His muscles tightened as he held himself still. “You are stalling. Rather badly at that.”
She scowled. Winston began to speak when a blast of icy air hit him in the face and burned down his throat. Like before, the sound of ice crackling filled the room. A white web of frost covered the trunk nearest his wife. Ice crawled in a line over the floor toward his shoes.
Winston’s heart leapt, a mixture of natural fear and outright wonder grabbing hold of him. In a blink of an eye, the deathly cold breeze stopped. Even so, his breath came out in visible puffs as he stared at her.
Demurely, Poppy clasped her hands before her and raised her eyes to his. “Will that do, husband?”
Impudent woman. He almost laughed. Until the thought came over him that she could freeze him where he stood. And she was on this boat to protect him from some threat. Hell. It did not matter if she could readily defend herself. She was his wife, which meant it was his duty to lay down his life to protect her. He’d say it was his right, but the uncomfortable truth that he’d walked out on her kept him from shouting that to the tops of the mainmast.
“How does it work? Your power.”
She smiled a little, as if expecting the question. Then she well knew his curiosity was endless.
“I do not know, not the science of it at any rate. I can only tell you that I can freeze or unfreeze water. I need to be touching the object with my hand to freeze it.”
“A sort of reverse conductivity.” She was bloody marvelous.
“Yes. However, I do not feel heat or cold while I am setting the power free.” Her gaze wandered to the porthole where the ocean canvassed behind him. “And if there is open water about, I am able to draw it to me and freeze it at will. Lastly, there is a cost for using my power.” She let go of a tiny sigh. “The more power I draw, the more physically drained I am afterward.”
“Then don’t use it.”
When her gaze flew to his, he took a step closer to her and cupped her smooth cheek. “I mean it, Boadicea. Do not use it.” He gentled his tone, when he’d rather shout, and ran a thumb along her soft bottom lip. “Do not think to fight this thing. Not for me.”
Again came that little smile, an expression that held equal parts amusement and resignation. “You didn’t really expect me to agree, did you?” She shook her head, as if to say silly man, and his world turned red. He could barely hear her next words past the rage rushing through his ears. “Perhaps in other instances I might fall for the seduction of that smoke and silk voice, Win. But not in this.”
Poppy took herself off to the dressing room. Her dress was filthy and her hair a bedraggled mess. Never mind that her husband loomed before her with a preternatural calm that spoke of imminent disaster, for she did not trust that look in his eyes. Unfortunately, Win followed. Stubborn man.
His low, smoky voice disrupted her peace just as she was undoing her hair.
“That night Archer stitched me up,” he said, “and you held me down when I screamed. How did it make you feel?”
Oh, but he played dirty. She looked up to find him propped against the doorjamb of the dressing room. He hadn’t removed his suit coat or bowler, and the faint scent of sea air clung to him.
“It was the worst night of my life,” she whispered. “I wanted to scream too. I wanted to kill the bastard who hurt you with my bare hands.”
His gaze held hers. “And yet you dismiss me for feeling the same helpless rage over the idea of you being hurt.”
Poppy had to swallow several times before she could speak. “I did not think you would—”
“Care?” His mouth tilted in that half-smile that could at once annoy and drive her to distraction. “Regardless of the disappointments that have arisen between us, sweeting, you should understand that I will always care.”
His lids lowered a fraction, and he was retreating behind his usual mask of civility. It made her want to hit something. Her hands were clumsy as she moved to unpin the rest of her hair. It fell down in a curtain of deep red, cutting Win off from her view. A blessed relief.
“I care too, Win.” And even if he no longer wanted her, she could not live in a world where Win did not exist. “If I do not fight, then who will?”
A second later, Win’s bowler flew across the room, bouncing off the wall from the force of his throw. “Damn it! You are hunting a demon that you admit cannot be destroyed on this ship. Have you gone completely insane?”
She laughed, though she felt no joy. “I told you I have fought him many times before. This is my life. Did you not believe that as well?”
His nostrils flared on a sharply drawn breath, and he gripped the back of his neck with both hands, sending the muscles along his chest and arms bulging beneath his coat. His struggle to regain control played out over his features, and Poppy watched with fascination. Win never shouted at her when they argued. They simply did not engage in rousing fights of passion. However, Poppy was inclined to prefer this new method of discussion, for his anger did something to her insides and made her want to stir him up some more.
