, lined along the entrance to Gruggin Manor.
That was it. That was all.
She’d never trusted the jarring turnabout of her brother’s fortune—the money he’d sent from London to support Gruggin Manor during the last six months. The only deference she’d given to their family’s increased fortunes was to hire the two footmen and the maid. She’d gotten by with just Mrs. Hopper, Cook, and Mr. Flanders for years, and had never trusted that she wouldn’t have to do it again, no matter how her brother had implored her to hire more staff.
What did he care? He hadn’t been back to Gruggin Manor but five times since they had buried their father years ago.
The far-off sound of crunching gravel reached her ears just before the noses of two black horses appeared over the steep hill that led to the wide expanse unfurling out from the front of the manor. The house was hugged tight by the forest on the other three sides and she’d always taken comfort in the embrace of the nature around the manor.
The open expanse before her made her fidget. Too exposed. Nowhere to hide.
The team of horses strained up the last incline of the drive, the dark, long wagon behind it crunching hard through the gravel.
Two men sat on the front bench of the wagon, a driver and another man.
A huge man.
They drew closer.
A man she recognized.
Her legs quivered, jelly replacing her bones.
It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now.
The wagon still a furlong away, her breathing shifted into panting that she hoped the staff couldn’t hear. Panic snaked about her chest and she had to dig her heels into the gravel in attempt to remain upright.
Breath. Control yourself.
But what in the almighty hell was that man doing? Here? Now?
Of all the cursed minutes and seconds and days and years since she’d last seen him.
Why now?
The horses drew closer. Closer. Snorted breaths heaving from their nostrils in the cool morning air.
Even with the distance between them, the man’s look was trained on her, his dark eyes skewering her as they had long ago.
Just enough distance she could pretend she hadn’t seen him yet, didn’t recognize him.
Vital seconds she needed in order to calm her breathing. Set in place a mask of indifference. Stiffen her spine.
The long black wagon pulled into the circular courtyard of Gruggin Manor.
The crunching of the gravel steady until the horses stopped in front of her.
Silence.
Her look avoiding the wide bench along the front of the wagon, she turned around to the staff.
“Thank you. I will need a solitary moment, please.”
Mrs. Hopper nodded and shifted to the line of servants, ushering them into the manor. She paused at the doorway, waving to the driver of the carriage. “Please, good sirs, accompany us inside. Lady Elaina desires a solitary respite.”
Bless her heart.
Mrs. Hopper would always save her.
It gave Laney enough margin to avoid what was in front of the wagon and concentrate on the back of the wagon—where all of her attention should be. Needed to be.
And this was something she had to do alone.
Her look dipped down to the grey gravel just beyond the worn leather tips of her boots, staring at a particularly large chunk of the granite. Too big, lounging about where it where it didn’t belong.
Just like the man that alighted from the opposite side of the wagon.
Laney didn’t lift her gaze as the driver and the man moved past her and stepped beyond where Mrs. Hopper held the front door open.
The skin on the back of her neck prickled as he passed, but she managed to override instinct and keep her gaze on the ground until the door clicked closed behind her.
It took her another breath—another five breaths—before she could lift her gaze to the wagon. To the top of the long black box sitting in the bed of the wagon.
Another breath quivered past her parted lips and she took a step forward.
Steady. Almost.
Five more steps and she would be there.
She forced her wooden legs forward, rounding the back of the wagon.
His coffin. Black, shiny, rich.
Who would have picked it out? Paid for it? She would have to find out and make sure they were recompensed.
Her tongue went dry as her stomach started to roll. She shook her head.
No. No weakness. Not now. One last thing to do.
Laney tucked the white handkerchief into the top of her black bodice and hiked her skirt up. Lifting her leg, she set her foot onto the bed of the wagon next to the coffin. Her heart thundering in her ears, she grabbed a hold of a wooden slat on the side of the wagon and hauled herself up.
She shuffled along the coffin, stopping at the part where it narrowed. The head.
For a long held breath, she looked across the open expanse at the front of Gruggin Manor, staring at the forest that lined the edges of the lawn, wanting to hide in the shadows the trees afforded.
But that thought was for the weak. Hiding.
She wasn’t weak. Not anymore. She was the last of the Gruggin line, and she would see it to its very end
with dignity and grace. Not weakness.
One more ragged breath and she bent at the waist, her fingers curling under the top edge of the coffin, pulling, lifting. Heavy under her fingertips.
Just as the wood creaked open, she flew backward, a massive arm at her waist yanking her backward and sending her legs flying into the air.
The coffin slammed shut, the crack echoing as she was dragged over the side of the wagon and flung to the gravel drive.
Her arms flailing, her long legs jabbing at the ground for balance, she spun, attempting to stay upright.
“I’ll not let you see it—see him—Laney.” The roar of his voice hit her before she could find stability and look to him. Wes. Weston Jacobson, Lord Platford.
No. Not Lord Platford. Not for a very long time.
