Palladian windows that lined the east side of the library. Nestled on an outcropping of a cliff that jutted hard down into the sea, Seahorn Castle was an impenetrable stronghold that had stood over this stretch of the coast for ages.
Desmond had chosen the refuge well, as Seahorn was a fortress not to be breached. Though the main part of the castle had been modernized—softened—plenty of the old grandeur mixed with the new. Protected by two outer walls on the land side, along with a slew of guards, the barrier met the cliff and made the whole of the castle nearly impossible to gain access to. Yet for the curvature of the coastline, the sea winds were not nearly as harsh as they should have been.
Two hours of silence passed before Desmond appeared in the library, stripped down to a white lawn shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, trousers, and bare feet.
Wes held back a smirk as he stood when Desmond entered. Desmond had never taken to wearing boots if he could help it. Too much of the Firehawk in his blood.
“News?” Wes asked as Laney stood and moved next to him, concern furrowing her brow.
Desmond smiled, relief and exhaustion twisting with elation on his face. “A boy, healthy. And Jules is well, already asking on you three.”
Wes strode across the room to Desmond, slapping him on the back. “Well done, man.”
Desmond guffawed. “My part in it was very limited and I don’t know if I can survive another birth like that one.”
Her eyes wide, a frown set on Laney’s lips. “You did say Lady Troubant is well?”
“She is. Even laughing now. It was just that she was screaming and in pain and I don’t like my wife like that—ever. Even if it is for a good cause,” Desmond said. “And she’s been so worried about the three of you that she kicked me out of the room to send me down here to attend to you.”
Rune had stood, but sat back down on the arm of one of the wingback chairs. “We are fine, Des. We all made it here in one piece.”
Wes moved to the sideboard and poured Desmond a glass of brandy, then turned and handed it to his friend. “You have a fortress here. It was hard enough for us to get past your guards and all of us have been hesitant to leave this room for fear of getting lost.”
Desmond smiled as he took a sip of the amber liquid. “I know. By design. Were someone devious to get past the guards, they would have a rotten time of trying to find anything in this castle. It’s why I bought it.”
“Smart choice,” Wes said. “And I understand now exactly why you decided to settle somewhere so remote. We have been harassed from London to here because of the blasted box.”
Desmond’s look ran up and down Laney, a frown on his face as he carefully studied her. “Tell me you have survived unscathed, Lady Helena?”
She blinked, clearly surprised Desmond had addressed her directly. “Mostly unscathed. There were several moments that I did not care for—when we skirted a bit too close to death.”
His frown pulled back hard. Desmond set his stare on Laney. “The damn box. I must apologize for the heartache it has caused you—losing your brother, being chased. None of it was what was intended.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “What was intended? Forgive my rudeness, but you set that box upon my brother. Set it upon me.”
Desmond winced. “None of which was intended, but now I can see quite clearly what a mistake that was. I never intended for your brother to win that pot, but then he did and he took ownership of the box. I convinced myself that the fates decided where the box would go and that the curse wouldn’t bring ruination upon your brother. I was wrong and I never wanted it to harm an innocent such as yourself.”
Laney’s mouth clamped shut, refusing to acknowledge his apology.
Wes set his palm along the small of her back and cleared his throat. “That said, we brought the box here. Which is why Hoppler’s men have been after us.”
“Hoppler?” Desmond’s eyes squinted at Wes and then he looked to Rune.
Rune stood, going to the sideboard and refilling his glass as he nodded. “Hoppler’s men. Verified twice.” He moved to the side of the window, staring out into the darkness.
“Dammit.” The word seethed through Desmond’s teeth. “How many?”
“One in London shoving Laney over the