Pippa and the Prince of Secrets by Grace Callaway

22

“Where are you taking me?” Pippa asked.

“You’ll see.” Cull led the way up the narrow winding stairs, his lamp painting the stone walls in light and shadow. “We’re almost there.”

“You said that thirty steps ago.”

“Not tired, are you, my intrepid Angel?”

She made a face at his broad back…and heard him chuckle.

Stupefied, she asked, “Do you have eyes at the back of your head?”

“I’m the Prince of Larks. I’ve eyes and ears—”

“I know, I know. You see, hear, and know everything.”

She rolled her eyes just as he turned, a sensual grin below his mask. She had debated asking him to remove the covering but decided not to push. He would bare himself when he was ready.

“Not everything,” he said. “I didn’t know about Vincent Ellis until you discovered that important fact.”

Pleased with her mission’s success, Pippa said, “I do have my uses, don’t I?”

“Thinking of your uses keeps me up at night. Literally.”

She chuckled at his flirtatious banter. Cull could be devilishly wicked and boyishly playful, and she couldn’t decide which side of him she preferred the most.

“Mrs. Grier is lovely,” she said conversationally.

When she’d been introduced to Fanny Grier, the lady had bluntly disclosed that she owned a bawdy house, appearing to await Pippa’s reaction. Pippa wasn’t one to judge; her own papa had made his fortune from operating a notorious gaming hell. With a polite smile, she’d asked how Fanny and Cull had met, and from there, the conversation had flowed easily.

“That is because Fanny likes you.” Cull’s tone was dry. “Trust me, she does not suffer fools.”

Amused, Pippa said, “She and Mrs. Needles are quite the pair of meddling mamas.”

“Mamas?” Cull shot her a quizzical look. “They’re my friends…work associates.”

With a tender pang, Pippa realized that while he took care of others, he wasn’t used to the idea of having that attention returned. To her, it was obvious that Fanny and Mrs. Needles treated him with maternal pride. And she thought his gruff yet affectionate manner with them was rather adorable.

A wooden door greeted them at the top of the steps.

“Close your eyes,” Cull said.

“Must I?” For his benefit, she gave an exaggerated sigh.

He gave her the crooked smile she loved. “Why would anyone give you the moniker of Patient Pippa?”

“That was the old me.” With a feeling of liberation, she added, “The new me does as she pleases.”

His smile deepened. “Would the new Pippa mind closing her eyes so that I may surprise her with what is on the other side of the door?”

“What is on the other side?”

His laugh bounced off the stone walls. “You would find out sooner if you followed orders and shut your pretty eyes.”

When she obeyed, Cull’s hand engulfed hers in a warm grip, and hinges squealed. She felt a blast of warm air, a cacophony of chirps greeting her. It took all her willpower not to open her eyes as he tugged her forward.

“Now open them,” he said.

She did…and let out a delighted gasp at the enchanted scene around her. They were in a rooftop conservatory built of glass and steel. Shaped like a hexagon, the room had a soaring ceiling, the glass panels making it seem like its roof was the night sky. Tiny lanterns twinkled like stars overhead.

And the occupants of the greenhouse…there were birds in cages and birds flying free. Some perched on the fronds of potted plants and others on sturdy wooden posts grouped throughout the room to mimic clustered trees. The birds made happy sounds as Cull entered, some swooping playfully close to him, others hopping excitedly in their cages.

Pippa spun around, taking in the beauty. “This place is magical.”

His gaze gleamed. “I am glad you like it.”

“Where do the birds come from?”

“All over London. They are injured, you see.” He led her over to a wire cage. “This starling has a broken wing.”

She noted the tiny splint among the lustrous blue-black feathers. “And you tend to them?”

He nodded, his gaze on the bird. He extended a long finger through the wires and held it still. The starling tilted its head, as if considering the proposition. It hopped forward and darted its beak out, giving his finger a friendly peck.

