He growled low and shoved back, hard. “Did you kill the colonel?”
Her grey teeth glinted in the lamplight, the points of her canines appearing sharp. “That canary was not invited to the party. I’m afraid he had to go.”
Bloody hell, but he hated coyness. Past all patience, he pressed his forearm across her chest. “Who is Moira Darling? Where is she?”
Like a snake, she coiled her leg around his. “Closer than you think.”
He gave her a rough shake. “Where?”
She laughed then. Laughed and laughed. “I would not try to find her, Winston Lane. The knowledge will only bring you misery.” The whites of her eyes disappeared with a wash of inky black. And then she disintegrated. Winston blinked, his mind not catching up with his eyes as she literally fell to pieces before him, her body crumpling, turning to black lumps. Lumps that moved. Spiders.
With a shout, he jumped up. Hundreds of spiders swarmed, crawling over his arm, up his boot. The door slammed open with a bang. Poppy stood in the doorway, her gaze fierce as she took in the scene.
“Get back!” He ripped off his coat and flung it. Spiders scurried and surged as he stamped at them.
She did not heed. A shiver lit over the room, a swirl of air. The arctic blast of cold hit hard and fast, sucking the air from his lungs, biting into his skin. More forceful than what he’d felt on the ship, this air tore through the room with the strength of a gale, tossing spiders about, freezing them where they lay. He trudged toward Poppy, his teeth chattering, his body hurting from the cold. When he got to her side, she cut the power loose.
“C-c-cold…” His teeth rattled.
“I know,” she said, grimacing. “I’m sorry.”
“Cold b-blooded.” He glanced at the piles of little black spiders littering the room. “Spiders are.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Horrid little beasts.” Poppy fought a violent shiver as Win shoveled the last pile of frozen spiders into the roaring hearth to assure that they were destroyed. The spiders popped and crackled in the flames, and she swore she could hear tiny screams. She shuddered again, her stomach turning sickly.
Win caught her eye, and though a touch of humor lit his gaze, he spoke with solemnity. “You were very brave to face them.” He knew how much she detested spiders. She’d rather face a horde of undead than those little creatures.
They’d been all over him, swarming and scurrying. She rubbed her arms. “Are you injured? Did one of them bite you?”
Win set the coal scuttle back on its stand. “No.” Shadows rippled along his face as he stared into the fire. “That wasn’t Mrs. Noble, I gather?”
“No.” Now that the spiders were gone, Poppy dared to come farther into the room. The gilded little sitting room appeared too lovely, too proper to have witnessed such horrors. In fact, it was almost peaceful now, cozy and quiet. She stopped beside Win and let the heat of the flames seep into her freezing skin. Cold did not bother her, but this cold was in her bones. “Mrs. Noble’s body is currently stuffed in a vat of bath salts.”
“Jesus.”
“The demon you were tangling with used her blood to take on her form. Although from the condition I found Mrs. Noble in, the demon got a bit carried away. Most demons have better control when stealing blood.”
Poppy glanced at Win, noting that despite the casual way he stood, his muscles bunched with tension. His look of fierce concentration worked away the coldness better than the fire had. Frowning, Win massaged the back of his neck with one hand. “She killed the colonel.”
His fingers tightened on his neck until his knuckles stood out white, the skin around them too red. “The colonel said he was invited here. But Mrs. Noble—or whatever that was—claimed he was an unwanted visitor who needed to be silenced.” He flung his arm down. “I think Jones brought the colonel here because he wants us to find Moira Darling, but someone else does not. Mrs. Noble was most unhelpful before she turned into a mountain of spiders…” He ran a hand over his face. “Hell, I can barely bring myself to say that aloud.”
Yes, that had been most… She gave his arm a light nudge, lest she think too hard about spiders and be tempted to faint. “I gather the lady found you intriguing, Mr. Lane.”
Cool blue eyes pinned her with a glare. “You knew perfectly well what she would be about, did you not?” When she pursed her lips, he leaned in, and his breath caressed her cheek. “You never truly answered me before, sweeting. Were you curious to see if I’d rise to the occasion?” He moved closer, his hard chest pushing against her shoulder, his lips tickling her ear. “Or did you simply long to see my c*ck manhandled?”
Futile and hot jealous anger surged. The bloody woman had touched Win.
