He swallowed hard. “I simply ask that you do not bring me back into that world. Winston Lane is not the brother of a duke. He is a detective.”
Oz’s hand closed over his. “Lord Winston Hamon Belenus Lane can be both.”
Win cleared his throat. “We shall see.”
“Yes, we shall.” Oz’s thin lips slanted in a gesture that was disturbingly like Win’s own. “You haven’t changed, you know.”
“Nor you.” By God, Win hadn’t realized how much he’d missed him.
After Poppy saw Osmond out, she crept back up the stairs and slipped into their bedroom. This time it had been Ian who’d tended Winston. Now with his wounds stitched, treated with ointment, and bandaged, Win lay in the center of the bed they had shared for so many years asleep and peaceful. Sunlight painted his hair in shades of gold and bronze. A morning beard shadowed the hard line of his jaw and made his lips appear softer. He shifted in sleep, and a lock of hair fell over his brow.
Poppy’s hands curled around the door handle. She itched to lie next to him and brush back that hair, cup his cheek with her hand, and soothe him. Her gaze settled on the white swath of wrappings that covered one shoulder and coiled around his upper torso. Her ice had done that. In some way, every scar upon his body had been because of her. What would Winston Hamon Belenus Lane have been had he not met Poppy Ellis? A lord. Safe.
Her life would not change. There was always danger. And she could not give it up. She did not want to. On sluggish limbs, she turned to go.
“Poppy Ann Lane.” His voice, though rough with exhaustion, commanded capitulation.
She turned back, resting her shoulder against the wall. “Yes, Mr. Lane?”
Purple smudges ran beneath his eyes, exaggerating their winter blue color. His mouth kicked up in a half smile, but it was not an amused smile. “You’ve never run from anything in your life. Do not tell me you mean to do so now.”
But she wanted to. Her body ached as she made herself speak. “When we first met, I thought I knew everything. I thought self-sacrifice, playing the martyr, would somehow ennoble me. Foolish. What is the point of living a life if it is spent in the shadows? And if fate had turned the other way, and I had said no to you, to our life together, then I would have been the worst of fools.” The very idea caused her to shiver. “You asked me about choices. Well, I choose you now, Win. I will always choose you.” Her fingers tightened on the doorframe. “I will always love you.”
His mouth opened as he strove to speak. Poppy held up a hand. “But this is not about my choice. It is about yours.” Poppy took a harsh breath, and it hurt. “What if you had your life back the way it was before?” She grimaced. “What if there is someone out there better for you? Safer. You could be safe.”
Win’s eyes narrowed, but he did not move as he studied her. And though her heart threatened to thunder right out of her chest, she held his gaze. After an endless moment, he blinked. His voice was clear when he spoke. “Winston Lane was born when he met Poppy Ellis.” His raspy voice grew stronger. “My life began with you. And it will end with you. That much I know.”
Her breath hitched, his words lancing her heart and making it bleed. “I’m afraid. I-I don’t like seeing you in danger.”
“Nor I you.” Again came that tilting smile of his. “But we shall have to get used to it.”
“Will we?” Her insides jumped and twitched. She rubbed her arms as if the motion would calm her.
Win’s gaze went to the action. His staid expression did not alter but he held out a hand. “Come here.” When she hesitated, he gave her one of his reproachful looks. “If you don’t, then I’ll have to come to you. And my chest hurts like a bugger.”
She had to smile at that. Her skirts whispered in the quiet as she walked forward and stopped by his bed. Win cocked a brow as he looked up at her. “Sit.” That imperious voice of his grew emphatic. “On me.”
A shocked laugh left her lips. “Win.”
“Poppy,” he answered in the same tone. A smile hovered about his lips.
“Bossy,” she muttered. But she loved it when he was, and he knew