Pippa and the Prince of Secrets by Grace Callaway

12

The next evening, Pippa ascended the front steps of the Nest and rang the bell. After a few moments, she rang it again. And again. Finally, the door opened to reveal the curly-haired girl she’d met before.

“Hello, Fair Molly,” Pippa said. “I’m here to see Cull.”

“’E ain’t expecting visitors.” The girl eyed her up and down. “And ’e’s otherwise occupied.”

“He will see me,” Pippa stated. “Inform him that I won’t leave until he does.”

The girl studied her, then grumbled, “’Ave it your way. But this is the Devil’s Acre, not Mayfair. You’d best wait inside if you don’t want to be plucked like a bleedin’ pigeon.”

Although Pippa wanted to reply that the pistol in the pocket of her skirts was designed to forestall any plucking, she let the girl usher her through the door. She was one step closer to seeing Timothy Cullen. One step closer to obtaining crucial information.

The blasted man affected her emotions like a hurricane, spinning her out of control. Two nights ago, he’d not only made exquisite love to her, but he had also taken tender care of her afterward. He hadn’t run from her tears or tried to stop them. Instead, he’d held her, letting her purge the toxins from her soul. His strong, silent support had melted her defenses and her heart. She’d fantasized about having an affair with him…

Then Julianna Hastings had been found murdered early this morning.

Remorse and powerlessness furled Pippa’s hands. The Angels had failed their client. They had let her walk away…straight into the lion’s den.

“We will see justice done for Julianna Hastings,”Charlie had said with steely resolve.

Charlie had gone to Whitehall Place, where the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police were located. As she had to conceal the true nature of her society, she’d claimed to be a close friend of Julianna Hastings. The rest of what she’d told the inspector was true: that Lady Hastings was unhappy in her marriage and had feared that her husband might do her harm. The inspector had agreed to pay Viscount Hastings a visit and question him.

That had been the first step. Pippa was here to take care of the second.

For it had been none other than Cull who’d informed Charlie of Lady Hastings’s death. His missive had been perfunctory and dismissive; Pippa was on a mission to find out more. Why had Cull been the one to find the body? Had he discovered any clues at the scene of the crime? Hastings had summoned an undertaker to prepare his wife’s body for the funeral, the process sure to erase the clues to her death. Cull, however, had seen Lady Hastings’s remains, and Pippa was going to find out what he knew.

And I won’t let my personal feelings get in the way,she silently vowed.

“Now wait ’ere and don’t wander off,” Molly admonished before heading down one of the corridors that branched from the great room.

Unlike Pippa’s last visit, the chamber was quiet and devoid of merry mayhem. A few mudlarks flocked together, but they seemed listless and somber. Sitting at a nearby table was a young girl with a face as round as a clock and shiny dark braids. She pushed food around on her plate, looking so close to tears that Pippa couldn’t help but go over.

“Hello, there,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”

The girl spoke to her plate. “Ain’t supposed to tell it to strangers.”

Fair enough.Having worked with foundlings, Pippa saw the wisdom in children being taught to guard their privacy.

“My name is Pippa,” she said. “I was wondering why you aren’t eating your supper.”

Her heart clutched when the girl’s bottom lip wobbled.

“I’m sad,” the girl whispered.

“Why, dear?”

“Sally, are you still dawdling o’er supper?” Fair Molly’s voice cut in. “It’s time to wash up.”

“Yes, Fair Molly.” Sally jumped up and scampered off.

Glowering, Fair Molly said, “Wot did I say to you about staying put?”

Pippa raised her brows. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“Well, keep your nose out o’ mudlark business. And follow me; our prince ain’t got all day.”

As Pippa followed her hostess down one of the hallways, she wondered at the girl’s bristly attitude. It went hand-in-hand with the Nest’s current atmosphere; where was the cheerful warren of her prior visit? All the doors along the corridor were sealed shut, no sign of playful mudlarks anywhere.

Pippa felt a pang of disquiet. Did something happen?

Fair Molly stopped at a door that was cracked open, light spilling into the corridor.

“Don’t you pester ’im none,” the girl warned in an undertone. “’As ’is ’ands full, don’t ’e, without ’aving to deal with the likes o’ you.”

Pippa was nudged inside before she could ask what the other meant. The parlor was cozy, packed with mismatched furniture. But it was Cull who snagged her attention: standing by the fire, he turned to face her, and for an instant, she lost track of her thoughts. Of anything but him.

