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 question threw her off balance. It was a moment before she answered. “I am beginning to suspect that your only interest in me is to ask questions.”

“The asking of questions implies interest, does it not, Mrs. Noble?”

“Do not think that fetching smile will deter me, Mr. Snow.” Unfailingly, she found the one white coil of her hair and toyed with it. “Now then, by your logic, you would not object to a question or two yourself?”

Win objected to many things about this interview, and this place, but he kept his benign social smile in place. “I can hardly do so.”

Her teeth flashed in the candlelight, not white but an unnerving grey color, as if she was decaying from the inside. “Excellent.” Her bosom swelled as she leaned close. “Do you regret the choices you’ve made in your life, Mr. Snow?”

He sat back against the settee, away from her. “Pardon?”

Round and round the white coil twisted, her finger nearly swallowed up by the act. “Do you regret having not lived a fuller life?” Ebony eyes held his. “Bedded more women? Taken more risks?”

“Moira Darling,” he snapped back. “Do you know her?”

“Yes. A sad woman who never lived life to the fullest. And all she was left with were pain and loneliness.”

He nearly jumped in his excitement, but she slid closer, placing a pale hand upon his arm. Blood rubies glittered on her fingers. “The risks, Mr. Snow.”

“Where is she?” He wasn’t going to play this game. He’d already given up his soul. He would not give anything more.

She ignored his question as neatly as he’d ignored hers. Her fingers tiptoed along his sleeve. “I’ve quite a number of most excellent talents, Mr. Snow. And one of them is reading a man.” The tip of her finger touched the thick scar on his cheek. He steeled himself not to retreat, and she smiled as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “You, sir, have played your hand entirely too safe.”

Had he? Had he wasted his opportunity to live a larger life? The edge of the armrest bit into his side with each breath he took. Lord Winston Hamon Belenus Lane might have had numerous women lined up to bed him, simply because he was a duke’s son. He might have lived in utter opulence, traveled the world over, gone to a different party every night. Inspector Winston Lane had bedded only one woman, put numerous criminals in jail, and been slashed within an inch of his life for his efforts.

The smile upon Mrs. Noble’s face grew, stretching and coiling at the ends. He looked back at her and what she so blatantly offered, but in her place another woman sprang up in his mind, her vermilion hair spread out like a satin banner upon his pillow and her brown eyes alight with keen intelligence.

Mrs. Noble’s simpering voice brought him back. “You see it now, don’t you? How you might have lived in glory.”

Win detached Mrs. Noble’s creeping hand from his arm. “Risk doesn’t signify a life well lived. It is what you risk your life for.”

In the wavering light, her eyes appeared to go pure black, but she blinked, and the illusion was gone. “Then let us risk some more.”

Before he could question, she moved onto him, her arm sliding around his neck. His hand shot to her shoulder, staying her progress. “I believe you have misunderstood the situation, Mrs. Noble. I am not interested in bedsport.”

Her breath gusted over his cheek, bringing forth a strange scent of smoke and iron. “Come now, Lane. All men are interested.”

“That depends on the partner.” He leaned in, giving her a smile with bite. “I prefer my wife.”

A mistake to get closer. Her palm cupped him warmly. “That is because you haven’t yet tasted the meal I offer.”

He locked his hand about her wrist, wrenched her hand away, and pushed her against the arm of the settee. “You called me Lane. Which means you know why I am here.”

The simpering look did not leave her face. “Did you enjoy meeting your brother?” Her h*ps lifted against his. “I’m desperate to see how you two compare.”

He growled low and shoved back, hard. “Did you kill the colonel?”

Her grey teeth glinted in the lamplight, the points of her canines appearing sharp. “That canary was not invited to the party. I’m afraid he had to go.”

Bloody hell, but he hated coyness. Past all patience, he pressed his forearm across her chest. “Who is Moira Darling? Where is she?”

Like a snake, she coiled her leg around his. “Closer than you think.”

He gave her a rough shake. “Where?”

She laughed then. Laughed and laughed. “I would not try to find her, Winston Lane. The knowledge will only bring you misery.” The whites of her eyes disappeared with a wash of inky black. And then she disintegrated. Winston blinked, his mind not catching up with his eyes as she literally fell to pieces before him, her body crumpling, turning to black lumps. Lumps that moved. Spiders.

With a shout, he jumped up. Hundreds of spiders swarmed, crawling over his arm, up his boot. The door slammed open with a bang. Poppy stood in the doorway, her gaze fierce as she took in the scene.

“Get back!” He ripped off his coat and flung it. Spiders scurried and surged as he stamped at them.

She did not heed. A shiver lit over the room, a swirl of air. The arctic blast of cold hit hard and fast, sucking the air from his lungs, biting into his skin. More forceful than what he’d felt on the ship, this air tore through the room with the strength of a gale, tossing spiders about, freezing them where they lay. He trudged toward Poppy, his teeth chattering, his body hurting from the cold. When he got to her side, she cut the power loose.

“C-c-cold…” His teeth rattled.

“I know,” she said, grimacing. “I’m sorry.”

