Her boot heels clattered as she descended the center staircase at a swift pace, earning several censorious looks in the process. The stares of others only helped to shore up those lovely thick walls she’d developed to contain herself. She brushed by a loitering group of passengers who were complaining about the too-dry eggs at breakfast. Through a gateway of tall potted palms, she entered the cafe lounge.
He sat at the far corner table, where the massive skylight windows let in a dull, grey light. He had a way of sitting, so very straight and proper, his feet planted and his arms resting at his sides, that it ought to make him appear priggish. It did not. Whether it was the wide breadth of his shoulders, his knobby wrists peeking out from his cuffs, or the stern expression surrounded by that unkempt hair, she did not know, but he looked more a wild thing playing at being a gentleman, and she’d no doubt that if she lobbed the throwing knife she had hidden in her pocket, he’d react in an instant. Win’s greatest talent was making the world believe him harmless. Like the spider to the fly, he drew people into his confidence before tapping into their secrets. It was what made him both maddening and thrilling to her in a way no other man had even come close to.
She drew near, knowing that he was aware of her. She fancied she could see the knowledge hardening over his fine, strong features. He let it go for a few steps more then rose gracefully to his feet and drew out a chair for her.
“Morning,” he said in his raspy voice. “Have you eaten?”
She sat in her chair as he poured fresh coffee into his cup and pushed it toward her. “No.” She took a grateful drink.
He frowned, which, with his scars, made him appear all the more disreputable. “You ought to take better care. The child needs nourishment.”
The cup clinked as she set it down. “Which would be moot if I were to simply cast the food back up.” She scowled down at her hands, aware that he was staring at her. “I feel slightly ill this morning.”
Her chest ached where Isley had struck her, and her head throbbed. She wanted to nap, even though she’d just risen. She wanted someone else to carry her load for a moment or two. Hell, she just wanted off this great, rocking prison. As that would happen in a few hours, she refused to be churlish about it a moment longer and slowly lifted her gaze to his. Win’s eyes gave her no indication of his feelings.
“You’ve a plan, I gather.” She took another sip of coffee and felt a bit more restored. Perhaps a sweet bun was in order, after all.
“Yes.” Win lifted a hand in the air, and a waiter started over. “Find this Moira Darling and solve the case for the bastard.” He turned to the waiter. “My wife will have…”
“Sweet buns,” she supplied. When he left, she turned back to Win. “You’ve always been able to do that? How?”
His gorgeously stern mouth quirked, and she was hit anew by the need to kiss those lips. “Because I know how to read you.” The smile faded. “Or I used to think I did.”
Her heart kicked in her chest. “You obviously still do it well enough to know I wanted food.”
“There is that,” he murmured, stealing a sip of coffee.
“Win?” Poppy ran a finger along the edge of the marble tabletop, studying her progress rather than face him. “Did it… Would you have preferred it if I had expressed my anger more… vocally? Over the years, that is.” Blast, but her cheeks were too hot.
He set his coffee cup on its saucer. “Would it have been so terrible? To let me in, let me share your burden?”
Her finger slid back and forth over the marble. She cleared her throat. “I thought you’d prefer your wife to exhibit at least some womanly virtue.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean back in his chair, and she made herself look up. His arms were folded, resting on his lean middle. A hint of wry amusement flickered in his eyes, but there was irritation dwelling there as well. “I see. So then you would rather I behaved the common husband, demanded you stay at home, darn my stockings, and so forth?!”