“Face me on solid ground and tell me that again.” She itched to pull a blade free and slice his neck. If only to give him a pinch of pain.
Isley strolled closer, making the most of the girlish form he inhabited. Wide, working woman’s skirts flounced with each step. “We shall see.” He tossed a coy look over one shoulder. He was a mere ten feet away. Close enough that the scent of patchouli mixed with wood smoke touched her senses. His cold gaze slid over her once again. “Now that you have matured, you remind me of your mother. You have her enticing confidence and those severe, unforgiving eyes.”
“And you haven’t changed. Still a babbling bore.”
His lip curled. “What makes you believe my interest is in you? Winston Lane is rife with mental anguish.” His sharp teeth flashed. “Just the sort of snack I relish.”
“Oh, yes, this absurd notion that you have the rights to my child’s soul.” Bitterness filled her mouth, but she wouldn’t let it show.
“Not absurd. Your husband signed it away quite handily.”
Poppy kept her eyes on Isley but made no further moves. “Do not pretend for a moment that your endgame isn’t to bedevil me. Otherwise, you would not have sent that charming telegram.”
“And here you are.” Again, he grinned. “Running in to rescue another family member not worth saving.”
It proved too hard to keep her voice neutral. “Leave Winston out of this, and let us settle this once and for all.”
“No. He made the bargain. He has to work his way out of it.”
“He made that bargain because of me!” Don’t fight him. Not yet. But she could not stop from taking a step closer to him.
“Yes,” snapped Isley. “He did. And you get to suffer in the knowledge that your acquaintance with the solid, upstanding Winston Lane wrought his downfall.”
“Bastard.”
“No! I am the past that has returned to haunt you,” he said with sudden vigor. “I will watch you stumble, watch you fight, see you witness your man die and your happiness fade.” In a flash, he was right before her, not as the young girl, but as Winston.
Hatred burned in those winter blue eyes that appeared just like Winston’s. Not Win, she told herself. His scarred visage twisted with the violence of his anger. “You will feel what I felt as you hunted me those fourteen years ago. Feel the same fury as I did when forced underground by an ignorant girl in the midst of a tantrum.”
He leaned closer, his chest almost touching hers. “I will see you pay. And then I will take your child.”
Poppy struck, a hard punch to the windpipe. Isley gagged, his forehead hitting her shoulder as he hunched forward from the hit. Poppy spun, grabbing his wrist and, in the same moment, slammed her elbow into the back of his. His arm hyper extended, and then the bone snapped at the joint. Isley screeched. His return hit caught her in the sternum. Poppy flew back, hitting the floor so hard that her brain seemed to slosh about in her skull as she slid several feet.
It was that jar to the body that set her thinking sanely once again. She could not afford such physicality. Not now. Isley stalked forward, rage igniting over his flesh in preternatural orange flames, his one arm flopping at his side, and looking so much like Winston that her heart turned over in her chest. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed one of the crowbars that hung on the wall.
Isley halted a step. His eyes gleamed as he laughed. “And what do you plan to do with that, Poppy Ann?” The grin grew evil, an abomination on Win’s face. “Pray I don’t get a hold of it and crack your arm the way you did mine.”
Poppy adjusted her grip. “Hurts, does it? Good.”
He was on her in the next breath. His fist caught her on the side of her head, and black spots burst over her vision. Not Win, he’s not Win. Poppy swung at the face she’d loved for so long, but Isley caught her, slamming her to the iron floor, then pressing his weight against her so that she could not kick out. His knees crushed down on her arms, keeping her from truly touching him as he grabbed her throat and bore down on her windpipe. She convulsed against the cold floor. The black spots before her eyes grew larger.
“I could crush your throat with one squeeze,” he whispered.
Win’s face stared at her, so cold, so detached. It might be the last thing she’d see. That it was not truly Win but a sick facsimile had rage surging through her limbs. She glared up at him.
“Go on,” she ground out. “Kill me as you did my mother.”