“Cold b-blooded.” He glanced at the piles of little black spiders littering the room. “Spiders are.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Horrid little beasts.” Poppy fought a violent shiver as Win shoveled the last pile of frozen spiders into the roaring hearth to assure that they were destroyed. The spiders popped and crackled in the flames, and she swore she could hear tiny screams. She shuddered again, her stomach turning sickly.

Win caught her eye, and though a touch of humor lit his gaze, he spoke with solemnity. “You were very brave to face them.” He knew how much she detested spiders. She’d rather face a horde of undead than those little creatures.

They’d been all over him, swarming and scurrying. She rubbed her arms. “Are you injured? Did one of them bite you?”

Win set the coal scuttle back on its stand. “No.” Shadows rippled along his face as he stared into the fire. “That wasn’t Mrs. Noble, I gather?”

“No.” Now that the spiders were gone, Poppy dared to come farther into the room. The gilded little sitting room appeared too lovely, too proper to have witnessed such horrors. In fact, it was almost peaceful now, cozy and quiet. She stopped beside Win and let the heat of the flames seep into her freezing skin. Cold did not bother her, but this cold was in her bones. “Mrs. Noble’s body is currently stuffed in a vat of bath salts.”

“Jesus.”

“The demon you were tangling with used her blood to take on her form. Although from the condition I found Mrs. Noble in, the demon got a bit carried away. Most demons have better control when stealing blood.”

Poppy glanced at Win, noting that despite the casual way he stood, his muscles bunched with tension. His look of fierce concentration worked away the coldness better than the fire had. Frowning, Win massaged the back of his neck with one hand. “She killed the colonel.”

His fingers tightened on his neck until his knuckles stood out white, the skin around them too red. “The colonel said he was invited here. But Mrs. Noble—or whatever that was—claimed he was an unwanted visitor who needed to be silenced.” He flung his arm down. “I think Jones brought the colonel here because he wants us to find Moira Darling, but someone else does not. Mrs. Noble was most unhelpful before she turned into a mountain of spiders…” He ran a hand over his face. “Hell, I can barely bring myself to say that aloud.”

Yes, that had been most… She gave his arm a light nudge, lest she think too hard about spiders and be tempted to faint. “I gather the lady found you intriguing, Mr. Lane.”

Cool blue eyes pinned her with a glare. “You knew perfectly well what she would be about, did you not?” When she pursed her lips, he leaned in, and his breath caressed her cheek. “You never truly answered me before, sweeting. Were you curious to see if I’d rise to the occasion?” He moved closer, his hard chest pushing against her shoulder, his lips tickling her ear. “Or did you simply long to see my c**k manhandled?”

Futile and hot jealous anger surged. The bloody woman had touched Win.

Win read her emotions well, for his eyes lit with satisfaction. He pressed into her, and the length of him was hot at her hip. It was all she could do not to grind back or beg for release like a wanton thing. His lids lowered a fraction, hiding his thoughts from her. “Let me assure you, wife. I’ve only one master—”

“Yes, I know. You.” She rolled her eyes and pushed away from him, her skirts sliding about her legs as she strode to the door. “You’ve made your point. Now may we return to London before I expire from another lecture? We’ve a false limb to investigate.”

He caught up to her easily with his long legs and determined gait. His hand closed over her upper arm, halting her retreat. “If that is what you think the answer was, Boadicea, then you’ve missed the point of this morning entirely.” His grip grew possessive. “It is you. No matter how much both of us wish to ignore the fact, I have always been entirely yours.”

Winston and Poppy kept a brisk pace as they headed for their rooms.

“Mary,” Poppy called as they entered, “start packing. We are to leave posthaste.” She turned to Winston, who was busy gathering his own things. “What of your brother?”

His back tensed. “What of him?” A shirt landed in an open portmanteau, and he just kept himself from rubbing at the hollow spot that formed in his chest. “He was lost to me long ago.”

Her efforts stilled. “I am sorry, Win.”

He did not turn but lifted his shoulders. “What is done is done. It was my doing, in any event. No use crying over it now.”

Mary glided into the room, and Poppy turned to her. “We found the demon. Posing as Mrs. Noble, I’m afraid. What of you and Talent?”

“Mum.” Mary Chase lowered her voice as she approached. “About Mr. Talent.”

Poppy tossed a pair of throwing knives into her valise. “If you are about to tell me that you do not trust him, Miss Chase, that has already been duly noted.”

Mary’s small nose wrinkled. “I trust him well enough, mum. At least in the capacity not to betray you or the inspector. It is he who does not trust me.” Her rosebud mouth twitched. “I simply do not like him.” The scent of cinnamon and ambergris drifted up as she leaned forward. “In point, mum, I am worried.”

Winston paused in the act of unloading the revolver Poppy handed him. “Why?”

Mary’s expression did not lose its serenity. “I do not think it is Talent in that body.”

That got Poppy’s attention. Her brows snapped together. “Explain.”

“I believe he is either hosting, or that is not him at all.”

“You base all of this on what, precisely?” Winston wasn’t about to confront Talent on something so flimsy.