Win shot away from the bed on his next breath. His chest heaved as he stood. “If you thought I would play a part in this… farewell—” He scrubbed his palm across his cheek, wiping away the humiliating tear that trickled down. “Then you don’t know me at all. Good-bye, Miss Ellis.”
He left her then, knowing that his final words had been a lie. He’d never truly be able to say good-bye to her. She was already part of his soul. Whether he wanted her to be or not.
Chapter Fifteen
Poppy needed to get off this bloody ship. How one could stand to be trapped on board a vessel for weeks on end, she didn’t know. As it was, she had to fight the urge to punch the walls or scream at her fellow passengers, most of whom had the rather annoying habit of greeting her good morning when she’d really rather they stay away. Bloody polite society.
She quickened her stride when yet another couple turned into the corridor and began strolling her way. These two, at least, were smart enough to properly interpret her stony expression and lack of eye contact as a signal to “please bugger off.” Poppy got past them and made it out into the main first class lobby. It was beautiful, with its mahogany paneling, stained-glass windows, and soaring height, giving one the feeling of walking into both a cathedral and a library all at once. She only noticed because it was something Win would have remarked upon. This did not alleviate her current mood, one that had descended on her as she’d dressed for the day.
Her boot heels clattered as she descended the center staircase at a swift pace, earning several censorious looks in the process. The stares of others only helped to shore up those lovely thick walls she’d developed to contain herself. She brushed by a loitering group of passengers who were complaining about the too-dry eggs at breakfast. Through a gateway of tall potted palms, she entered the cafe lounge.
He sat at the far corner table, where the massive skylight windows let in a dull, grey light. He had a way of sitting, so very straight and proper, his feet planted and his arms resting at his sides, that it ought to make him appear priggish. It did not. Whether it was the wide breadth of his shoulders, his knobby wrists peeking out from his cuffs, or the stern expression surrounded by that unkempt hair, she did not know, but he looked more a wild thing playing at being a gentleman, and she’d no doubt that if she lobbed the throwing knife she had hidden in her pocket, he’d react in an instant. Win’s greatest talent was making the world believe him harmless. Like the spider to the fly, he drew people into his confidence before tapping into their secrets. It was what made him both maddening and thrilling to her in a way no other man had even come close to.
She drew near, knowing that he was aware of her. She fancied she could see the knowledge hardening over his fine, strong features. He let it go for a few steps more then rose gracefully to his feet and drew out a chair for her.
“Morning,” he said in his raspy voice. “Have you eaten?”
She sat in her chair as he poured fresh coffee into his cup and pushed it toward her. “No.” She took a grateful drink.
He frowned, which, with his scars, made him appear all the more disreputable. “You ought to take better care. The child needs nourishment.”
The cup clinked as she set it down. “Which would be moot if I were to simply cast the food back up.” She scowled down at her hands, aware that he was staring at her. “I feel slightly ill this morning.”
Her chest ached where Isley had struck her, and her head throbbed. She wanted to nap, even though she’d just risen. She wanted someone else to carry her load for a moment or two. Hell, she just wanted off this great, rocking prison. As that would happen in a few hours, she refused to be churlish about it a moment longer and slowly lifted her gaze to his. Win’s eyes gave her no indication of his feelings.
“You’ve a plan, I gather.” She took another sip of coffee and felt a bit more restored. Perhaps a sweet bun was in order, after all.
“Yes.” Win lifted a hand in the air, and a waiter started over. “Find this Moira Darling and solve the case for the bastard.” He turned to the waiter. “My wife will have…”
“Sweet buns,” she supplied. When he left, she turned back to Win. “You’ve always been able to do that? How?”
His gorgeously stern mouth quirked, and she was hit anew by the need to kiss those lips. “Because I know how to read you.” The smile faded. “Or I used to think I did.”
Her heart kicked in her chest. “You obviously still do it well enough to know I wanted food.”
“There is that,” he murmured, stealing a sip of coffee.
“Win?” Poppy ran a finger along the edge of the marble tabletop, studying her progress rather than face him. “Did it… Would you have preferred it if I had expressed my anger more… vocally? Over the years, that is.” Blast, but her cheeks were too hot.
He set his coffee cup on its saucer. “Would it have been so terrible? To let me in, let me share your burden?”