Isley paused as if he hadn’t expected her dare. His grip lessened a fraction. Poppy sucked in a draught of damp air. Isley frowned. “Why do you assume she was always in the right, girl?” Her teeth rattled as he gave her a shake. “What have her schemes brought you? Loneliness, a marriage of lies, your sisters’ disappointment and distrust?”
“Enough!” She would not listen to him spin his web.
His weight crushed down on her. “No, my dear. Not nearly enough. You go through life with blinders on, prancing about on tenuous moral high ground, and damn my eyes if you didn’t find a husband just the same.”
“So you seek to teach us a lesson, do you?” She laughed, her throat aching from his grip. “I shall be ill.”
Isley snarled, and he bent close enough to smell. “You could be like me. If you let go of these rules and truly lived, you could be like me.” He moved to release her, easing back off her arms. It was enough.
She caught him by the hand that still held onto her neck, and then she set her power free. Ice lashed over his body, freezing him in place. He’d soon break free, but not until she was done. Power rippled along her skin as she fed it into his body, keeping him frozen. Only his eyes gave any indication that he heard every word she said. “Right now, you are very much like me in one fatal way.”
Her free hand settled over the crowbar lying next to her. With a grunt, she swung the crowbar hard. His head shattered like fine crystal, shards of ice flying from the force. “Your body is comprised almost entirely of water.” She let go, and the body toppled and broke into a thousand scattered pieces about her.
Dark smoke drifted up from the wreckage of Isley’s body and an ear-ringing screech filled the space. The smoke gathered, growing darker, more substantial, until it took on the shape of a man. The black, writhing man-shape hovered over her as red glowing eyes formed where the face ought to be.
Poppy climbed to her feet and faced the thing head on. The black mass broke apart only to reform around her, a storm of unnatural wind that plucked at her clothes and scraped her skin. Isley’s growl came at her from all directions. “Does Winston Lane know you cry for him? That you want him back so very desperately?”
He was grasping at straws, looking for her weakness. She held herself still within the storm. “Go back to hell where you belong, Isley.”
The wind picked up, blinding her. “Only if you come with me, Poppy Ann.” And then he was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
London, 1869—In Bed, Finally
It’s so hot.”
Winston choked out a laugh. “It most certainly is.” Pleasure and the fact that Poppy Ellis had her slim, cool hand wrapped around his overheated c**k made him shiver. He drew a finger along the length of her neck before kissing the sweet little spot where her pulse pounded. “Which is your fault entirely.”
Lying on her bed, his shirt undone and his trousers unbuttoned, he marveled at how he’d arrived at this moment. Well, he knew how. He’d crept into her room like a thief. How it was that she’d managed to practically undress him while retaining her clothes was the mystery. One he was going to rectify. He undid another one of the hundred little pearl buttons marching up her nightgown as he kissed her softly.
She gave him an experimental stroke, and he groaned, his lips clinging to hers. “Poppy. You are going to unman me.” Another button popped free.
“I thought it would feel cool. Wriggly even.”
“Wriggly?” His voice was strangled. “How on earth… oh, God…” He canted his hips, pushing into her grip. “Do that again… harder.” His thighs trembled, and his cods ached. And he loved it. He licked his lips. “H-how did you come to such a conclusion?”
“Well,” she kissed his neck, her strokes continuing at a maddening pace. “From the renderings I’ve seen, it appears to simply hang, dangling away from the body.”
He laughed, the sound muffled against her damp skin. His fingers were somewhat frantic now, needing to get to their prize. The nightgown gapped, and the sweet curve of her small breast came into his view. Win’s mind went blank, then dark with lust. His hand actually shook as he slipped it beneath the fine linen and cupped her smooth flesh. Gods, but it was too good. He’d never felt a breast before, but he was fairly certain no other breast would have felt as good to him as Poppy Ellis’s breast.
Distracted by this touch, Poppy stopped her questing and made a little noise. Pleasure. He could tell by the way her lips parted on a breath. He leaned in, snatching a kiss before giving her breast an experimental squeeze. She made the sound again.
