Winterblaze (22 page)

“You did the smart thing, Lane.”

Hands fisting, he glanced down at the street urchin who had appeared by his side. A grubby little face blinked up at him, innocent, sweet with his button nose and too big eyes that flared with an inner fire. It took all Win had not to smash his fist into that face. “Did you do this?”

Jones looked down at the bodies littering the ground. “I thought this was your handiwork.”

“You bloody well know what I mean.”

“You’ve no sense of humor, Lane.” Jones shrugged. “As she said, it is not my style. The woman has more enemies than the devil.” His little face turned to watch Poppy go, and he grinned. “Ah, but she’s glorious when she fights, isn’t she?” Icy eyes settled on Winston. “She won’t be talking to you for some time, though, will she?”

“I swear to God,” Winston ground out, “I will find a way to destroy you, Jones. Even if I have to go to hell to do it.”

The urchin adjusted his cap and spat on the ground. “Sweet words will get you nowhere.” He shoved his small hands into the pockets of his short pants. “I’m doing you a service, really. Fate never meant for her to be yours.”

“And what if I don’t believe in your version of fate?” Each word was a razor dragged along Winston’s throat.

“Then you wouldn’t be here.” A little foot kicked at a broken clump of paving, and the clump bounded away. “You’d be running after her.” Hard eyes leveled on him. “Now, stop wasting time. You’ve got three days left. Then I come to collect.”

A
man could make himself weak at the knees giving in to anticipation. Especially if gifted with a healthy imagination. He could watch the object of his desire and wonder. What would her lips taste like? Would they be tart and sweet like berries? Or warm and smooth like sherry? Would she willingly tickle her tongue along his? Or make him work for an entry? One glimpse of the shadow of her breasts and he could be hard, contemplating the shape of them once set free of their confinement. Pointed? Tear-dropped? Round? What color would her nipples be? Would they be big? Small? Pert? Or flat? It was an agony of delightful possibilities. A game of wondering how much torment a man could take before he acquired the knowledge.

Win had played that game before. He remembered the sharp sweetness of it. And he almost laughed now at the memory. For he now knew there was another far crueler sort of pain. That in knowing precisely, with vivid recollection, just what a man was missing out on. Imagination
was a shadow of reality. Win knew what Poppy tasted like. That her breasts were small yet shapely little handfuls. He knew the exact shade and texture of her nipples. The very color her skin would flush when he pushed into her.

Ignorance was, as they say, bloody, buggering bliss. Knowledge, on the other hand, was an acute pain. A pain, to be precise, in his cock. Stuck as he was in a small coach with the object of his desire as they made their way to Farleigh, his cock was none too happy. Discreetly as he could, he adjusted himself and forced his gaze away from the cool length of her throat. He wanted to lick that expanse of skin, feel the throb of her pulse against him. He craved her flavor as a man imprisoned craves a juicy bite of meat.

He was an Englishman, for God’s sake. He’d been raised on the denial of pleasure and control of one’s wants. Only he’d never been able to master those things in regard to Poppy. Now, he’d cut himself off entirely. Like a bloody imbecile. At the very least, he ought to have joined Talent in the servants’ coach and had Mary Chase ride with Poppy.

No words were spoken as they rode onward. Which was for the best. He couldn’t think of what to say that would not draw himself closer into her orbit. And that was the problem: he wanted to be in her orbit. To be around her was the difference between going through the motions of the day and feeling every breath.

Poppy’s stomach made a little growl, pulling him from his self-pity. Her lips flattened at the sound. He almost smiled, save her posture grew so rigid and the clench of her hands upon her lap so tight, that he knew she would not welcome it. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small bag of chestnuts.

Her eyes went round as he handed them to her. But
she did not refuse. Her nimble fingers worked in a near greedy fashion as she stuffed a chestnut into her mouth. “I didn’t know you to carry food around in your pocket.” She munched industriously on another nut. As they hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences since their argument, her words came out stilted and awkward.

“I don’t, generally. Here…” He pulled a flask filled with cool apple cider out of his other pocket. She snatched it up and took a deep drink. “Save I’ve heard from some of the chaps that ladies in your condition are apt to need more sustenance.” And if Poppy’s appetite for the last few days was any indication, she needed a bit more than most.

Slowly she lowered the flask and peered at him. “These things are for me?”

“Of course.”

It was clear that she did not expect him to look after her needs. Her hands fell to her lap, one hand clutching the chestnuts and the other the flask. She stared at him for a good moment, in which he had the irritating urge to look away, then she tucked the flask at her hip and ate another nut. “Thank you, Win.”

“It is the least I can do. After all, I wouldn’t want you to become irritable with hunger.” He gave her a tight smile, for he didn’t want her to see how much he enjoyed caring for her just now, not when she obviously believed it was no longer his duty, or his right. “A man learns to fear for his life when that occurs.”

“Ha.” She said it shortly, but good humor crinkled the corners of her eyes. The empty chestnut bag crumpled in her hand, and then she peered at him again, a thorough inspection that had him resting one arm casually over his lap to hide certain evidence.

“What else have you got for me, then?”

His breath hitched before he realized she was referring to food. Perfect. He gave her another smile. “A few meat pies in my satchel.”
And that did not sound at all like a double entendre
. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you ought to pace yourself? Not devour all and sundry in one sitting?”

Her warrior’s brows snapped together, and her hand shot out. “Hand them over, Lane.”

He laughed, because he could not hold it back, and then gave her the food, because he was not a complete fool. When she had settled back with her feast, he took hold of her legs and propped them on his lap. She squeaked in protest, and he gave her shin a light slap.

