close to Mary’s ear. “I suspect you might want to take a promenade first or run the risk of meeting Mr. Talent once more.” For they were sure to meet in the suite Poppy had taken over. Wisely, Mary nodded then drifted off, catching nearly every male eye in the vicinity as she went.
One pair of male eyes, however, remained fixed upon Poppy. She forced herself not to fume under Winston’s stare. After he was attacked and realized that she was one of the SOS, he hadn’t even waited for an explanation. That more than anything made her livid. To simply turn his back on fourteen years without a word. But on the heels of fury came a deep, writhing guilt. She’d lied to him all those years. Lying to a man who despised falsehoods and trusted her above all others was a recipe for disaster. Now they were worse than strangers, and she had no idea how to begin the conversation.
“You look well,” he said, surprising her. His cold gaze traveled over her dress, and she felt the urge to fidget. “Different. Did you always dress as such?” His jaw tightened. “When you weren’t with me, that is?”
The accusation made her spine stiffen. “Of course not. I detest fancy gowns, as you well know. It is Miranda’s gown. She and Daisy tossed a pile of her things together for my use. I am to appear a refined lady on holiday.” “Refined” was so far from Poppy’s true self that even she could not say the words without wincing. “Try to accept the farce.”
“I’ve come to accept many farces where you are concerned. One more will do no further harm.”
“You are determined to make this difficult.”
“I am determined to speak the truth. If the truth proves difficult for you, that is no fault of mine.”
A ribbon of ice crackled along the railing. Win glanced at it, and speculation crept over his features but, when he turned back to her, his expression was once again implacable and righteous.
With effort, she reeled in the need to freeze over the entire deck. “It shall be no difficulty. Indeed, I relish the opportunity to face the truth, not turn from it and hide away.”
Oh, but that got him. His chin lifted so that the light fell directly on the ruined side of his face. Had she thought he was hiding behind his over-long hair? She’d been wrong on that count. His blue-grey eyes, so like deep ice on a winter lake, held hers. He was waiting. Waiting for her to remark upon his scars. And so she studied them ruthlessly.
He did not flinch, nor look away, but a slight tightening of his mouth betrayed his unease. Poppy ignored that mouth. She had to or she would want to touch it with her own. She had always admired Win’s lips, the neat line of them and how they could be at one moment so very hard and unyielding, and in the next, utterly soft and beguiling. Instead, she looked at the scars.
The middle scar was slightly puffy, puckering his cheek, while the innermost one bisected his left eyebrow and the corner of his lip before ending at his chin. How it must have hurt. Her heart turned over at the memory of him ripped open and bloody. She had feared she would lose him then, never realizing that she already had.
The moment stretched. When his eyes narrowed in irritation, she shook herself out of maudlin thoughts and spoke. “You’ve healed well.”
The scars pulled as his brow knotted. “Yes.”
“Are you pained?” She didn’t know what else to say.
Again came the slight twitch in his jaw and the tensing around the corners of his eyes as if he were perplexed. “At times. It is more discomfort than anything.”
“I would expect as much.” Gathering her parasol—ridiculous accessory as it was neither sunny nor raining—she moved to go.
“That is all?” His scowl was growing.
Poppy stopped. “What were you expecting? Pity? Scorn? Tears?”
He made a sound. “I never expect tears from you.”
How wrong you are on that count.
“Nor do I want your pity.”
“Good. Because you don’t have it,” she said.
The scars on his face whitened, and though she loathed admitting it to herself, this new Win, slightly wild and angry, stirred her blood. Her voice was not as steady as she would have liked when she spoke again. “Your face is ruined. And what of it? Those who judge you for it are fools. You are alive, which is more