Beneath his palm, her silky nipple began to rise. Impatiently, he wrenched back the nightgown to get a better view. She was beautiful, gorgeous, and bloody perfect. The pink bud of her nipple was shrinking, growing tighter. He brushed his thumb over it, loving the way it moved against him, and how she squirmed at his ministrations. His mouth watered. He wanted to suck that nipple, bite it just enough to feel it give against his teeth. His c**k swelled larger.
“Win.” Her mouth found his and clung, her tongue tasting and teasing as her hand went back to playing with him. “Win.”
“Present,” he murmured. What if… He pinched her nipple, and she moaned. Heat washed over him so strong that he couldn’t breathe through it. His c**k thrust against her palm. He wanted inside of her. He had no notion of how it would feel, and suddenly it became imperative that he find out.
His free hand slid to her knee, pushing up her gown to get at her cool, smooth skin. Her legs were endless, and he wanted to explore them at his leisure. Some day but not now. They both sucked in a breath when his fingers touched her curls and then found her slick skin. Wet. That was how it would feel inside of her. Hot and wet. He stroked, exploring her in gentle touches that soon grew stronger. Then it was Poppy who canted her hips.
“Ah, God, Win.” She panted and moved against his fingers. “Do that again.”
He complied and came in contact with the hottest part of her. “How do you like it, Pop?”
Her throat moved when she swallowed. “Softly.”
“Softly? Like this?” He swirled his thumb around her bud, gently, so very gently.
She groaned, and her long legs spread open like the pages of a book offering up their secrets. Win swallowed convulsively. He looked down.
“Lovely.” Dark red curls, pink glistening lips. They caught the whole of his concentration, and he slowly discovered every inch as she writhed against him, tilting her hips, encouraging him lower. Unable to stop himself, he pushed a finger in. Hot, wet, and tight. He closed his eyes on a groan. She would be heaven. His c**k agreed and ground itself against her now relaxed hand. As if hearing his plea, she gripped him hard. Her free hand grabbed onto his hair.
Determined brown eyes gazed up at him. “Win, come into me.”
Winston considered himself intelligent. And though he panted, and his body literally shook with needful lust, he paused. “We aren’t married.”
She froze at his whisper. Her red tongue swept out to lick her lips, distracting him. He forced his gaze to her eyes. She blinked as though dazed. “No. But Win…” Her cheeks went scarlet. “I need you.”
He kissed her hard, telling her with his kiss how much he needed her too. His finger sank deeper into her, earning a whimper, and his heart nearly pounded out of his chest. But he pulled back. “You know how much I want you,” he said, willing himself not to stroke her. “But I will not dishonor you—”
“It is not a dishonor.” She pulled him closer. “Not when it is what I want. What we want.”
He almost moved then. Almost. His gaze caught hers. “Does that mean we will marry?”
Maybe later he would analyze how one could feel such intense lust while being felled by equally intense pain. Now, however, he slowly took his hand away from her as her expression closed down, giving him his answer long before she spoke. “I cannot.”
He pushed himself up to sitting. “Poppy darling, I must ask…. Why the bloody hell not?” Cursing again, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “What are we doing here?”
“I thought that was obvious.” The bed squeaked as she sat. He risked a look. She was buttoning up her gown.
On a sigh, he tucked himself back into his trousers and tried to bring himself to rights as well before getting off her too-tempting bed. Rising, he faced her. “Do not double talk me, Poppy. You invited me to your rooms in the middle of the night—”
“I did not hear you complain.”
“Offered up your virginity,” he said over her, “and yet you continue to refuse my suit.” Which hurt, more than he wanted to admit. “Why? I confess. I do not understand you.”
She sat, long legs crossed before her, with a mulish expression pulling at her features.
“Why?” he said again, for she would not answer.
Poppy’s cheeks went pink, then red. “I did not expect this. I did not expect you. I did not think that someone would—” Her breath hitched on a hiccup. “That someone would—”