She couldn’t stand it. She needed to move, but he wouldn’t let her go. “I will kill him.” She pushed against Win’s chest to little effect. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“We are going to meet him, and then I am going to destroy him, Win. I swear to God, I will.”
He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes. “You will not.” His fingers gripped her tighter. “You will not put yourself in harm’s way.”
“This is why you did not tell me.”
His expression grew implacable. “In part.” He leaned closer until they were nose to nose. “I will not have you risk your safety over me.”
Seething, Poppy pressed her palms against his chest. “Why is my life so much more valuable than yours?”
“Because of this.” His hand slid down to rest gently upon her abdomen. And her heart stopped. Win saw her understanding, and he nodded weakly. “You are my joy, and my purpose. I came alive when I met you.” His hand smoothed over her in a whisper of a caress. “But this babe inside of you. That is my legacy. You will protect him. See him grow and bloom.”
“Not alone…” She shivered, and he kissed her. Softly. So softly, as though he were cherishing it, memorizing the feel of it. Poppy tore her mouth away. “You will be here. With me. With us.”
His eyes traveled over her face, his touch upon her cheek tender. “I will never leave you. Not really.”
She squeezed his hands, uncaring if she crushed his fingers. “No! Not in spirit! You will be here. I cannot…” Blood coated her tongue, and she realized she’d bitten her lip. “I cannot do this without you, Win. I will not.”
His smile was tired, as if he’d already given up. She squeezed him harder, but he did not seem to notice. “Boadicea, not even your force of will can stop everything.”
“I can stop this!”
Win gave her a measured look. “Whatever you are thinking, don’t.”
But she most certainly would. Knowing he wouldn’t expect it, she shoved him hard, causing him to stumble back, then she fled into the dressing room.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Win stared at the space Poppy had vacated. That had gone well. “Shit.”
The look upon her face had reflected his misery. He ought to let her have her privacy. Only Poppy did not retreat as other ladies might. She fought. That she had closed herself up in the dressing room had his instincts clamoring to go after her. As instinct had kept him alive for years, he followed it now and went to the dressing room door.
“Poppy?”
Not a sound. He tried the handle, unsurprised to find it locked.
“Poppy Lane, open this door and talk to me.”
Nothing. Win raked his hands through his hair before slamming them on the door. “Open it, Poppy!”
When she did not answer, fury licked over him. “Right, then,” he shouted. “I’m coming in, whether you like it or not.” Win smashed against the door, putting his weight into it. Over and over, until the heavy wood creaked. This wasn’t the way to do it. Cursing, he stepped back and kicked the thing in.
The scent of Poppy filled the air, subtle, almost ineffable, and yet so familiar it hurt his heart. Something was off here. His heart kicked furiously in his chest. Glints of deep red against the white porcelain sink caught his eye. He was across the room in two strides.
“Jesus Christ!” Red was everywhere. Long, thick strands of red hair, scattered like discarded ribbons, filled the bowl of the sink. His shaking hands grasped at them as if he could turn back time, put them back where they belonged. The silken locks slipped through his fingers. “Jesus!”
“Come now, it isn’t that bad, surely.”
He spun at the sound of Poppy’s voice, and his blood rushed to his toes. The shout he wanted to utter stuck in his throat as he gaped at her. In return, she merely smiled, a small curl of her pink lips, as she leaned against the door frame in the perfect parody of a young man, one leg crossed over the other, her slim hands tucked in loose trouser pockets.
He wanted to smash something. Her hair—all her lovely, long hair—was gone, hacked off until it lay in a short, bright crown against her well-formed skull. Christ, it was shorter than his. “Why?”
She shrugged, her thin shoulders moving beneath the coat of a brown sack suit, an old one of his from when he’d joined the MP. “Last time I faced Isley, it got caught in his claws.” She lifted off from the doorjamb in a graceful move. “It was a liability. So I cut it off.”
He gnashed his teeth against the helpless tide of anger. He lifted a handful of hair in accusation.
“Have you gone completely mad? To maim yourself for…” He couldn’t speak. Her hair. Hours of burrowing his face into cool and fragrant tresses. Spreading the mass of carnelian, bronze, and copper over her pillow. He might have wept.
