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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.

  Her limbs did not quite work normally. She was too aware for that. Fingers cold, she took hold of her hairbrush. His eyes followed, and her body reacted, pulling tight, shivering, not from cold now but with heat. Thick bristles moved through her hair, the faint sound a symphony in the quiet room. And always his eyes upon her.

  By the time she got to one hundred strokes, she hadn’t the courage to look up at him and discover his expression. His immense calm had apparently returned, for he hadn’t so much as moved from his spot by the door. She was a fool to play this game, a fool to think she could outlast his patience. Irritation prickled her neck at the thought, and she set down the brush with a distinct clatter. Well then. Perhaps she ought to do something less mundane than brush her hair.

  Tossing the thick length of it over her shoulder, she propped her leg upon the bench and bent to undo her garters. That the position also thrust her backside out and highlighted the length of her legs was a boon. Reward came in the form of his breath drawn quick and sharp. When he spoke, it was almost a shock to her system, for he had been so silent.

  “What game are you playing at, Poppy?”

  “No game.” She lifted the edge of her chemise just enough to expose her garter ties. “I take my duty in keeping you safe quite seriously.”

  “Enough of this madness. You are not my protector. You. Are. My. Wife.”

  “Is that what I am?” The garter wouldn’t come loose. She bent over farther. Gods, but she was too aware of her exposure and the way the cool air touched her naked thighs like a caress. A wicked urge had her parting her legs farther. “You’ve done a fine job of making me feel like one lately.”

  She didn’t see him move, didn’t know to react, until a whisper of linen over wool just behind her back made her turn. Too late. He caught her elbow and spun her around. Angry and tired, she snapped. Poppy lifted her arm, throwing him off, then grabbed his wrist. One good shove and he was the one pinned against the wall, his cheek pressed to it, his arm behind his back—

  His counter-attack was so fast that she felt it before she saw it. Her shoulder blades slammed against the wooden wardrobe doors. Hard, but not enough to hurt. And then he was there, his thigh pushing between hers so that she could not kick out, his grip firm as he held one of her wrists high above her head.

  Well then.

  Blood up and breathing quickened, her breasts rose and fell against the crush of his chest. She could move, but not much. He bent close until they were nose to nose. It was delicious. And maddening.

  Win’s eyes, glinting with dark humor, bore into hers. “Would you look at that. Poppy Lane ensnared.”

  She allowed a grin then and adjusted the grip of her free hand that was trapped between them. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  She felt the exact moment he realized she held his cods in her hand, for they tightened as he huffed out a choked breath. And then he began to swell, his long length thickening and rising against the heel of her hand. She swallowed hard. “I believe it is you caught in a snare, Mr. Lane.”

  Challenge glimmered in his eyes, and he nudged against her palm, gently, teasing, patronizing. “Go on then. Here is my body. Guard it well, wife.”

  Bastard. Her knees buckled with the urge to sink down and draw him out of his trousers. “I do not find you amusing.”

  He leaned in a touch, his cock a hard press against her arm, his stones filling her hand. His lips canted with a little smile. Those expressive lips that she knew could be soft, or hard. So hard. She watched them move. “Not even a little?”

  Slowly she lifted her eyes and then stroked, running a finger down the center of his tight sack. He grew tighter, a strangled sound gurgling in his throat as he pushed into her touch.

  “Poppy.” A dark warning. An invitation. “You take my cock in hand, you had better be ready to toss it off.”

  “Your rude behavior won’t scare me away.” But it made her inexplicably hot. Damn him.

  His gaze grew shadowed. “Who said I wanted you scared?”

  She tried to breathe, but he was too close, his cock throbbing now against her hand. “And how do you want me?”

  His lips touched her temple, the merest caress before slipping away. “I want you safe. I want you gone from here.”

  She glared back at him, and their mouths brushed. Desire and frustration made his eyes go dark. She sympathized, but wouldn’t let him go. “I am here to protect you, Win. Whether you like it or not.”

  The wrong thing to say, apparently. His nostrils flared, and his gaze frosted over. “So then,” he murmured against her lips, “is this the full-service guarding that you usually provide?”

  She wrenched him.

  “Ah!” Win fell to the floor,
cupping himself. “Christ!” He hissed again, then looked up at her through the wild strands of his hair as Poppy stepped around him. “Bad form, Poppy. Exceedingly.”

  “Come now, I did not do it that hard.”

  His even, white teeth snapped together with a click. “Had you balls, madam, I’d be happy to reciprocate. Then we’d see who was flippant.”

  “Idle threats, Win.”

  “Poppy Ann Lane,” he snarled. “You get back here.”

  “You know,” she tossed over her shoulder, “at the moment, I’m sorely considering going by Poppy Ellis once more.”

  “We are not finished with this.”

  Her heels clipped against the floor as she strode farther away. “Oh, I believe we are.”

  Chapter Seven

  London, 1869—A Kiss

  It had been one week since he’d last seen her. Propriety demanded that Winston wait that long to call on Poppy again. But he was beginning to think to hell with propriety. The way he thought of Poppy was far from proper. And waiting had nearly driven him mad. Her scent, from where she’d brushed up against him on the way back to her home, had faded from his coat, and he longed for it. He’d longed for everything about her—the sound of her voice, the quick flash of her eyes, and her touch.

  But now she was with him again, walking at his side, her slim hand a light, yet profound weight upon his arm. They hadn’t spoken for some moments, Poppy nibbling on her bottom lip as they strolled along, and he wondering what had caused her sudden and obvious case of nervousness. Her cheek held a faint blush, and her eyes would not fully meet his.

  Unable to stand the suspense any longer, he cleared his throat. “Have I done something to offend you?” He refused to entertain the notion that she did not want to be with him.

  Her smooth gait bobbled, but she corrected it quickly. Her flush, however, spread. “No.” She made a small noise, and her fingers twitched on his arm. “I am… well, that is to say, I am simply glad to see you, Mr. Lane.”

  It was his turn to falter. He stopped and turned to face her. Pink-cheeked and flustered, she met his eyes with effort, and a grin spread over his face, one that he felt with his whole being. “I am very glad to see you too, Miss Ellis.”