When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. “Is it worth your health, your life?”
She winced then, for she knew more than he the fragile state of her health. But it could not be helped. “Yes.”
He deflated at that. With a muttered curse, he paced the room as Poppy undid the buttons of her bodice and slid it off.
“At least promise me that you will not go chasing after him alone,” Win said finally.
She did not look up but moved on to the hooks of her skirts. “I promise.” It was an easy vow to make. But she could not help adding, “So long as he does not attack me.”
Win gave a short nod. But she knew he would never truly give up on something once he was on the case. “Fine then… What are you doing?”
“Undressing.” She let her skirts fall.
“Now?” His glare was back, a warning this time as she pulled at the ties of her drawers.
Poppy made a noise of annoyance. “It isn’t as though you haven’t seen me undress. Many times.”
“That was before.” He thrust his hands deep within his pockets as he retreated back to the doorway.
“Yes, well, I’m undressing now, and I don’t see you attempting to leave.” Her drawers landed in a heap of white around her ankles, leaving just the chemise hovering around mid-thigh and her corset.
After a visible swallow, Win’s shoulders tensed. “I need to shave.”
At home, they had shared a bath. Win would lean over the sink and shave as Poppy let down her hair. Hurt swelled within her breast. Whether he did not want to give in to that intimacy or didn’t want her seeing him maneuver around his damaged face, she couldn’t tell, nor did it matter. He did not trust her regardless.
“Then you’ll have to wait.” Holding his gaze, she reached to unravel the ties of her corset. It fell to the floor. He swallowed again, and a look of hot need filled his eyes before he dampened it. Despite her bravado, an answering lick of heat flickered between her thighs. Make him remember. Dear God, but she was going to take the advice of Mary Chase, an unmarried girl. Unmarried woman who was the protégée of Lucien Stone, notorious sinner and seducer. Poppy moved to the dressing table, aware of the sway of her br**sts beneath her thin chemise. The silence was too thick, enough to hear the sound of the clock in the outer room ticking and Win’s breath working a sharp, unsteady pace.
Her limbs did not quite work normally. She was too aware for that. Fingers cold, she took hold of her hairbrush. His eyes followed, and her body reacted, pulling tight, shivering, not from cold now but with heat. Thick bristles moved through her hair, the faint sound a symphony in the quiet room. And always his eyes upon her.
By the time she got to one hundred strokes, she hadn’t the courage to look up at him and discover his expression. His immense calm had apparently returned, for he hadn’t so much as moved from his spot by the door. She was a fool to play this game, a fool to think she could outlast his patience. Irritation prickled her neck at the thought, and she set down the brush with a distinct clatter. Well then. Perhaps she ought to do something less mundane than brush her hair.
Tossing the thick length of it over her shoulder, she propped her leg upon the bench and bent to undo her garters. That the position also thrust her backside out and highlighted the length of her legs was a boon. Reward came in the form of his breath drawn quick and sharp. When he spoke, it was almost a shock to her system, for he had been so silent.
“What game are you playing at, Poppy?”
“No game.” She lifted the edge of her chemise just enough to expose her garter ties. “I take my duty in keeping you safe quite seriously.”
“Enough of this madness. You are not my protector. You. Are. My. Wife.”
“Is that what I am?” The garter wouldn’t come loose. She bent over farther. Gods, but she was too aware of her exposure and the way the cool air touched her na**d thighs like a caress. A wicked urge had her parting her legs farther. “You’ve done a fine job of making me feel like one lately.”
She didn’t see him move, didn’t know to react, until a whisper of linen over wool just behind her back made her turn. Too late. He caught her elbow and spun her around. Angry and tired, she snapped. Poppy lifted her arm, throwing him off, then grabbed his wrist. One good shove and he was the one pinned against the wall, his cheek pressed to it, his arm behind his back—
His counter-attack was so fast that she felt it before she saw it. Her shoulder blades slammed against the wooden wardrobe doors. Hard, but not enough to hurt. And then he was there, his thigh pushing between hers so that she could not kick out, his grip firm as he held one of her wrists high above her head.
Well then.
Blood up and breathing quickened, her br**sts rose and fell against the crush of his chest. She could move, but not much. He bent close until they were nose to nose. It was delicious. And maddening.
Win’s eyes, glinting with dark humor, bore into hers. “Would you look at that. Poppy Lane ensnared.”