Her lip curled in a screech, her words flying as she spun to him. “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Wes?”
Her feet solid under her, she found him, her first true look at him since she recognized who was coming up the drive. Standing at the side of the wagon, his chest lifted with a heaved breath.
He was bigger, if it was even possible.
Wider and not with fat. Shoulders that could plow a field. Arms under his smartly cut coat that could lift boulders.
Her look locked onto his glare—onto those dark brown eyes that sliced her in two, quite clearly already plotting her demise.
His arms crossed against his chest. “So you did see me.”
Her left hand flew up in the air. “Of course I saw you—how could anyone ever miss an ogre like you? And what do you think you’re doing—manhandling me as you just did? You have no blasted right to me or to setting your meaty paws upon my body.”
His head shook, the barbs not setting the slightest dent in the rock hard set of his jaw. “You’re not looking at him, Laney.”
With a snort of breath she charged to the back of the wagon. “He’s my brother, Wes, and I don’t care what he looks like—I have to see him. I have to or I’ll never believe it. Not for real.”
She flipped her foot onto the back of the wagon and hauled herself up again.
“Laney.”
Standing tall on the bed of the wagon, her look whipped down to him, the edges of her mouth turning into a snarl. “You haven’t cared for me in years—no, strike that—you never cared for me so don’t you dare start to pretend at this juncture.”
She moved along the side of the coffin again, her fingers reaching for the lid.
Wes thrust his steel arm in and over the side of the wagon, wrapping it around her waist and wrenching her from the side of the casket once more.
Her fingernails went to his arm, scratching the back of his hand, trying to wedge herself free. “Put me down you bloody oaf.”
He set her down gently this time, her boots crunching solidly into the gravel. His arm stayed in place around her waist, the back of her body tight to the length of him. Tight to the body of the man that curdled her tongue.
Her lips pulled back, words seething. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“No?” She twisted in his arm with a screech, clawing at him, trying to get an angle to look at his face.
He yanked her hard into his body, the soft of her hitting the iron mass of him and taking the breath out of her.
His mouth dropped to her ear, his voice a rumble of thunder and lightning and destruction. “You’re not going to see him. I’m not letting you go until you agree to that fact.”
“You bloody beast—he’s my brother and I need to see him.”
“No you don’t.” His lips lifted away from her ear, but the clamp across her waist was stronger than ever. “And I can—will—hold you here all day if that’s what it takes.”
“Of all the odious, tyrannical edicts, this is far above them all.”
He didn’t budge.
A growl of frustration left Laney’s lips. “Fine.”
His fingers slowly peeled away from her side and he released her.
The second she was free of his arm, she darted toward the back of the wagon. He could hold her all day. It wouldn’t stop her from trying to get to the casket all day.
He snatched her wrist, jerking her to a stop just as she rounded the back of the wagon.
How in the blasted hell did a man so big move so fast?
Her glare met his. “I need to see my brother, Wes. You have no right to keep me away from him.”
For a long breath—a torture of time—he said nothing, his dark eyes crushing her. He blinked and shook his head. “It was his face, Laney—you’ll not recognize him.”
Her head snapped back. “What?”
“I saw it—it’s him. I swear it. But I’ll not allow you to look into that casket.”
“You’re lying. You’re just being cruel because that’s what you are.”
His mouth clamped shut, his jaw shifting back and forth. Patience had never been his forte—especially with her. “Have I ever lied to you?”
A bitter guffaw left her mouth. “No. No, you’ve always been painfully truthful with me, telling me exactly what you thought. What you thought of me. Down to every last vicious word you’ve ever uttered to me.”
His cheek twitched. “So I’m not lying now. It’s Morton. I swear it.”
It was there.
In his dark eyes.
The truth. Truth that she didn’t want to hear. Truth that she didn’t want coming from his mouth. Of all people, why should he be the last person to see her brother? What gave him that right? He didn’t deserve it.
No right at all.
Tears suddenly swelled in her eyes. Not now. Damn her blubbering.
Her look dropped from his face and she hiccup a breath, twisting her wrist in the clamp of his hand.
He dropped her arm.
She looked to the black casket, staring at it. Deciding. What little fight she still possessed quickly draining away.
He wasn’t going to let her see Morton.
He’d set his mind to it. And if she knew one true thing about Wes, it was that once his mind was set, he didn’t veer. Right or wrong.
She turned from him, turned from the wagon, her forefingers clasping along the bridge of her nose, attempting to quell her tears.
Seconds of silence, of her quivered breaths.
His hand landed on her shoulder—fire burning her and she jumped away.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me ever again.” Without looking back at him, her words soft, defeated, filled the courtyard.
“Laney…”
She walked to the front door of Gruggin Manor without a backward glance.
The man would never get another moment of her time.
Available on preorder now: The Blood of a Baron, A Box of Draupnir Novel…
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Lastly…
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~ K.J. Jackson
The Heart of an Earl (A Box of Draupnir Novel Book 1) Page 22
