Pippa and the Prince of Secrets by Grace Callaway

16

As the carriage rolled off, Pippa was torn between excitement and a healthy dose of wariness. Seated across from her in a shadowed corner, Cull was brooding and watchful. Neither of them spoke, as if daring the other to go first. Their unsettled business electrified the air.

Each breath Pippa took seemed to crackle with energy. She felt more alive than she had in months. Years, maybe. While some of that had to do with the night’s adventures, most of it had to do with the man across from her. She couldn’t help but think how different he was from Hastings…and Longmere.

Cull eschewed superficial elegance. His masculinity was as raw and untamed as the streets that had birthed him. Despite his overprotective nature, he was no predator. He used his strength to shield rather than take advantage. Thus, even though she could tell he was angry, she wasn’t afraid.

Of him…or her own desire.

When Livy had asked what Pippa would do when Cull showed up again, Pippa hadn’t known the answer. But the truth hit her now. Thrummed in her pulse and rushed hotly beneath her skin as she inhaled his scent of salt, male, and sea. She wanted to touch him, be touched by him. Wanted to explore the pleasures of being alive with this vital and enigmatic man.

First, however, she guessed he had other matters on his mind.

“What were you up to with Hastings this eve?” he ground out.

She had guessed right.

Stifling a sigh, she replied, “It is none of your business what I was doing.”

“Did you seduce him while your fellow agents searched the place? Did you let him touch you, Pippa?” Cull’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Did you enjoy it, his lordly attentions?”

Here we go again.She didn’t know how he managed to stir such volatile emotions in her. With him, she wasn’t Patient Pippa. She was Peeved and Provoked Pippa.

She scowled. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

“I’ve decided that you do.”

“I beg your pardon?” she said in affronted tones.

“Given your lack of judgment, someone needs to look after you.” He leaned forward, grooves deepening around his mouth. “Why in blazes did you go to Hastings’s house?”

“Since you refused to provide any details,” she said pointedly, “I was looking for clues to pinpoint him as a murderer, you dolt. I arranged the private tête-à-tête so that I could drug him and search his house.”

Cull dragged a breath through his nose. “You drugged him. Searched his house.”

She waved nonchalantly. “When he wakes, he will think he fell asleep after we engaged in a night of pleasure. The best of my life, according to the note I left him.”

“Why the devil did you take such a risk when I told you I would take care of the matter?”

“Because I don’t need you—or anyone—to take care of me,” she rejoined. “I am an independent woman, and I will decide the direction of my life.”

“You are steering yourself toward an early damned grave.”

“If so, it will be my choice.” She lifted her chin. “And it won’t happen, because I am good at what I do, Cull. The Angels and I discovered things tonight—important things that alter our theory of Lady Hastings’s murder.”

“Such as the fact that Hastings had a financial motivation to keep his wife alive?”

She blinked. “How…how did you know?”

“The late Jonas Turner’s solicitor, Fanshawe, had a copy of his last will. While Hastings gained control of Julianna’s considerable dowry when he married her, her father was smarter when it came to the rest of his wealth. Before Turner died, he added a codicil.” Cull sounded as pedantic as a schoolmaster as he listed off the facts. “His personal fortune would go into a trust for his future grandchildren, with Julianna and Hastings as the trustees. If no children were to come of the union, then the bulk of his personal assets—some four hundred thousand pounds—would be split between two beneficiaries: Howard Morton, the son of a distant cousin and Louis Wood, his manservant of many years. In other words, you have two new suspects.”

Despite herself, Pippa was impressed. “You do have a knack for finding information.”

“And I manage to do it without risking my neck.”

“We have different approaches, each with their own merits,” she said judiciously.

“Indeed?”

Encouraged by his civility, she said, “The mudlarks cast a broad net; you have eyes and ears everywhere, catching information in the outside world. The Angels, on the other hand, work from the inside. We are less broad, but more specific, if you see what I mean.” She risked a smile. “The truth is, Cull, we should be joining forces. Working together to find whoever killed Lady Hastings and hurt Ollie.”

“You want to work with me,” Cull said neutrally.

The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. “It is the logical thing to do.”