“Hush.” His fingers went to the tight laces of her half-boots. “I’ve also been informed that a lady’s feet may swell and become pained.”

She shifted, finding a more comfortable position, and then regarded him with amusement. “I do not believe that occurs until I am a bit larger. However, I shall not complain.” She took a bite of pie. “Wouldn’t want to injure your tender feelings, after all.”

“Gracious girl.” He eased one boot off, noting her small noise of pleasure, before moving to take off the other boot. “Why did you not use your power on the undead we fought?” He had been wanting to ask, yet oddly had not been quite ready for the answer.

When she spoke, her words were measured. “The undead are magically manipulated, which means the rules of nature do not apply to them. At any rate, the degree of cold I would have needed to freeze bodies so large would have hurt you more than them.” She shrugged and broke off a crumpling edge of the pastry. “Sometimes it is more practical to simply fight hand to hand.”

Indeed.
He kept his eyes upon his work as he dug his thumbs along the bottom of her foot. She sighed, the sound zinging through him, but the tension did not ease along her leg.

Poppy’s voice was soft as it drifted across to him. “I knew it would bother you.”

When he wrenched his head up, he found her blinking down at her clenched hands. A sad smile played about her lips. “I understand that a man wants to be the protector, to know that he can keep his wife from harm. What man in his right mind would want a woman who can freeze him solid with a thought?” She laughed weakly. “Who is versed in multiple weaponry and proficient in six forms of physical combat?”

Six forms? Hell, Archer and Ian had only taught him four. He looked down at his hands gripping Poppy’s narrow foot. They were strong, capable hands. He’d just beheaded two undead thugs, though he took no pleasure from it. If he were honest with himself, he’d rather best a man with knowledge, not tear him apart. Still, as normal men went, he could easily hold his own on the physical field. Unfortunately, normal had long since left the station.

Poppy was silent. Then she swallowed audibly. “Part of me was happy to keep it all from you.”

“Because you did not want to offend my manly pride?” He said it lightly, though the idea that she believed he was so small-minded bothered him.

Her dark eyes found him. “Because I didn’t want you to stop looking at me as a woman. As a wife who needed you.”

The carriage shuddered over a rut as he absorbed her words. Win cleared his throat, and it sounded overly loud
in the space between them. “When we did battle against those undead, with your back to mine, each of us moving as one, I did not feel diminished. I felt alive.” He stared at her, and his blood heated again. “I think you are magnificent, Poppy Lane.”

“When I am in my twilight, and in a fit of ennui, I shall have a house party just like this,” said Poppy. They strolled arm in arm, the picture of a content couple, along the stunning gardens of Farleigh. Hundreds of butterflies dotted the air, fluttering to and fro. Win did not know how Mrs. Noble’s staff had managed to collect so many live specimens, but it made quite the picture. At present, he and Poppy wandered beneath an arbor hung with a profusion of blush pink roses that sweetened the air with their scent.

It had been fairly easy to pose as Mr. and Mrs. Snow, he a retired inspector turned prosperous wine merchant. Between the two of them, they knew enough about Hector Ellis’s old business practices to speak proficiently on the subject. And Win wanted to keep his past as an inspector, as due to the oddness of human nature, people tended to open up to former inspectors more than they did actual inspectors.

“What is it about this party that appeals to you?” Despite their situation, relaxation softened his voice and made his gait slow. The gentle strains of Vivaldi drifted over the garden. Walking with Poppy was something he’d always loved to do. To hear her thoughts and to feel her arm pressed against him made his heart light. A butterfly alighted upon the intricate twist of her ginger locks and settled down like a golden ornament.

“None of them care,” she said. “Have you noticed?
They aren’t concerned with appearances or doing one better than the other.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “If you are referring to the impromptu swim in the lake we witnessed upon arrival, then I could not agree more.” A swim that did not include clothing.

Her cheeks went a charming shade of strawberry. “Yes, well that, and the general attitude of the party goers. There is such a carefree air. But genuine, which I can hardly comprehend in this day and age.”

He stopped at the end of the arbor where a wood nymph water fountain made gentle music. “A bit too casual, I’m afraid.” He glanced back toward the house, not visible from their vantage point, but there just the same. “We’ve been here three hours and have yet to see our hostess.”

“I suspect we’ll have to wait for this evening.” Her red brows slanted down, highlighting her strong profile. “Do you suppose she’ll keep to that horrid rule of separating the sexes after dinner?”

“Perhaps not,” he said, not really paying attention. The butterfly had fluttered away, but a deep red strand of silken hair had slipped the knot and now coiled about Poppy’s white throat. “Mrs. Noble does not appear to care for society strictures.”

In her butter yellow gown, with her hair piled high, Poppy looked every inch the proper lady, yet he knew the steel core that hid just beneath the surface. But here, with the warm August sunlight dappling her white cheeks and glorious hair, she seemed almost at peace.

Unable to help himself, he stroked the smooth, alabaster curve of her cheek with his thumb, gliding it up a sunlit patch and along the downy tendrils of hair at her temple. She flinched at first contact, but did not step away. Her
eyes studied him. They stood close. Close enough that he’d only have to lean forward and he’d be kissing her. He would start soft and mold her mouth with his, before gently opening hers.

His voice came out over-rough when he spoke. “I did not attend to you enough.”

A little furrow deepened between her brows. “What do you mean? You always came home in a timely manner. You were always attentive.”

He cupped her cheek, loving the cool feel of her against his skin. “No. I mean like this. We never just went away. Never spent time simply being. I lost track of appreciating
you
.”

Her slender hand settled on his chest, and his heart thumped in return. “Win, you didn’t have to take me away to make me happy. You just had to be with me.” Her voice broke in a whisper. “And I was.”