Talent leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “You honor me, ma’am.” His visage blurred before her eyes, the words he spoke a buzz in her ears. “I can only hope,” he said with strangely drawn-out diction, “that you will feel the same come Monday morning.”
Ice ran along her skin, and she gripped the arm of her chair. “What have you done?”
He stood, looming, his eyes holding regret. “Nothing I’m proud of.” Then he guided her heavy body down to lie upon the couch and slipped a small square of paper into her limp hand. “Do not worry, Mrs. Lane. The chemist assures this won’t hurt the baby.”
The baby. Their baby. Win. She needed to save them. But her world went black and she could think no more.
Chapter Forty-one
Late as it was, the Victoria Embankment appeared abandoned, peaceful even. Winston’s footfall was little more than scuffs along the wide, flat pavers. A warm breeze rustled the leaves of the trees so carefully planted along the path. Before him, the many spires and towers of Westminster Palace pierced the grey sky, and the glowing face of Big Ben stared back like a yellowed, unblinking eye.
He walked past the electric lampposts that ran along the curved wall of the embankment. Their strange, unwavering white light made him see the world clearly. The rippling waters of the Thames reflected those harsh lights and the ones coming from the gaslights upon the distant Westminster Bridge. Above the bridge, the moon hung bright in the mottled sky, the edges of it indistinct beneath the moving clouds.
Though he had many things to worry over, Win took it all in. This was his city, and he loved it well. Dark and strangely beautiful, London was his home. And he might never see it again. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and took a deep breath of acrid air. One last and proper taste of the city before he fought for his child’s soul, and for his.
The air stirred again, a swirling gust that did not appear to come from any one direction, and then Jones was simply there, standing beneath the garish light of an electric lamp. “I almost wondered if I’d have to hunt you down,” he said.
Winston took a step closer. Tonight, Jones wore his own skin, or rather the skin Winston knew him in. His white eyes followed Win’s movements in a twitchy sort of way, and Win fought the urge to laugh. Jones was nervous.
“I gave my word that I would be here,” Win said. “I do not go back on my word.”
Jones leaned one elbow on the high embankment wall. “And yet you have not brought me my son.”
“We shall get to that in a moment.”
Jones bared his teeth on a growl. “We get to it now!” Before Win’s eyes, he seemed to grow taller, broader, less human. “Mary Margaret Ellis kept him from me, and I’ll be damned if my daughter continues to do the same.”
Winston returned the stare, ignoring the sweat trickling down his collar and the tremor in his back. Part of him wanted to look over his shoulder for fear of seeing Poppy appear before he could get this business done. Instead, he leaned against the embankment wall as Jones had done. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you where he is.”
“You most certainly will not!” Poppy said.
They both stood at attention upon hearing Poppy’s irate shout. She walked out of the shadows, her dark eyes snapping with fury, her long legs eating up the ground as she advanced. And still dressed as a man.
Win watched her, not daring to look at Jones.
“What on earth have you done to yourself, Poppy Ann?” Jones said with a shocked laugh. Oddly, Jones almost sounded affectionate.
Her straight brows nearly touched. “None of your bloody business.” Her gaze swung around to Winston and went ice cold. “You unmitigated bastard. That you would drug me and betray my trust—”
“For our child!” Win snapped. Inside his heart raced with nervous fear, but he could not let it show. “Did you honestly expect me to give up our child for anything on this earth?”
She winced, her face crumbling. “I cannot… I promised not to let my brother come to harm.”
Win threw up his hands and made a noise of disgust.
“Be reasonable, Poppy.” Jones took a step in her direction. “He is my son.”
“So say you.”
Jones took another abrupt step closer, and she stiffened, her hand drifting to her side, where no doubt