“During my recovery from the fire, Matches—one of the mudlarks—brought in a sparrow that had narrowly escaped being a cat’s supper. The bird was in bad shape…worse shape than me, even with my burned face and broken leg. We kept each other company and both survived.” He shrugged. “The larks started bringing in injured birds whenever they found them, and it became a hobby of sorts.”

Pippa’s heart melted. This pastime of Cull’s fit everything she knew of him. Protector of the wounded, champion of those that many would not deem worthy of notice, much less saving. He saw treasures in society’s discards. Given what she knew of his past, she had an inkling why…and she yearned to know more about him. This powerful prince of the underworld who was gently running his index finger along the side of a starling’s head.

“How do you find room to keep all these pets?” she asked.

“They’re not pets, and I don’t keep them any longer than they need to be here. When they are healed, they go free.” The starling hopped to the other side of the cage, and he dropped his hand. “What I offer is a sanctuary, not a prison.”

Awareness prickled her. Her heart thumped in a wild, primal rhythm…not unlike that of the wings above her. She couldn’t yet give voice to the chaotic thoughts. She only knew that at that moment she experienced some vital truth, the encounter as brief as that between a man and an untamed bird.

Cull cleared his throat. “Are you hungry? I thought we could have a casual supper up here if you don’t mind.”

“I would love to sup in this beautiful place,” she said.

He took her to one of the glass panels, which turned out to be a door. It opened into a second, smaller enclosure; this one was free of birds, filled instead with lush potted plants. Citrus and night-blooming jasmine scented the air. The slanted ceiling gave a breathtaking view of the swirling mix of clouds and fog rising from the river.

A carpet had been rolled out at the center of the room and lanterns set along its perimeter. A blanket, cushions, and an enormous wicker basket sat atop it, along with a bucket of iced champagne. An image flashed in Pippa’s head…of a scene she might paint. A pair of lovers stumbling upon a faerie garden and finding an enchanted picnic waiting for them.

“How delightful,” she breathed. “But you didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

“It was no trouble. And this is the only place in the Nest where we are likely to have any privacy.” He helped her settle onto one of the charmingly mismatched cushions. As she arranged her skirts, he uncorked the bottle with a pop. “Champagne?”

“Yes, please.”

He handed her a flute of the effervescent beverage and filled another for himself. He sat beside her, and they tapped glasses.

“To us,” he said. “And our first night together that doesn’t involve mayhem.”

“Cheers to that.” She took a sip, approving of the crisp, dry bubbles. “This is a fine vintage.”

“Let’s hope the rest of the meal lives up.”

He unloaded the basket, and her eyes rounded as he uncovered the elegant dishes. The assortment included jellied pâté flecked with truffles, scallops nested in pastry, buttered asparagus, sliced potatoes baked in cream with a crispy crust, and breaded lamb cutlets accompanied by a vegetable-studded sauce. Her stomach rumbled at the tantalizing smells.

“Your chef made all this?” she marveled.

“Hell, no. Mrs. Halberd can’t fry an egg without scorching it.” Cull served her pâté, along with a slice of crusty bread. “This is from the Reform Club.”

Pippa lifted her brows. Situated on Pall Mall, the Reform Club was an exclusive gentleman’s club and catered mostly to progressive members of Parliament. Their chef de cuisine was famous for his innovative kitchen.

“You’re a member?” She sampled the paste of liver and spices, savoring its earthy creaminess.

“No.” Slathering pâté onto a slice of bread, Cull ate it with gusto. “But I’m owed a favor by someone who is.”

“You didn’t have to go to the trouble—”

“You said that already. And you’re worth the effort.”

His sincerity made her heart stutter like a debutante’s. Flustered, she reached for her champagne and took a sip.

“Besides,” he said, “I can’t say I mind a respite from Mrs. Halberd’s cuisine.”

“If she’s such a terrible cook, why don’t you dismiss her?”

