the Regulators. It was actually when we began to work in conjunction with the King and the Prime Minister that we became more formally organized and called ourselves the Society for the Suppression of Supernaturals.”
She shifted a bit, sinking further into the plump pillow. “That was in my great-grandmother’s time, though I can honestly say I’ve no fondness for the newer name as it stirred up trouble with certain supernatural factions.”
“Because it made them sound like a problem to suppress,” Win said with a decisive clip to his voice.
“Yes. At any rate,” she said, “the SOS has always been my life. You do not understand the will of Mary Margaret Ellis. Every day was a new lesson. Every day a reminder.” Poppy adopted the implacable tone of her mother. “Do not let the world know. Do not reveal your true purpose to anyone. Not even to family. Especially not to family.”
“She had to suspect that your sisters had talents of their own.”
“Oh, she knew. And she did not like it. Daisy was her little lamb, her sunshine. And Miranda was her rose, a delicate flower to be protected. She was adamant that neither of them be tainted by her dark world.”
“And you?” Win’s voice was tight.
A wobbly smile pulled at her lips as she blinked up at the dark ceiling. “I was the competent one. I never cried, nor fussed.”
“Which meant that you should live a life in darkness?” He made a noise of annoyance. “I never thought I would say this, but I think I prefer your father.”
Poppy could not help but smile a little. Even so, she needed him to understand. “She believed in me.” Poppy sighed. “And yes, at times it hurt that she did not seek to protect me as she did my sisters. But Win…” She licked her lips. Inside, she trembled. “I liked being useful. I liked what I was doing. I still do.”
The bed creaked when he rolled onto his back, their shoulders touching as he did. “He beat me. My father.”
She grew still. Enough to hear the roaring of her blood in her ears. How could it be? He never cowered, always stood so tall and proud. And yet shadows had always dwelled within his eyes at odd times. “Win—”
“I never told you,” he said over her, his voice strong yet brittle, as if he were forcing himself to speak, “because I was ashamed of the way…” His arm brushed over hers as he shrugged, “Well, you can guess. I was weak when I ought to have been strong.”
She tried to swallow and failed. “For how long, Win?”
“As long as I have memory.” In the dark, she could make out the lines of his profile as he stared up at the ceiling. “Too long.”
She wanted to kill his father. Her hand shook as she rested it on his forearm. He did not shrug her off, nor did he turn to her. “That is why I made the bargain with Jones.” His smoky voice was a living thing between them, making her heart bleed for him. “When I met you, I woke to life. You saw me for who I was. And in return, I wanted to live again. You gave my life flavor, color, texture, and I found myself willing to do anything to keep that.”
She moved to embrace him, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t.” His body was rigid. “Not now. Not because of what I said.”
“But—”
His voice grew emphatic, stern in that way of his that brooked no argument. “When I take you to bed, Poppy Ann, it will not be under the auspices of sentimentality.” He turned his head and, in the dark, she could see his eyes looking at her with clear, direct heat. “It will be because you’re wound up so tight with need that you fear you will break if you don’t have me.” He moved an inch closer, and his warm breath gusted over her neck. “And then we will be in perfect accord, sweeting.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Winston lay in the slumberous warmth of the bed he shared with his wife and contemplated her. Bright morning light gilded her sleeping form, highlighting the paleness of her arms and the dusting of copper freckles upon them. Those freckles had been one of many delights he’d uncovered when he’d first undressed her on their wedding night, for she hadn’t a one on her face. Stardust, he’d called them, those glorious freckles that were sprinkled over her arms