Win read her emotions well, for his eyes lit with satisfaction. He pressed into her, and the length of him was hot at her hip. It was all she could do not to grind back or beg for release like a wanton thing. His lids lowered a fraction, hiding his thoughts from her. “Let me assure you, wife. I’ve only one master—”
“Yes, I know. You.” She rolled her eyes and pushed away from him, her skirts sliding about her legs as she strode to the door. “You’ve made your point. Now may we return to London before I expire from another lecture? We’ve a false limb to investigate.”
He caught up to her easily with his long legs and determined gait. His hand closed over her upper arm, halting her retreat. “If that is what you think the answer was, Boadicea, then you’ve missed the point of this morning entirely.” His grip grew possessive. “It is you. No matter how much both of us wish to ignore the fact, I have always been entirely yours.”
Winston and Poppy kept a brisk pace as they headed for their rooms.
“Mary,” Poppy called as they entered, “start packing. We are to leave posthaste.” She turned to Winston, who was busy gathering his own things. “What of your brother?”
His back tensed. “What of him?” A shirt landed in an open portmanteau, and he just kept himself from rubbing at the hollow spot that formed in his chest. “He was lost to me long ago.”
Her efforts stilled. “I am sorry, Win.”
He did not turn but lifted his shoulders. “What is done is done. It was my doing, in any event. No use crying over it now.”
Mary glided into the room, and Poppy turned to her. “We found the demon. Posing as Mrs. Noble, I’m afraid. What of you and Talent?”
“Mum.” Mary Chase lowered her voice as she approached. “About Mr. Talent.”
Poppy tossed a pair of throwing knives into her valise. “If you are about to tell me that you do not trust him, Miss Chase, that has already been duly noted.”
Mary’s small nose wrinkled. “I trust him well enough, mum. At least in the capacity not to betray you or the inspector. It is he who does not trust me.” Her rosebud mouth twitched. “I simply do not like him.” The scent of cinnamon and ambergris drifted up as she leaned forward. “In point, mum, I am worried.”
Winston paused in the act of unloading the revolver Poppy handed him. “Why?”
Mary’s expression did not lose its serenity. “I do not think it is Talent in that body.”
That got Poppy’s attention. Her brows snapped together. “Explain.”
“I believe he is either hosting, or that is not him at all.”
“You base all of this on what, precisely?” Winston wasn’t about to confront Talent on something so flimsy.
Mary straightened with the offended dignity of a duchess. “He is not himself, sir. He is being… kind to me.”
Winston had to laugh. “And this is cause for alarm?”
Her brown eyes turned a shimmering gold. “Mr. Talent is nothing if not consistent in his behavior. Then overnight he is, well, let us simply say solicitous toward me. His voice is off as well.”
“He sounded right enough to me.” Win knew he was being argumentative, but one must consider all possibilities before making a judgment.
However, Mary Chase did not appear offended. She simply considered him with the same implacable expression. “Humans never give proper appreciation to the voice. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, the voice is its song. You can tell a great deal about a man by listening to him.” Her mouth pursed. “A demon may mimic another’s voice, but the shade and tone of a voice is colored by one’s life experience. Talent’s is hard like flint and dark grey with a core anger. It now lacks that driving force of inner rage.”
He’d underestimated this woman entirely. Win vowed not to do so again. Mary appeared to see the acknowledgment in his eyes for some of the stiffness in her shoulders eased. She turned to Poppy. “And there is his body temperature to consider. He touched me just a moment ago.”
Poppy’s fierce scowl remained. “Hot?”
“Feverishly so,” confirmed Mary.
Anger brightened Poppy’s eyes. “Given that poor Mrs. Noble was drained of her blood to host a demon, I’d say it’s highly likely they have done so to Talent as well.”
“Damn it.” Win paced. “Talent was with me when I questioned the colonel. If it is a demon, then it knew the colonel or suspected he might eventually help us with the case.” It rather made Win’s skin crawl to think of a demon being that close to Poppy all of this time. And that he’d exposed the colonel to the devil.
Poppy’s fingers drummed on her skirt. “Where is Talent now?”
“I do not know.” Mary said. “He was in his room about twenty minutes ago.”
“Well then,” Winston said, “let us have a word with Mr. Talent.”
He moved to go when Poppy’s hand touched his elbow. “Take him to the lake. I shall meet him there.”
“We shall both talk to him,” he countered.
Her touch stilled. “You must leave him to me.”
He frowned, and her grip tightened. “Win, if this is a demon, he is guilty of breaking the laws set down by the SOS. Which makes it my duty to destroy him. This is what I do.”