“One doesn’t dismiss Mrs. Halberd.” Cull glanced around as if he were worried that the cook might materialize out of thin air. “She is older than the hills and has been with the mudlarks since before I joined. Since before I was alive.”

“And you, the mighty prince, are afraid of her?” The notion amused and charmed Pippa in equal measure.

“I’m not afraid.” He served her one of the seafood vols-au-vent. “I’m terrified.”

Laughing, Pippa sampled the dish and nearly swooned at the delicious flavors. The pairing of the sweet, succulent scallops, flaky pastry, and creamy sauce was exquisite. They ate in companionable silence. Cull polished off two lamb cutlets, mopping up the tangy sauce with more bread. His unabashed enjoyment of his food reminded her of Garrett and Hugh.

Cull quirked an eyebrow. “Why are you smiling?”

“Your appetite reminds me of my brothers,” she said candidly.

He grunted, helping himself to a heaping serving of potatoes. “When I met them years ago, they were young and rowdy lads. What are they like now?”

“Older and rowdier,” she said fondly.

He was silent for a moment, as if choosing his response with care. “Have you seen them of late? Your brothers and your family?” When she didn’t reply, he said, “I don’t mean to pry—”

“No, it’s fine.” She meant it.

Truth be told, it felt good to discuss ordinary things. To have a lover interested in her life and inner workings.

“My mama stopped by last night,” she said.

He waited.

“The visit went well,” she elaborated. “We talked…in a way we hadn’t for a long while. And I realized that you were right.”

“Aren’t I always?” He grinned at her narrow-eyed look. “What was I right about this time?”

“That night when we first met again, you said that my family loves me, and I’ve been pushing them away. It’s true.” She chewed contemplatively on a bite of asparagus. “It wasn’t fair to them, and I am going to do better.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Fairness and family don’t always go hand-in-hand. The important thing is that no matter what, you know you can rely on one another.”

His voice had a serrated edge. She recalled the pain in his eyes when she’d carelessly thrown Maisie’s words at him and accused him of being unreliable.

“Is that true of you and your sister?” she asked cautiously.

“Maisie can count on me,” Cull said with brooding intensity. “Whether or not she believes it.”

“What happened between the two of you, Cull?”

He set aside his plate. “The story is not mine to tell.”

“I understand if you don’t want to tell me.” Even if she felt a bit hurt by his reticence.

“It’s not that.” His deep brown gaze was somber and open. “If I were to unburden myself to anyone, it would be to you. But I haven’t been a good brother to Maisie. And I don’t want to compound my failings by betraying her secrets.”

“You don’t have to share anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Pippa assured him.

“Suffice it to say that I wasn’t the brother I ought to have been.” Cull dragged a hand through his hair, tousling the thick waves. “You know that I missed occasions. Birthdays, events at the academy. Even her graduation.”

Pippa nodded. As a young girl, Maisie had been disappointed; as she’d grown into womanhood, that disappointment had hardened into anger. Knowing Cull as she did now, Pippa couldn’t reconcile Maisie’s characterization of him as uncaring and unreliable. There had to be a reason for Cull’s absences.

“Why weren’t you there?” Pippa asked softly.

“Because I was busy with the mudlarks. After what happened with Crooke—after that bastard tried to force the mudlarks into the flesh trade—I knew we couldn’t be without a prince. But none of the older boys stepped up, and instead they nominated me. Even though I’d been beaten to a bloody pulp by Crooke.” He shook his head, as if even now he couldn’t believe that the others had seen him as a leader. “I worked my arse off day and night and still didn’t know what I was doing. I made mistakes, grave ones…ones that cost lives.”

Seeing the shadows spill like ink through his eyes, she pushed aside the dishes and scooted next to him. She touched his coat sleeve and felt his bunched biceps beneath the worn superfine.

“You did your best,” she said in gentle tones. “You were willing to take the reins when no one else would. And you were only fifteen—barely more than a boy.”

