differ.” Slowly, he rolled away and sat up at the edge of the bed, giving his back to her. His hair fell about his face as he glared down at his clenched hands, and she ached to rub the broad expanse of his back. She might hurt, but he seemed utterly lost.
“I’m the veriest of hypocrites, Pop.” As he turned back to her, the depth of regret and sorrow reflected in his eyes took her breath. “I left you for lying when I have done ten times worse.”
Though they no longer touched, Winston could feel Poppy tense. He knew his wife so well in this regard. She was preparing herself, governing her emotions. Before he had left Poppy, they never had a true row. It was all very civilized, their arguments. Voices might become raised, tempers flare, but one of them would leave the room before there was any danger of getting out of hand. Staring at his clenched fists, Win wondered if their mutual civility had really been a disservice. For it had made it too easy to walk away when things grew sticky.
He had walked away. And it disgusted him. Slowly, he relaxed his fingers. Never again would he turn from a fight with Poppy. Christ, but that was an easy thing to say when he had less than a week to save both his and their child’s soul.
Swallowing against the fear, he turned back to Poppy. Her pristine white nightgown covered her from neck to foot and made her appear all of twelve. The red silk of her hair ran over her shoulders and down to her waist. He pulled his gaze up to her eyes. Those eyes, dark and glinting beneath straight red brows. Those eyes never failed to draw him in.
“The demon found me.”
Horror slashed across her features, and she lurched forward. “When? What did he want?”
He rested a hand on the bed between them. “Poppy… Hell. He wants our child.”
Quite abruptly, the temperature in the room dropped, as if someone had walked in from an Arctic night. “Over my dead body.”
“No, over mine.” His voice came out stronger than he felt. “I made a bargain with him.”
“What!” Poppy wrenched herself out of the bed, her long hair swinging.
Win rubbed the back of his neck. “Fourteen years ago, I loved a woman. I was the son of a duke who would not let me marry this woman, and I wanted to be a detective.”
Poppy blanched. “You were cut off and I agreed—Oh-ho no…” Her fists bunched tight as if she might hit him. “Do not tell me…” Red swarmed up her cheeks, and the room grew icy. Currents of air swirled about them.
“Yes, Boadicea.” He made a furtive gesture to touch her but dropped his hand when she bared her teeth like a feral thing. “He found me and gave me my heart’s desire in exchange for my soul.” The sound of his swallowing was overly loud in the silence. “It’s all been a lie. Our life…”
“Do not!” She hissed through her teeth before going on. “Do not tell me this, Win.”
“It is worse.” On a breath, he told her the rest. With each word out of his mouth, each lie revealed, the room grew colder, until he shivered and icicles hung from the lamps and frost coated the portholes.
“Damn him to hell,” Poppy shouted when he finished. She whirled about and slammed her palm against a chair, sending it flying. “Bloody fucking bastard!”
Icy air tore about the room, howling in the small space and blinding his eyes. Squinting, he braced himself, waiting for the explosion to turn his way. It did not come. The frost blew itself out, as quickly and deftly as if one had slammed the door shut on it. Standing in the center of the room, her back to him and her head bowed, she pressed a fist against her mouth for one silent moment. Then she took a quick breath, letting her hand fall, and looked up at the ceiling as if it might hold answers or a way out.
When she spoke, her voice cracked. “All right. The damage is done.” She sucked in another shallow breath. “Now we need to contain it. So you’ve been charged to find this woman? And then we are free?” With shaking hands, she smoothed her gown. “Fine then, let us find her. Not that I bloody well trust Isley to deliver.”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but simply moved to pick up an overturned