chest. Wounded as she was, it would not take much for him to finish her. This man could do much worse than hurt her. This man could destroy her.
Behind them, Mary Chase and Jack Talent waited, both of them trying their best to blend into the scenery. Ye gods, would the ignominy of her situation ever end? She detested public spectacle, and now it was hers.
She straightened, refusing to hug herself or acknowledge the thickness in her throat. “Well then, I suppose we ought to go.”
A rare break in the cloud cover sent a few rays of brilliant light down upon them, and Win’s eyes fell into shadow under the brim of his bowler. “Yes,” he said in his husky voice, then shifted his weight, sending more of his features into darkness.
She looked at him and set her jaw firm. Do not make me ask it. Do not make me.
The line of his shoulders became stiff and unyielding. “Look here, I do not think we should separate. It isn’t safe.”
Sternness tempered his tone, as if he thought she’d argue. It took her a moment to clear her throat. “If you think it best.”
“I do.” He gave her a sharp nod then turned to Talent. “Take our trunks to Ranulf House.”
Talent frowned. “I ought to go with you.”
Win gave a tight, quick smile. “I believe we can all agree that I am no longer in imminent danger of being attacked by the demon.” Because of their loyalty, Poppy and Win had given both Talent and Mary a basic explanation of the situation.
Win, obviously seeing the disappointment etched on Talent’s face, added, “Should further developments arise, I shall not hesitate to solicit your help, Mr. Talent.”
Talent appeared somewhat mollified. “And where do I put Miss Chase here?” he asked with a bored flick of his thumb in Mary’s direction.
Mary bristled. “You do not ‘put’ me anywhere, Mr. Talent.”
Win cleared his throat. “Find Miss Chase proper accommodations in Ranulf House.” His visage grew stern. “And behave.”
Talent muttered under his breath but complied with a sweeping bow. Poppy bit back a smile as the pair began to bicker about who would hail a porter and who would find the cab.
Sighing, Win left them to it and his assessing gaze swept over her once more. “Have you a need to rest now?”
“No.” She might go mad if she were to be cooped up in another room so soon, and the day promised to be fresh and bright for once. She fell in step beside Winston.
“Win, why Ranulf House?”
“It is where I’ve been staying.”
“You’ve been staying with the lycans?” Shock colored her words. Lycans, while not werewolves, could turn into them, and they had the ability to unleash claws and fangs. They were more than capable of hurting Win in the exact fashion he’d been hurt before. And he’d set up house with them.
His expression turned wry. “A man might as well face his fears, or let them rule him.”
She wanted to wrap her arms about him so badly that her limbs twitched. She knew he did not think of himself as brave. But he was. More so than she.
Win shifted his weight as though uncomfortable with her silence. “The place is a veritable fortress.”
“It is at that.” No demon in its right mind would try to infiltrate a den of lycans.
Chapter Sixteen
Winston guided Poppy to the hack stands but she stopped short. He followed the direction of her gaze. A smart town coach painted glossy, ox-blood red and trimmed in gold stood at the curb. No crest graced the doors, but the coachman and two outriders were dressed in fine black livery. As if sensing her notice, one of the toms jumped down and bowed.
“A friend of yours?” Win asked.
“Yes.” She appeared both pleased and yet put out. Before he could ask another question, Poppy started forward, and Win followed.
The coach’s window curtains were drawn tight, and Win blinked in the dim interior as he climbed inside.
“Forgive the darkness, Mr. Lane,” said a woman.
His sight adjusted and settled on a diminutive woman tucked up against the black velvet squabs. Raven hair surrounded the pale moon of her face. Her red lips lifted in a ghost of a smile. “I’ve a skin ailment which erupts upon exposure to sunlight.” Her words came out clipped with a deep roll in the middle. Russian perhaps, but she’d been in England long enough for it to have faded.
Her gown, however, was purely Asiatic. Made of crimson silk and embroidered