Poppy’s straight brows snapped together in annoyance. Her face, no longer framed by that mass of red, appeared stronger now, the clean lines of her jaw and nose highlighted, and yet she also looked strangely delicate and exposed.
“Maim myself?” she said. “It is only hair, Win. It will grow back.” Again she shrugged. “Though speaking practically, it feels rather nice to be free of it. Lighter.”
“Bollocks!” His fist, still clutching her shorn hair, slammed into the sink and a satisfying jolt of pain went up his arm. “Bollocks to this, Poppy!”
“Really, Win, there is no need to shout.”
He raked back his own hair for fear of hitting something. “Why the suit?” It was an inane question in the scheme of things but he could not move past the sight.
“I can move better in trousers. Besides,” her full lower lip thrust out, “I hate corsets. Especially now.”
Befuddled by the act of violence she’d committed to her hair, it took him a bit longer to catch up on her intent. It fully dawned on him then, what she was trying to say. “You think to fight Isley?” He blinked. “When you are with child.”
Poppy scowled. “Have you a better plan? For I am not giving him my child. Nor my brother, nor you.”
“Have you—” Blood rushed to his head, making his ears ring. “You’ve lost your bloody mind if you think I’m going along with this.”
Poppy crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “You act as if I am offering a choice.”
“And you act as if I’m offering you one! You have a duty to protect our child.”
A blast of cold hit him so hard that the looking glass behind him shattered.
“My life is rot!” Poppy shouted. “Utter rot, because of duty.” Tears filled her eyes, and she dashed them away. “I almost lost my sisters, lost you, because of bloody, f**king duty.”
He tried to touch her, but she swatted at him. “I will not lose you, Win. I cannot see you dragged to hell when I can do something about it.”
“You can, sweet,” he said, softly now because her pain lanced him through the heart. “You can let me fight him.”
Through her tears, she laughed. “Win, you know it won’t matter if you destroy him. He will bring you to hell regardless.”
“And were you thinking clearly, you’d realize that he’ll do the same whether it is you who delivers the blow or me.”
She recoiled as if struck. The words he’d thrown back at her hovered between them, taking her hope, and his heart broke for her. Her gaze darted away as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him.
“Poppy,” he said softly.
But she drew herself up and faced him. The resolve in her expression chilled his blood. “I’ll offer myself in your stead.”
“No!” He grabbed her. “Do not even think it.” Give me Poppy…
“Why? He wants me. You know it.” Her dark eyes searched his face. “You’ve known it for some time, haven’t you?”
“I know nothing of the sort.” But it was a lie, and they both knew it. His fingers dug into her flesh as if the action could somehow stay time. “And what of our child?”
The warrior look he knew so well stole over her features. “I will make a deal with him to keep the child safe.”
He gave her a small shake. “No.” It was all slipping away from him, his control, his choices. They were playing right into Jones’s hand as if he’d planned it from the start. And perhaps he had. Win ground his teeth. “No, Poppy, no.”
Glaring, Poppy pushed him back. “Yes, Win.”
He didn’t remember moving, but in the space of a breath, her back met with the wall. “Christ, you never listen!”
“It is you who does not listen,” she shouted back.
On a curse, he dropped his head to her shoulder and punched the wall. The plaster rattled as he leaned against her and silently raged, his chest lifting and falling in rapid fire.
“I will not let him divide us in anger,” he said into her shirt. Her hands grasped his shoulders then, and he snaked an arm about her waist to hold her.
Her lithe body bowed with tension for the space of a heartbeat and then she sagged against him, her hands holding his collar. “Win.” She sobbed his name, a plea, a prayer, and a curse. “God, you’re right. I don’t want that. I don’t…”
For a long moment, they stood, panting in the resounding silence, then he sank to the floor, pulled her onto his lap and simply held her. His throat ached when he finally spoke. “I didn’t know what I had in you. Not truly.” Admitting it hurt, but he wondered if anyone really appreciated their life until they faced the end of it. “I loved you. So much. But we drifted apart, didn’t we?” And that hurt too.
Her gaze lowered, yet her tight nod confirmed it.
He held her closer, needing to say this, to explain. “You hid what you were—” Poppy stiffened, but he stopped her protest with a brush of his lips to hers. “I’m not laying blame anymore, sweet.”