it had. It had crept into their lives at some point when neither of them was looking. He hated that this was how their fate had unraveled.
The cold surrounding Winston had a bite to it now. Poppy glared at him from across the small divide between them. “I might have brought her to SOS headquarters. And if you know anything of Daisy, you’ll know that she would have found a way out and back to Ian. The woman has the curiosity of a cat and was obviously attracted to Ranulf.” Poppy’s brown eyes bore into him. “Every morning we rise up from our beds and death is there, hanging over us, waiting for an opportunity. Life is a gamble, husband. The question is, will you play your hand when the risk is at its greatest?”
“What do you know of the Komtesse Krogstad?” Win asked Poppy, after Lena let them off at the Chelsea Embankment.
She almost started at the sound of his voice. Their argument in the coach had left Poppy tender and bruised of heart. She had thought—hoped—he would understand her work and how there were times in which the only choice was between bad and worse. But he had looked at her with wounded and disillusioned eyes. Poppy braced herself and let the hurt slide over her. She would let it go for now. They had work to do.
“That she is not really a komtesse.”
Afternoon sunlight bathed the wide walking park that fronted the Thames, casting everything in a golden glow. It was cooler here by the water, with a forgiving breeze carrying the scent of brine. Poppy smoothed back a strand of hair that had slipped free before taking a huge bite of the Chelsea bun they’d stopped to purchase a block over. Cinnamon and lemony sweetness filled her mouth. Gods, but it was delicious. She could eat two more, given the opportunity. Having never been the sort to go weak-kneed over sweets, she could only surmise it was due to the baby, which left her elated and terrified all at once.
She popped the last bite into her mouth then licked her sticky fingers. Win’s gaze rested on the action, and something within her tightened. She let her hand fall. “She’s a cobbler’s daughter from Christiania. She had a knack for attracting extremely wealthy protectors. Apparently, she worked her way through Norway and down the Rhine before settling in London. Posing as a komtesse added cachet to both her and her paramours, so everyone was happy with her illicit title usage.”
Win cleared his throat and turned his attention forward. “Was? Does she not have a protector now?”
“She doesn’t need one. At the moment, the komtesse does what pleases her and nothing more.” Poppy glanced at his stern profile. “She is quite lovely, actually.”
He made a sound. “You’ve visited her before?”
She could see in his eyes that the possibility irritated him, as it was one more thing he did not know about his wife. To hell with him then. The bloody bastard had bargained away their child. Her voice grew as hard as the square pavers beneath her feet. “On occasion. The komtesse is one of our best informants. And she’s very fond of the occult.”
He tilted his head down, away from the sun’s harsh glare, leaving only the smooth sweep of his unmarred jaw visible. “She believes in it, but does she know the full truth?”
“Her belief only goes so far. She’ll turn a blind eye toward anything that would frighten her. The occasional séance to call ghosts of lovers past, however, is quite entertaining.”
Directly in front of them, a piano grinder had set his pushcart down. Discordant clanking filled the air as he turned the crank. A horrid noise, yet lively enough to entice a group of girls to dance. Two little ones, no older than seven, and two young ladies around fifteen danced a quick jig to the music as their older sisters looked on with their arms linked in easy companionship. Like a few others, Poppy slowed to watch them, her heart warming as she thought of her own sisters at that age.
Win stood by her side, close enough to feel the heat of his body but not quite touching. “Remember the day Miranda and Daisy taught me the polka?”
She felt herself smile. “They were so proud to teach you something you did not know.” It was a lifetime ago; that day Poppy had played the piano as the girls danced Win about the parlor