The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,43
me, I know.”
Rune’s words stopped him and Wes turned back, stepping toward the table. “Know what?”
“You haven’t slowed down all day—not enough for me to tell you out of earshot of Lady Helena,” Rune said, his voice just above a whisper. “That was what you pulled me away from at the Purple Hen—I was getting information.”
“From a whore?”
Rune shrugged. “I go where the trail leads. It led to Miss Fiona. I know who is after the box—who sent the man after Lady Helena on the bridge.”
“Who is it?”
“Hoppler.” Rune shook his head. “Not only that—he was the one that had Morton killed. Miss Fiona heard it from the bastard’s own lips.”
“Shit—you are positive?”
Rune shrugged. “As much as one can be in this situation. You pulled me away before I could inquire on Mr. Filmore’s untimely passing.”
A heavy breath settled into his chest. He gave a nod to Rune and turned to the stairs.
“Wes, wait.”
He looked back to his friend.
Silent, Rune held up the third plate full of untouched food to him.
Without a word, Wes stepped back and took it, then moved to the stairs.
Six steps up, he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder for a long second and then looking upward into the stairwell.
Hoppler was the one name he was hoping he wouldn’t hear.
Hoppler wasn’t a paltry street criminal. Hoppler controlled half of the London docks. Had far too many allies in the government.
And he was brutal.
Laney was in far more trouble than he’d imagined. He needed to get her to Seahorn Castle as quickly as possible. But the rain and the ink black skies had other plans for them. At least for tonight.
With a heavy breath, Wes lifted his foot.
Upward.
{ Chapter 18 }
On the bed, stretched onto her side and facing the wall, Laney froze as the door behind her opened. Her fingers itched to tug the coverlet farther upward to hide the bare slope of her chest, but she didn’t dare move.
Heavy steps across the room. Wes. He set something upon the table at the far end of the room by the window. More clunks of his steps on the floorboards as he turned and walked back across the room.
She refused to turn to him. She’d let her damp hair down, stripped down to her chemise, and gotten into bed, hoping sleep would deliver her from the annoyance of thinking about the aggravation Wes was determined to cause her—save her from thinking at all.
But she’d been staring at the wall for the past ten minutes, no closer to sleep than when she’d been downstairs, anger coursing through her. Her heart still thumped hard at the exasperation Wes had set into her veins.
“Why wasn’t the door locked?”
She kept her mouth shut, her body still.
“Laney, I know you’re not sleeping.”
Blast the man.
Her stare stayed on the painted motif of flowering wisteria creeping up the wall. “I didn’t lock it because I didn’t want to have to deal with you. Didn’t want to have to let you in before you broke down the damn door. I’m still hoping for that outcome.”
A sigh filled the air and Wes moved behind her. To the fireplace, the poker scraping against the coals, then back across the room by the table. More steps and he clanked a chair onto the floor at the side of the bed, the wood of it creaking as he sat down.
Let him sleep in a chair. What did she care?
“Laney, I don’t want to control you.”
She scoffed, her stare staying solidly on the wall. “That is laughable.”
“Believe it or not, I don’t. I’m not a stupid man and only a stupid man would think he could control you.”
“Where is the ‘but,’ Wes?”
The chair squeaked as he shifted on it. “But I don’t like your questions—questioning me when I know exactly what I am doing.”
“And just what are you doing?”
“Laney, there’s something I have to confess…” His pause was long. Too long.
Just when she was going to crane her neck about to look at him, his soft words filled the room. “I’ve been after the Box of Draupnir. I have been since the beginning.”
“You what?” She flipped around on the bed, shoving herself upright, the coverlet dropping to her lap as she pinned him with a stare, her eyebrows stretched high and her voice a growl. “You’ve been after the box? What in the Hades are you talking about? Since the beginning of what?”
He’d been leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, but now he shifted, sitting tall, leaning against