“One grows up fast in the stews. The mudlarks needed someone better, but all they had was me,” he said gruffly. “I did my best by them. I just couldn’t manage to do that and be a good brother to Maisie.”

“You were responsible for so many. It was not your fault.”

“Maisie doesn’t see it that way. And she’s right: I did choose the mudlarks over her.” Regret and frustration strained his voice. “But I didn’t make that decision out of a lack of care.”

Pippa understood. “You did it because you do care. You brought her to my parents’ school, made sure she was safe and looked after.”

“She was better off there. Without me. I wanted her to have a different life, a better one than I could offer her. Maisie, she was always the bright one of the family.” Pride flared in his eyes. “She caught onto the schooling right quick.”

“Maisie was a model student, but she wasn’t better off without you. And no matter how angry she was, I know she still looked up to you.” Pippa tilted her head. “Have you thought about mending fences with her?”

“She won’t forgive me,” he said unequivocally. “And I don’t blame her.”

“But perhaps if you—”

“She’s settled now. Happy with her post in Bristol. I won’t disturb her peace.”

Hearing the finality in his words, Pippa knew better than to argue. It wasn’t her place, anyway, to tell him what to do. They were having an affair, not…more. Even though their no-strings-attached relationship felt more intimate than her marriage ever had.

“Relationships are complicated, aren’t they?” she reflected aloud.

“Aye, they can be.”

“Good thing ours is not.” She lightened her tone, smiling at him. “I’m glad that we found each other again, Cull. That we can be friends.”

“Is that what we are?”

His question, uttered with a sensual rasp, ruffled her. The truth was their relationship defied conventional categorization.

“I meant that I enjoy our camaraderie,” she clarified. “How natural it feels to be with you, whether we are chatting, investigating, or…doing whatever else.”

“It feels natural for me as well.” He grazed his knuckles along her jaw, down her throat, sending shivers through her. “Especially when we’re doing ‘whatever else.’”

Cheeks flushing, she heard herself say, “Has it been this way for you with other lovers?”

His lashes swept up. “Why do you ask?”

She bit her lip, uncertain if she ought to reveal what Fair Molly had said about Cull’s other lover. Since the mudlark had brought up the topic, Pippa had found herself wondering about this woman—her “twin” who’d apparently abandoned Cull in his time of need. At the same time, she didn’t want to land Molly in hot water, especially since she knew the girl’s heart was in the right place.

She settled for a compromise. “Before you, there was only my husband, so I’m rather new at this. But I assume this is not your first affair. And I wondered if, well, our relationship is…” She searched for the right word. “Typical. In your experience, that is.”

“Are you asking about my past lovers?” Now he sounded amused.

“I suppose I am.” She frowned, suddenly questioning how many lovers there had been. How many women had known Cull’s lovemaking and enjoyed moonlit picnics on this rooftop? “Have you, um, had many?”

“More than some, less than others.”

“Were any of the relationships serious?” she pressed.

“One lasted a year and was serious enough that she met the larks.” He hitched his shoulders. “But not serious enough for her to stay after I was injured in the fire.”

“Oh, Cull, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. I’m not. She and I got on well enough, but we weren’t a good fit…and there’s a reason why there has never been a Princess of Larks,” he said prosaically.

Pippa stilled. “That reason being?”

“A woman has to put up with a lot, being tied to a man like me.” He gave her a grim look. “Having mudlarks underfoot constantly, dealing with enemy threats, knowing that my attention will always be divided. The life I have to offer ain’t exactly one of luxury and ease…which is why all the princes before me ruled in solitude.”

Wistfully, she thought that the life he described sounded rather exciting and meaningful.

“But I didn’t answer your question. About whether this”—he gestured between the two of them—“is typical for me. The answer is no.”

“How is it different?”

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

“Oh.” Pleasure unfurled at his unequivocal statement. “Why is that?”

“Because, sunshine, none of them could hold a candle to the girl I kissed in a bell tower fourteen years ago.”