Winterblaze (9 page)

Bile rose in Mary’s throat.

“Don’t worry, Miss. We’ll keep them away.”

She stumbled, bumping into the metal call box that jutted out from the wall. Instantly, the officer was there, grasping her arm. It wasn’t until he touched her that she felt the sting. Gasping, she pulled away. Blood smeared her arm and stained his white glove red.

“I fear you’ve scratched yourself,” he said with a frown at her arm and then to the call box.

“Bother.” Mary cursed herself for being so affected. This could not continue. She had to master death. Yet even as resolve filled her, the breeze sent the stench of decay over her, and she blanched.

Thankfully, the officer was too busy inspecting her arm.

“We can’t have our lovely guest bleeding, now can we?” His dark eyes gleamed with good humor as he stripped off his glove, and with gentle care, wiped the blood from her arm with his bare thumb.

His touch was a lovely warmth against her cold flesh, and she couldn’t find it in herself to protest. He finished by pressing his glove to her arm.

“Shall I see you back to your rooms, Miss?”

And let Poppy discover her weakness? Or, heaven forbid, Jack Talent? She’d rather stop her heart for good. Mary slipped from the officer’s grasp. “That is quite all right. I’m perfectly well, honestly.”

She backed away. There was little she could do here now anyway.

“Good day then, Miss.” The officer bowed politely before returning to the scene of the crime.

T
he walk back to his stateroom was not enough time to calm Winston’s thoughts. Demons and Poppy danced around in his head. He’d spent so much time these past months stubbornly maintaining his ire at being lied to that he hadn’t given any thought to the danger Poppy actually placed herself in. The realization made him ill. Fighting demons? Of course she was. Why would he expect anything less from her? All these years of marriage, he’d felt a policeman’s guilt, worrying that his wife would live in fear for him. Hell, she might as well have been patting him on the head and sending him off to school.

Poppy followed along beside him, blithely ignoring the baffled looks their fellow travelers gave to her goggles and mussed hair. Not to mention the blasted knife she still had strapped low on her hips. It was as if she were sending out a dare to all and sundry: Do not fuss with me. That Winston found the costume exceedingly alluring was simply one more irritant to his day.

Still gritting his teeth, he opened the door to his suite
and came face to face with a massive steamer trunk tossed open and spilling forth froths of lacy petticoats and silken gowns.

“Well, bugger me.”

He would have expected books and sensible gowns for Poppy’s travel kit, but then as his wife was nothing like the woman he thought he knew, why should fripperies be a surprise? Mindful of his shins, he picked his way around it as Poppy briskly closed the door and turned to confront him.

Poppy’s face, while not an open book, was so familiar to him that he could read her well, and it was amusing to watch her mind work through possible things to say to him. He almost grinned because it was hard to best Poppy. It always had been. But the grin did not grow, for the anger within him was stronger. She expected to “save” him? He liked to think himself a modern man, open to new ideas and possibilities, but a man had his limits. Being nannied by his wife was one of them.

“You are traveling rather heavily these days, Poppy,” he said to break their stalemate.

Poppy’s steady brown eyes assessed him, looking for clues. God, he’d missed watching her think. He pushed the thought from his mind as she came closer. Her voice almost sounded husky when she spoke. “We’ll be sharing a suite.”

“Obviously.” The notion had his cock’s full attention, which made him want to punch something or turn the air blue with curses.

Those watchful eyes of hers narrowed. “You aren’t going to kick up a fuss?”

“Would it change things if I did?”

“I daresay no.” With quick tugs at the tips of her black
kid gloves, she removed them and tossed them aside, not bothering to see where they landed. “Though I admit, capitulation was not what I expected.”

Had he not needed to keep an eye on her, capitulation wasn’t what she would have received, either, but he couldn’t very well say that. He had to say something, for she was staring at him again, calculating. Give her enough spare time, and she’d figure him out. “Come now, Poppy, you know how I enjoy rattling your chains.” He allowed himself a small smile. “It is a rare sight to see you off balance.” He shouldn’t have said that. Now heat was creeping up his back and over his collar. A rattled Poppy stirred his blood. Always.

As if thinking much the same thing, pink tinged her cheeks. But she merely pursed her lips, and those straight brows of hers drew together. Time for a change of subject.

“What makes you immune from harm?” He had a good idea, but he wanted to hear her say it. “Why do you think you can fight this thing whereas I cannot?”

She blinked, nonplussed. “You don’t know?”

Meaning she thought he’d asked one of her family members. “I’ll be damned if I asked someone else to tell me my wife’s secrets,” he said. “It’s bloody bad enough that you kept them from me.”

He did not like the feeling that came over him upon seeing the hurt in her eyes. Bollocks to that. “One sister creates fire, the other moves the earth.” Winston stared at Poppy. “And the eldest? What can she do?”

Poppy did not answer.

“You froze the boat in the water, didn’t you?” Even as he said the words, part of him marveled at the notion. Such power living and breathing within his wife’s body. Had he not seen it happen, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Poppy’s expression remained implacable. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

“Why? I’ve already admitted it.” A hint of sarcasm laced her words. “I’m not a bloody parlor trick, you know.”

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 breasts 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.