Even though he wore his mask, her artist’s eye sketched in the blanks: straight brows and nose, smooth golden skin stretched over strong bones. He was dressed in his usual well-worn attire: a striped waistcoat hugged his wide shoulders and lean torso, his sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms dusted with hair. His trousers clung to the bulging contours of his legs.

The memory of bliss shivered through her. Of being pressed up against that hard, virile form as he pleasured her. She forced herself to take a calming breath. Then another as their eyes met and held. Cull’s gaze was shuttered and passionless…a far cry from two nights ago.

Mortification welled. What did you expect? You behaved like a lunatic.

Never in her life had she come apart that way. She could only surmise that her first real taste of pleasure had unlocked a trove of emotions she’d buried deep. Later, back in her own bed, her thoughts had whirled.

The passion I’ve dreamed of does exist. And I am fully capable of feeling it; there’s nothing wrong with me. I wasn’t the problem in my marital bed…

Of course, Cull didn’t know her past and probably thought she was a candidate for Bedlam. Remembering his devastating gentleness, even when she’d failed to give him any pleasure, swamped her with embarrassment. It reminded her of the night she’d gone to her husband’s bedchamber, the one and only time she’d worked up the nerve to initiate their marital activities.

“This is your fault,”Longmere had raged. “This has never happened to me before. You don’t have what it takes to satisfy a man…”

Pain and confusion bled through Pippa. She didn’t know if she wanted to apologize to Cull or run away and never see him again. But she would do neither because she had a more important goal this eve: to find Julianna Hastings’s killer.

Pippa squared her shoulders. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You should not have come,” Cull said.

She flinched at his curt reply, but it was to be expected.

He may have wanted you once, her inner voice whispered. But now he knows what a mess you truly are.

She took refuge in her purpose. “I am here on behalf of the Society of Angels. I’ve come to discuss the message you sent to Lady Fayne.”

Cull folded his arms over his wide chest. “I thought the message was clear.”

Pulling the missive from the pocket of her skirts, she read, “Lady Hastings was shot and killed. Steer clear of this dangerous business. I will inform you when I’ve brought the villain to justice. Prince of Larks.”

He cocked his head. “I fail to see the lack of clarity.”

“Lady Hastings was our client,” Pippa said fiercely. “What gives you the right to tell us to leave off our investigation? If anyone should get out of the way, it is you.”

“This matter has become mudlark business.”

The lethal edge to Cull’s tone gave her pause. Reminded her that, for all the gentleness he’d shown her, he was a ruler of London’s underworld.

“A woman was shot dead. This is a dangerous business,” he said unflinchingly, “and your little ladies’ society will only get in the way.”

Little. Ladies’. Society?

Vermillion splattered across Pippa’s vision. Marching up to him, she stabbed a finger in his chest. Bit back a wince when her digit jammed into an unyielding slab of muscle.

“We are trained investigators,” she hissed. “We can handle ourselves. Moreover, we are going to bring our client’s murderer to justice, and you had better stay out of our way.”

Cull grabbed her wrist. “Don’t be a damned fool. You’re out of your depth, and I won’t let you get hurt.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do!”

“Don’t I?” The possessive glitter in his eyes stalled her breath. “I’ve tasted you, made you wet. You came so hard you shook in my arms.”

Cheeks blazing, she retorted, “It is ungentlemanly of you to mention that night.”

His mouth twisted. “I’m no gentleman, sunshine.”

“Anyway, it was just a meaningless liaison.” She was proud of how nonchalant she sounded, as if she’d had dozens of lovers. As if she’d experienced sexual satisfaction on a regular basis instead of just that one, earth-shattering time. “It doesn’t signify anything.”

“It meant something to me.”

Was that longing that flashed in his eyes?

“I’d give my bloody soul to make love to you again, but I can’t.” He released her and took a step back, his hands curling. “I am no good for you, Pippa. But what I can do is keep you safe. Upon my honor, I will bring your client’s killer to justice. Trust me to take care of this for you.”

Heart thumping, Pippa stared at him in befuddlement. He did want her then…despite how their encounter had ended? Yet if he wanted her, why couldn’t he make love to her again? And why did the blasted man think that she needed him to “take care” of anything when she and the Angels were perfectly capable of solving their own cases?

Before she could utter a response, the door opened.

“Cull, you’d better come quick!” It was Fair Molly again, her expression agitated.