Her finger slid back and forth over the marble. She cleared her throat. “I thought you’d prefer your wife to exhibit at least some womanly virtue.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean back in his chair, and she made herself look up. His arms were folded, resting on his lean middle. A hint of wry amusement flickered in his eyes, but there was irritation dwelling there as well. “I see. So then you would rather I behaved the common husband, demanded you stay at home, darn my stockings, and so forth?!”
“That is hardly the same.”
“Is it not?” His shoulders tightened. “I was under the impression that the things we were not brought us together as much as the things we were.”
Typical Winston logic. Her face heated further. He moved then, in his quick, economical way, and sat up fully in the chair once more. “I’ve a lead to follow in London. The Komtesse Krogstad. I’ve never heard of her, but she apparently knew the demon as Lord Isley sixteen years ago.”
“I know her,” Poppy said with a lurch. “She lives in Chelsea.”
His steady blue-grey eyes held hers. “How do you know her?” Which translated to: When during our marriage were you consorting with komtesses? And why?
She refused to apologize. “She’s a demimondaine and a member of the Aesthetic movement, which means she interacts with a great deal of, shall we say, eccentrics. It puts her in a key position to notice certain supernatural activities.” Poppy paused as the waiter returned and set down a basket of fresh baked bread and two plates. Her mouth actually watered at the scent, and she tucked into a sweet bun, chewing vigorously before swallowing it down with another sip of coffee. Heaven. “The Komtesse has been an SOS informant for years.”
“Mmm.” Win selected a roll and tore off a chunk before popping it in his mouth. Unlike her, his manners remained impeccable. Well, she thought irritably, he wasn’t beset by sudden bouts of insatiable hunger. She took another large bite of the sweet bread.
“Questioning her,” he said, “ought to go a bit more smoothly in that case.”
Poppy forced herself to ignore the bread. “Win, I want to help you.”
He stared back with those eyes that saw everything and gave nothing away unless he let them. “I want you to help me,” he said softly, and her insides went warm.
“Good.” She nodded and snuck just one more bite of the roll.
He looked like he might say more so she cut him off, not wanting to hear him discuss last night before she could. “We shall solve this case, eradicate this bloody bargain, capture Isley, and then…”
“And then,” he prompted, his voice even, almost dull, his expression going hard once again. “What then, Poppy?”
Her heart pounded. Did he dare make her ask? Beg for them to be a family? Not like this. Her hand clenched the smooth curve of the coffee cup. “And then this business shall be over, of course.”
Something snuffed in his eyes, like a flame blown out, and again came the feeling of failing a test that he’d laid out for her. It made her want to throw the cup across the room, just to see it smash. She calmly returned his gaze.
“Right,” he said. But when she made to rise, his hand snaked out and clamped around her wrist, holding her still. “Until then, let me correct certain misapprehensions. We may no longer live as husband and wife, but there is more than just you and me to consider. There is our child. We are in this together now.” His grip tightened. “Together, Boadicea. If you fall, I will catch you. I do not expect you to trust me on that. Not yet.” His eyes were hard, and he stared her down, but his touch suddenly became unbearably gentle and secure. “But I shall work at every moment to make you believe it.”
Disembarking went smoothly. The train ride from Southampton to London was made in relative silence. It wasn’t until they stood on the platform at Victoria Station and faced each other over their stacked travel trunks that the reality of returning home fell upon them. Win’s deep-set eyes watched her, letting the moment grow between them, and she saw his hesitation, as if he did not want to be the one to state the obvious—that he would now go back to whatever rooms he’d let.
Irritatingly, the backs of Poppy’s eyes began to burn and prickle. She’d grown used to him again. When he’d left, it had taken weeks to finally get a full night’s rest. A hard-earned struggle now destroyed by two days of being with him once again. Damn it all.
This man could hurt her. More than anyone on earth. For she had exposed her heart to him in all its pink, fleshy glory. He knew its pathways and its weaknesses. Where she would bleed the most if he chose to slice into her. In truth, he’d already made the first cut, leaving her blood to run not hot but ice cold down the walls of her chest. Wounded as she was, it would not take much for him to finish her. This man could do much worse than hurt her. This man could destroy her.
Behind them, Mary Chase and Jack Talent waited, both of them trying their best to blend into the scenery. Ye gods, would the ignominy of her situation ever end? She detested public spectacle, and now it was hers.