“I agree.”

Delight bubbled through her. “I am glad. Of course, Charlie will need to be convinced—”

“I don’t give a damn what Lady Fayne thinks. I am done keeping my distance from you, Pippa.”

She swallowed at his blazing intensity. “Are we talking about the investigation or, um, personal matters?”

“Both.” He rose, steady despite the swaying carriage. He crossed over and planted his palms next to her shoulders, caging her. “I thought I was doing what was best for you by staying away. But if the only way to keep you safe is to stake my claim, then so be it.”

The truth hit Cull like a bolt of lightning. His strategy with Pippa—it had been all wrong.

She wasn’t going to stop investigating, no matter what he said. And he knew he had no right to dictate her actions. The only thing he could do was protect her as she went about her business. Staying away from her wasn’t helping her…and it sure as hell wasn’t helping him.

“Staking your claim?” The golden suns flared around her pupils, firing up her blue eyes. Her ringlets bristled with indignation. “Of all the troglodytic—”

“I am an uncouth bastard. A man born and raised in the rookery. A man who makes his living dealing in dark secrets, and I am still a better man than that blighter you were with tonight.”

“Of course you are.” She frowned. “I never said you weren’t.”

A life on the water had taught Cull how to keep his balance, his body rocking with the carriage as he gazed at the woman he wanted more than his next breath. Her eyes were sparkling with defiance; they were not lost, lifeless, and grieving. Not cowed and afraid. Pippa had regained her spirit. Was she truly ready to move on from her marriage…to take him on as a lover?

“I want you,” he said. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night at The Enchanted Rose.”

“Neither have I.”

Her breathy admission flooded his groin with heat.

“But we…we should talk first. And I can’t do it with you towering over me.”

She patted the cushion beside her, and he accepted the invitation. It had been a while since he’d seen her in something other than men’s clothing or somber mourning garb. She looked sensual and sophisticated in her purple gown, her exposed shoulders glowing like a pearl. The brush of her skirts against his thigh felt like foreplay. Her lily-and-Pippa scent teased his nostrils and made him instantly hard. A common state for him when she was near. Elation spilled through his veins because now he knew he wasn’t alone in his yearning.

He took her hand. It was the hand of a countess: delicate, slim, smooth. Although his grip attested to the roughness of his life, their fingers twined with natural ease on the cushion between them.

“You wanted to talk,” he prompted.

She looked up from their joined hands, her expression bemused. “This feels easier than it ought to. Being here with you, I mean. After all…the complications.”

“Maybe we’re making things complicated. Maybe things are simple.” He was speaking to himself as much as to her. “I want you, Pippa, and I think you want me too.”

Her nod sent a surge of triumph through him. Bleeding hell, at long last…

“I want to explore whatever this is between us,” she said slowly. “Without expectation. Or pressure. I have lived too long with both, and what I want, what I deserve, is freedom. I will not give up my independence again—for anyone.”

“I understand.” And he did.

I wasn’t crying for Longmere, you nodcock. I was crying for myself, Pippa had told him. But while she might be done mourning her undeserving husband—Halle-bloody-lujah—Cull could understand why she wouldn’t be eager to dive head-first into another relationship. With quiet rage, he recalled her poignant confession. I was crying because I finally understood that maybe there’s nothing wrong with me after all. That Pippa should doubt, for even a second, that she was anything but perfect…it made him feel fit to kill.

Since Cull’s fury wasn’t going to help Pippa, he locked it away. Focused on the opportunity at hand. With a sense of irony, he recognized that her desire to keep her freedom might very well make her the perfect match for what he had to offer.

“I will not make demands beyond what you are ready to give. And the truth is…” He tightened his clasp on her, even as he said the words. “I have nothing to offer you beyond the moment.”

Not when he had the mudlarks to look after. A target on his back.

Not to mention a face full of scars.

And while Pippa might be able to overlook their differences in station, he knew her place was ultimately in the lavish upper bowers of society. Not in the gutter with him. No lady in her right mind would relinquish the title of a countess to be with a man who didn’t even bear his father’s name.

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” she said softly. “Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.”

