it and keep going. The lid gave easily. She paused, not yet lifting, adjusted her grip on the lid and the stake, and then wrenched it open. Nothing moved.
Past the eye-watering smell of the bath salts that partially covered the body, Poppy made out the shape of the former Mrs. Noble, her eyes open and her mouth wide in supplication. Her soul had departed, but there was still enough blood in her to sustain a host demon.
“Fucking hell.” The lid banged shut as Poppy turned and raced from the room, toward Win and whatever demon was cozying up to him.
Win stepped into Mrs. Noble’s parlor and found the room was inordinately dark. Heavy brocade curtains barred the morning sun, leaving only the light from the fire snapping in the hearth and one silver candelabra for illumination.
Mrs. Noble sat in repose along the length of a scarlet satin fainting couch. No longer attired in men’s clothing, she now wore a provocative black silk dress that was not at all proper day wear. Cinched tight and thrusting her breasts up high, the bodice did not have sleeves but was held up by a webbing of sparkling strands composed of diamonds.
“Mr. Snow.” She undulated in a forward move, and a coil of black hair fell over her shoulder. “But where is Mrs. Snow? I thought I was to be entertained by both of you this morning.”
Innocently put words that managed to sound illicit. He walked into the room. “She has developed a migraine, I’m afraid.”
“Wives are known to do so. We simply shall have to forge on without her.” She curled her legs under her. “Sit, Mr. Snow, and let us get better acquainted.”
She patted the space next to her, and basic manners demanded that he comply. As an inspector, he’d had his fair share of dealing with forward women. Most of his colleagues did as well. Lonely widows, bored wives, the guilty, the curious—there were many reasons to find an inspector fair game. Some men took advantage. Win found those situations to be a lit fuse of danger. Pull away too quickly and the insulted lady wouldn’t tell you a thing. Let it go too far and you had an unwanted tongue down your throat, and the lady wouldn’t tell you a thing either.
On reluctant limbs he moved to sit, inwardly cursing Poppy as he did. Despite their discussion, he had no intention of seducing answers out of Mrs. Noble.
Satisfied, Mrs. Noble smiled prettily as her fingers danced along the wood filigree just behind his neck. “Now then, Mr. Snow, you promised me a story.” The tip of her finger touched his collar. “How did you acquire such magnificent scars?”
He eased away. “First, we must discuss the murder that has occurred under your roof, madam.”
She appeared remarkably unconcerned about the fact, but composed herself accordingly, lacing her hands in her lap and looking at him with wide, almost solemn eyes. A façade that might have worked had he not spied the mockery beneath it all.
“Tell me what you know of Colonel Alden,” he said.
“Ah, Charles.” With a sigh, she rested against the couch, arching her back just so. “The poor dear. I shall miss him. Though he’d always been a bit of a disappointment to me.” The diamond webbing on her shoulders glittered as she shrugged. “He was a bit of a bore.” She traced the scar closest to his jaw, and he managed not to flinch. “Such lovely wounds. They intrigue me.”
“If the colonel was a disappointment, why invite him here?”
Her finger moved to his neck. “I did not invite him. He showed up unexpectedly.”
Gods, but he itched to smack that finger away. “I was under the impression that you had invited him.” Someone was lying, and he did not think it had been the colonel.
She laughed, but the sound came off as affronted. “Really, Mr. Snow, you are beginning to sound accusatory.”
“Merely curious.” He turned toward her, sliding his thigh a bit onto the couch. Her eyes went to the movement. Damn him, he should have sent Poppy to question this viper. “The magistrate will likely ask you the same questions.”
Her lids lifted slowly. “You know, Mr. Snow, I really cannot recall the specific reason why I invited Colonel Alden. It was a simple, sudden urge.” She eased over an inch closer. “You know urges, Mr. Snow. They cannot be denied.”
He refrained from snorting. Subtlety was not her forte. “Have you met a woman named Moira Darling?”
As he hoped, the