her long ago, drowning himself in the euphoric haze she provided. Because he had wanted a woman that he could not—A memory slammed into him, fragmented but strong.
Running a hand over his face, Winston fought for control as the waiter departed. His mind was a fog. Jones’s white eyes bore into Winston. “No more games. You will remember it all. Now.” Jones pushed a glass closer to Winston. “Drink and remember, Winston Lane.”
“No.” A cold sweat broke out over his brow. Winston would not drink. To do so would be his undoing. He knew it instinctively.
Jones’s icy eyes went crimson. “Drink it, or I’ll do it the hard way.”
Winston considered the hard way, but his hand moved of its own accord, as if compelled to obey. Absinthe spilled over his lips, pouring down his throat in a river of fire. The glass teetered as he gasped. Images flashed before his eyes. Drunken laughter, a haze of smoke, Poppy’s smiling eyes, his father’s scowl. You will not marry the daughter of a merchant. Win, I cannot marry you; your father will destroy my family. Jones’s long-fingered hand offering up a bone quill. Sign it and start anew, Winston Lane.
Winston’s thighs banged against the table as he surged up, toppling his glass and sending absinthe across the marble. Jones’s hand snatched up Winston’s wrist and yanked him back down with bone-crushing force.
“Calm yourself.” Jones’s hand was warmer than human flesh, and though Winston wrenched at his arm, the man’s grip was unbreakable. “Really, I detest this part. The next thing will be you begging, and that becomes quite tedious.”
“I never beg,” Winston said through his teeth.
“Well, good. I hate whiners.” Apparently deciding that Winston wasn’t going anywhere, Jones let him go. “Fourteen years ago, I gave you a new life. You wanted to dispose of the position given to you by birth and become a detective. You wanted a certain redheaded chit to be your wife. I gave you those things.”
Gave him Poppy? No, not her. What they had was real. “You cannot manipulate a person’s experiences,” Winston ground out.
Jones selected a fresh cigarette and lit it. “What is a man but what he thinks himself to be? Moreover, what is a life but a collection of memories?” Jones exhaled. “And I, my ignorant fellow, manipulate memories. For a fee, that is.”
“Jesus.”
“No,” Jones smiled, “I am not he.” The smile left. “I altered the memories of you and those within your sphere. Thus it became your truth, their truth.”
“My father did not disown me?” The memory of being disowned was still there, clear as day. I no longer have a son named Winston. From this day forth.
Jones laughed shortly. “Ra’s balls, you are the son of a duke. The spare, yes, but do you honestly think he’d let you go? He was ready to crush all opposition to pull you to heel. No son of his was going to gad about playing at detective.”
Jones was repeating his father’s words. He could hear them play in his head now and felt the same suffocating anger. You marry that chit and every door in London will shut in your face. I’ll see you a beggar before a son of mine gads about playing at detective.
“Until his dying day, he believed you’d gone to the grave before him,” Jones said. “Your name is on the family tomb. Very impressive structure.”
Christ, his father had thought him dead. He didn’t know how he felt about that, seeing as he’d bargained his soul to get away from him. Had he really been so desperate? Yes, he realized, yes he had.
“This is why you are here?”
Jones grinned. “Poppy Ann warned you about me, did she?”
The way he spoke of Poppy, with such familiarity, sent a bolt of sheer rage through Winston’s chest. “Did she know? Of this.” He waved his hand in the direction of the paper.
Jones snorted in amusement. “You are wise to ask. That woman keeps secrets upon secrets. She’s a bloody menace.”
Winston wasn’t about to dignify that with a remark. The silence grew taut until Jones exhaled with a long, suffering sigh. “She is entirely ignorant. Fooled by a lie as well.” His smile was pure evil. “So much for your righteous indignation toward liars, Winston.”
Winston’s fists ached with the need to smash the man’s face. He breathed through the anger and said nothing as Jones continued. “However, if you need to throw a bit of blame her way, you may be happy to know that