He blinked. “Did you come up with that just now?”

“No, silly. That is from a poem by John Keats.”

Her breathtaking smile caused his chest to ache along with his cock.

“You made me think of it. Of how beauty, no matter if it is fleeting, brings us enduring joy and changes us for the better. While I have no need of promises from you, there is one thing I would ask.”

Dazzled by her, he murmured, “What is it?”

“I want to see you without your mask.”

Reality was colder than a plunge in the Thames. He’d been so caught up in the beauty of being with Pippa that he’d forgotten his own ugliness. Releasing her hand, he pulled away.

“If we are to be lovers,” she carried on softly, “then you don’t have to keep up appearances with me. It is you I want to get to know, Timothy Cullen, not the enigmatic Prince of Larks.”

You must tell her. Do it and be done with it. Her reaction will be…what it will be.

No matter how he’d prepared himself for this moment, he still had to drag out the truth.

“It’s never been about keeping an aura of mystery. Not with you.” He inhaled. “Five years ago, the old mudlarks’ headquarters caught on fire. It was the middle of the night, and the little ones were fast asleep. We managed to get most of them out, but two of the girls were missing. I went back for them.

“I found them, but as we were exiting, one of the beams collapsed on top of me, knocked me out. Luckily, the girls weren’t hurt and went for help. Mikey and several others hauled me out, and I’m lucky to be breathing today.” He thought of his best friend Patrick, who hadn’t been as lucky; how could he feel sorry for himself when Patrick had sacrificed so much more? “I didn’t escape entirely unscathed, however.”

Pippa’s eyes widened, and he wondered if she was imagining what lay behind his leather shield. Whether what she pictured was better or worse than what he saw in the looking glass every day.

“I’m lucky the job requires a mask.” He tried to make light of the subject but realized he couldn’t. “What’s underneath here…it is ugly, Pippa.”

Maybe she’ll leave it at that. Tell me she’s no longer interested and end things now.

A part of him almost wanted her to.

She gazed at him solemnly. “I want to see.”

Christ. He hated the pounding anxiety he felt. It angered him, his wounded vanity. The fire had taken Patrick’s life; what right did Cull have to mope over his damaged looks? Yet he flashed to the memory of Nan packing up her bags, her gaze avoiding his freshly disfigured face as she did so.

It was never going to work, Cull. You always put those mudlarks first. What ’appened to you…it’s just more o’ the same. I’ve ’ad enough o’ peril, poverty, and ugliness. I ain’t signing up for a lifetime o’ that wif you.

He didn’t blame Nan, but he resented his own weakness. Resented the way his hands hesitated before reaching up to untie the strings. The way he took courage from the dimness of the carriage—from the fact that the shadows hid, to some degree, the full extent of the damage.

He removed his mask and met Pippa’s gaze squarely. Dared her to look away—to not look away. Dared her to pretend that he was anything but what he was.

Her gaze was steady, her voice a bit husky. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“May I touch you?”

He gave a curt nod, and she reached up. He held miserably still as her touch feathered over the undamaged side of his face first, her thumb sweeping over his eyebrow, cheekbone, her fingers trailing along his jaw. She repeated the motion on the other side, his throat tightening as the same light caress now traveled over gnarled ridges and patches of unnatural smoothness. Despite his dulled sensation, he felt as if she were stroking the very heart of him, the place where hope refused to die. Where his dreams waged an agonizing battle with reality.

“I pictured what you looked like, you know.” Her voice was as gentle as her exploration. “How the lad I met fourteen years ago had matured into a man.”

“Not what you expected, am I?” he said humorlessly.

“No.” Her gaze was direct and, thank Christ, devoid of pity. “You are far more. And you are not ugly, Cull.”

It was so bloody stupid that he should care. That he should feel a burning at the back of his throat and an even more embarrassing surge of gratitude. Those feelings grew when Pippa leaned up and kissed him, right on his wrecked cheek.

“What you are is noble and brave.” Even though he couldn’t feel her whisper against his skin, it fed his deep, hungering hope. “And that is real beauty.”

Her sweetness undid him. He yanked her onto his lap and crushed his mouth to hers.