Cursing, Cull pointed a blunt finger at Pippa. “Stay here. I’ll deal with you when I get back.”

He strode from the room.

The nerve of the man. Does he think I’m going to take orders like a dashed spaniel?

Pippa waited a heartbeat before following.

Cull and Molly moved at a purposeful pace through the twisting corridors. They disappeared into a room that Pippa recognized as the infirmary. She followed the voices past empty cots to a private room. Cull stood at the foot of a bed, arguing with a silver-haired man in a dark suit while Mrs. Needles and Fair Molly watched on. Behind them on the bed…

Pippa’s heart lurched as she recognized the young mudlark who’d surveilled her house…Ollie, his name was. He was scarcely recognizable as the adorable tow-headed boy who’d offered her a pork pie. His face was as white as the sheets tucked around him. A bandage was wound around his head, blood staining his tufts of fair hair. His chest moved in shallow waves, and one of his bare arms lay exposed atop the sheets. On the bed next to his frail limb lay an array of deadly-sharp blades.

“I am a respected physician with patrons in the highest circles.” The silver-haired man looked down his long nose at Cull, his manner patronizing. “You persuaded me to look at this patient, and I am telling you that he needs to be bled.”

“He’s lost enough blood as it is,” Mrs. Needles protested.

“Who are you going to listen to, this unqualified female”—the doctor gave the matron a contemptuous look—“or me?”

Cull raked a hand through his hair. “It took Mrs. Needles all night to stop the bleeding. And you want to start it up again? How will that help?”

“The theory is too complicated to explain to uneducated persons.” The doctor sniffed. “Suffice it to say, bloodletting will purge the boy’s fever. And whatever toxic miasma he is harboring from living in these filthy streets. If I am not allowed to do my job as I see fit, I will take my leave. This patient’s death will be on your hands.”

Cull’s frame vibrated with tension. His shoulders were taut, his hands fisted at his sides. He looked large and dangerous…and utterly at sea.

The Prince of Larks knew everything except, evidently, how to deal with a snob.

Pippa crossed the threshold. “You are not going to bleed this boy.”

The physician turned to her. He took obvious note of her expensive mourning gown and well-bred manner, and she could almost see the calculations running through his arrogant brain. Obsequiousness smoothed the sneer from his face; she couldn’t say it was an improvement.

“Were you addressing me, madam?” he asked with a fawning smile.

“Yes, and I think you had better go. Now,” Pippa clarified.

The physician turned florid. He shot an outraged look at her and then at Cull. “Sir?”

“Get out,” Cull said flatly.

The physician collected his instruments of torture. As Molly led him out, he issued a parting shot. “Good luck finding another learned man of medicine who will treat this street rat.”

“What a vile fellow,” Mrs. Needles declared when the door closed. “Thank goodness for your intervention, Mrs. Lumley.”

Pippa nodded but saw the strain that bracketed Cull’s mouth.

“He was the most qualified quack who would come to Devil’s Acre,” Cull muttered. “No one else wanted to dirty their hands with a mudlark.”

Mrs. Needles clutched her apron. “There must be someone better—"

“Send for Dr. Abernathy at 18 Harley Street,” Pippa said.

“Abernathy?” Mrs. Needles’s forehead pleated. “I have heard of him. He caters to the aristocracy—”

“He knows my family,” Pippa assured her. “As he provides care for the foundlings at my parents’ school, I can vouch that he is excellent with children. Tell him that Pippa, the Countess of Longmere, is requesting his presence on an urgent case; he will come.”

“Yes, Mrs.—I mean, my lady,” Mrs. Needles said hastily. “I’ll see to it straight away.”

The matron hurried off. Pippa went to Ollie’s bedside, tucking his arm back under the blanket. His skin was alarmingly cold to her touch.

“What happened to him?” she asked quietly.

Cull remained at the foot of the bed, his gaze on the boy’s pale face. “Someone knocked him on the head and dumped him in the river. Probably thought he was dead when they threw him in, but he must have regained his wits long enough to swim to shore.”

The tonelessly uttered words squeezed Pippa’s heart. Who would do something so vile…and to a child? The realization rammed into her.

“Is Ollie’s injury related to Lady Hastings’s murder?” she exclaimed.

Cull gave a rough nod. “He was following her.”

“Why?”

Cull said something under his breath. It sounded like, “Because I’m an idiot.”

