His lips pressed against her neck as they held each other up, and his breath warmed her. Poppy closed her eyes and let herself relax further into him. When he finally spoke, his words were muffled by her skin. “You were always my anchor, Poppy. Now I am adrift.”
Gently, she touched the cool strands of his hair, still damp from the rain. But his body was so nice and warm. “I am unmoored as well, Win. And I don’t know what to do. For it was you who cut the ties.”
A deep, shuddering sigh left him, and his fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “I am not… I have spells, Poppy. I become unable to breathe; I fall ill.” She felt him swallow against her shoulder. “I am not the man you knew. I am not—” He stopped abruptly and took another breath. “I was angry and embarrassed. I could not face you.”
Anger stirred within her breast, and she tried to pull back. But he held tight and wouldn’t let her go. “It isn’t logical. Hell, it isn’t fair, the way I feel.” Only then did he move away enough to look her in the eyes. His were pained. “I am ashamed, Pop. And yet every time I try to govern my feelings, I fail.”
Poppy broke free of his grip, realizing belatedly it was because he let her. With a sigh, she sank down onto the bed. “You hurt me, Win.” She swallowed hard. “And I hurt you.”
He moved as if to touch her cheek but let his hand fall. “Yes.”
“How do we get past it?” Poppy’s fingers clenched. “Do you want to, Win?”
His expression darkened, making his patchwork of scars appear twisted. “Move over.”
She scuttled to the other side of the bed, and her back met with the pillows piled high behind her. To her surprise, he sank down and rested his head upon her lap. The warm weight of him seeped through her thin gown as he looked up at her, his winter eyes clear yet unreadable. Then he turned and curled in on her, his face pressing against the small swell of her lower belly. His breath left in a gust of warm air as he slowly lifted his hand. Everything in her stilled. The tips of his fingers stroked her, a violent shiver wracking his frame as he made contact.
Her chest tightened, and she blinked up at the ceiling, knowing that if she looked at his face just then she’d fall apart. His raspy voice drifted up through the thick silence. “Were you going to tell me?”
She swallowed several times. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Of course.”
Gentle fingers traced across the small rise of her belly. “When?”
A pained half-laugh escaped her, and she pressed her palm over her eyes. “I don’t know. I’d only just realized it myself. It was such a-a…” Oh, God, she didn’t want to speak. For years they had tried. Years of nothing but disappointment. It had ripped her heart open to discover that they’d finally achieved what they both wanted on the heels of his defection.
“You left me, Win.” Her fingers dug into the throbbing points at her temple as she gritted her teeth. “Wouldn’t talk to me.”
He hugged her tighter, a sound of pain breaking from him, but he did not speak. What could he say in any event?
“And I thought…” She licked her lips. “I did not want you to come home out of obligation.” She glanced down at him. “I still don’t.”
The ruined side of his face was to her. The paleness of his flesh made his scars vivid red. She wanted to touch them, lay her hand on his cheek, and send cool comfort into him. And her childish self wanted to yank him by his ungoverned locks and throw him from the room for causing her pain. His attention remained fixed on her belly, as his eyes began to water. Her fingers found their way into Win’s hair. She stroked his head as if to calm them both.
With a harsh sound, he cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. “I failed us both, Boadicea.” He fisted the loose folds of her gown and held on tight. “And will fail us more before the day is done.”
“Win.” Her voice broke, and she took a breath. “There is nothing so broken that cannot be mended.”
A wobbling, pained smiled ghosted over his lips. “Oh,” he said in a shaking voice, “I beg to