The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,44
the back of the chair, his hands clasping together between his spread legs. “Since well before you. Since Morton got the box.”
“You…you…what?” Her head shook, her mind trying to wrap around his words. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I wasn’t so much after the box at the beginning, more requested to watch over Morton and the box.”
Her eyes squinted at him. “You’re making no sense, Wes.”
His clasped fingers lifted up for a second before falling back between his legs. “After Morton won the Box of Draupnir in a game of loo, he was almost killed on his way home. I was called upon to protect him and the box after that, so I did. I’ve been guarding him since the box became his.”
Her hands flew up, her fingers spreading wide. “Wait—wait—you were protecting him? That’s what you were doing when you re-entered his life? Why in the bloody world would you do such a thing? He thought—he thought you had forgiven him. He was so happy about it—he wrote me. He thought he had his friend back.”
She paused, her head shaking as she looked at the edge of the bed. “Who in the hell are you? You have been lying for the better part of a year? Lying to Morty? Lying to me?” Her breath stuttered, almost out of control before she caught it and looked up to him. “You never forgave him. You never…so who in the hell are you? What happened to you—for you’re certainly not the man that I once knew.”
Another sigh and Wes ran a hand across his eyes. “I never said I was.”
Her breath stilled in her chest, her voice down to a garbled whisper as reality set heavy into her body. Her hands went high, waving in the air before her. “You’re going to hurt me. Hurt me for the box. Did you kill Morty?”
Wes jumped to his feet, grabbing her hand in midair. “Don’t you dare say such things—think such an abomination.” He tossed her hand away, his mouth curling in disgust as he took a step away from the bed. “I would never hurt you, Laney. You should damn well know that.”
“Know that? How would I know that? You come in here and tell me all this and what am I supposed to think? You’ve been lying to me since the moment you stepped back into my life. Lying to Morty since you wormed your way into his life. You just admitted as much.”
He turned from her, his arms clamping across his chest as he stared at the fire. “I was sent.”
“Sent by who?”
“Sent by the man who lost the box to your brother—the Earl of Troubant.” He looked at her, his dark hazel eyes placid, revealing nothing to her—not the slightest indicator of truth or lies.
“Morty won the box from some blasted earl and the man sent you to get it back?”
“Not exactly. The earl lost it on purpose. He just didn’t intend to lose it to Morton. That was a mistake.”
Her hand flew up at her sides. “A mistake? Why would it matter? If it’s so damned important, why lose it to Morty in the first place—and why not just take it back from him? It would have been easy enough to steal it from under Morty’s drunken nose. Or why not just take it from me—it’s laughable how quick and effortless that would have been.”
Wes ran his fingers through his hair. “Except I can’t do that—I was only sent to protect Morton as he held the box. I thought I would be done after he died, that none of this would ever touch you, but then it turned out you were our best hope, and…” He paused, the center of his lips pursing upward for a moment. “Hell, Laney, we needed you to find the box. But we didn’t want you to know how important it was or think to keep it, much less be hurt by it.”
“You needed me to find it?”
“Aye. We did. We didn’t know where it was.”
“So?”
“So that changed everything.” His eyes skewered her, accusing, simmering.
She shook her head, shook away his stare. He still wasn’t telling her anything. “What is so blasted important about this box? And you need to answer me, Wes. Tell me the truth and don’t mumble out an evasive answer as you’re prone to do.”
His head tilted to the side as his nostrils flared. “The Box of Draupnir is cursed. Part of its curse is that it can turn fortunes