Pippa knitted her brows. “Pardon?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze not quite meeting hers. “At The Enchanted Rose, you seemed curious about Lady Hastings’s activities. I thought if I provided you with information about her, you might be…pleased.”

Pippa’s jaw slackened. Although Cull’s mask concealed his expression, his hunched shoulders conveyed his discomfiture. She had the wild thought that his face might be ruddy beneath the black leather. Something in her melted as she realized that this big, mysterious underworld prince had tracked Lady Hastings…for her. To please her.

“It was stupid and selfish.” Cull’s jaw was taut. “I should not have put my personal desires before the well-being of my larks. What happened to Ollie is my fault.”

Hearing his self-recrimination, she said haltingly, “You didn’t know what would happen. And Ollie is strong. He will recover.”

“He will. And when he does, he’ll tell us who did this to him and the Hastings woman. And that bastard is going to pay,” Cull vowed.

Suddenly, Pippa understood why the mudlarks were so loyal to their prince. She’d seen it in every interaction between Cull and his charges. He cared for them and took responsibility for their welfare…perhaps putting them before his own wants.

“Now do you understand why I am no good for you?” His eyes smoldered with emotion. “If I fail in my duty as a leader, people around me get hurt. When I left you fourteen years ago, I did the right thing. My mistake was not staying away. You and I belong to different worlds. You deserve a toff who can offer you a carefree life of luxury and ease.”

“That is not what I want,” she whispered.

His chest gave a mighty surge. “I know losing your husband the way you did…it’s affected you. But these risks you’ve been taking won’t heal your broken heart. Nor will spending a night in bed with a cove like me. I shouldn’t have approached you, shouldn’t have taken advantage of your delicate state. You’ve a loyal heart, and if your reaction to our night together proved anything, it’s that you need more time to grieve your husband.”

She stared at him, utterly flummoxed. No man had expressed such earnest interest in her happiness before. Nor had one been so completely and utterly wrong.

She didn’t know if she was touched or exasperated.

“You seem to know a lot about me,” she said.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m the bleeding Prince of Larks.”

“For the sake of your reputation, I hope the information you provide your clients proves more accurate.”

He drew his brows together. “What does that mean?”

“It means that most of what you just said about me is incorrect.”

“How so?” He didn’t sound convinced.

“First of all, being with a ‘toff’ won’t make me happy. I have had that, and it’s not an experience I care to repeat,” she said candidly. “Second, how dare you assume that I am some delicate flower so overwhelmed by grief that I cannot handle a night of passion?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You wept for your husband, Pippa. Like your heart was breaking.”

Irked by his gentle tone, she said, “I wasn’t crying for Longmere, you nodcock. I was crying for myself.”

“I don’t understand the difference,” he said, angling his head.

“Maybe you would if you asked me how I was feeling instead of making assumptions.” Annoyance took the edge off her nervousness. Allowed her to speak the truth that their encounter had unlocked. That she’d never given voice to. “Being with you made me realize what I’ve been missing all along. What I never felt in my marriage. I was crying because I finally understood that maybe…maybe there’s nothing wrong with me after all.”

“What could be wrong with you? You’re bloody perfect.”

Cull’s incredulity warmed her, even if he was wrong.

Portrait of a Lady Dreamingblazed in her mind’s eye. The woman’s beautiful face and the desperate longing beneath. Symbols of Pippa’s failure. Yet she was starting to see that she was not to blame for all the problems in her marriage. That she wasn’t quite as…as broken as she’d believed.

“I’m far from perfect,” she said tautly. “But one thing that I thought was wrong with me, that wasn’t functioning the way I’d imagined it should…” She struggled to find the right phrasing. “With you, it, um, did. Everything appears to be in working order.”

His eyes widened, his surprise evident despite his mask. “You mean you never…”

She couldn’t admit aloud that she’d never found satisfaction with her husband.

“Pippa, I—”

Whatever Cull was about to say was cut off by a moan from the bed.

Pippa’s gaze flew to Ollie. The boy’s lashes were fluttering.

“Ollie?” With pounding hope, she leaned over the bed. “Wake up, dear. You can do it.”

Cull was already on the other side. “Open your eyes. There’s a lad.”

The boy lifted his lashes; his hazel eyes gradually focused.

“Thank Christ.” Cull’s voice was thick with emotion. “You had us worried there, Ollie.”

The boy blinked at him, then at Pippa.

“Who’s Ollie?” the boy croaked. “Where am I?”