Pippa and the Prince of Secrets by Grace Callaway

38

Pippa had had her heart broken before.

But never smashed to smithereens. Never reduced to grit and dust.

With Edwin, she had mourned a fantasy she’d created. With Cull, she had experienced something better than any relationship she could dream up in her head. The passion and friendship, the laughter, tears, and even the fighting—at long last, she’d discovered what real love felt like.

Until Cull took it all away.

Pippa spent the day after licking her wounds. When Mama and Papa stopped by early that morning, she wept in the former’s arms and begged the latter not to interfere. It had taken visible effort, but Papa reined in his temper.

“It is for the best, poppet,” he said gruffly. “Better to find out the kind of man he is now than when it’s too late.”

Pippa didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was too late. She’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t want her. Who would rather keep her in a cage of perfection than let her fly by his side.

After her parents left, she sent Charlie a note to explain why she wasn’t up for working today. She was plagued by restlessness…and a sudden unstoppable urge. She went to her sitting room and dragged out her paints. Propping a canvas onto the easel, she didn’t bother to sketch or plan; she just grabbed a brush and let herself go.

As tears streamed down her face, she lost herself in color, in the movement of her brush, the play of darkness and light and life filling the canvas. When Suzette came to inquire about luncheon, Pippa waved her away. She wanted nothing but the solace of her art: the fire that burned inside her, that Cull had revived. That not even a broken heart could douse again. She painted freely and fiercely and fearlessly even as her world went up in flames.

When a knock sounded on the door, Pippa said absently, “Not now. I’m busy.”

The door opened anyway, and Livy, Fi, and Glory traipsed in.

“Charlie told us what happened,” Livy said. “We wanted to see how you were.”

Setting down her brush, Pippa ran a hand through her tangled hair. She rubbed her eyes, which were puffy from weeping. Looking down at her robe, she saw splatters of paint.

“I am surviving. I think,” she said ruefully.

Fiona held up a box tied with ribbon. “I brought cakes from Gunter’s.”

Heartbreak had dulled Pippa’s appetite. But these were Gunter’s cakes.

“Did you bring the almond ones with custard and raspberry jam?” she asked.

“Given the situation,” Fiona said, “I brought two dozen.”

It was wonderful to have friends who understood. Fortified by tea and cake, Pippa haltingly told the Angels about what had happened with Cull. All of them evinced surprise.

“That seems out of character for Mr. Cullen,” Livy said. “Thus far, he’s been steadfast and a man of his word.”

“The times I’ve seen the pair of you together, he was absolutely smitten with you,” Fi declared. “I can always tell with men.”

“Perhaps something happened?” Glory suggested. “To make him change his mind?”

“I asked him about that. And his only answer was that he is the Prince of Larks. As if I wasn’t aware of the fact.” Her chest ached with bewildered pain. “I have never, not once, asked him to be anyone but who he is. I don’t care that he has responsibilities; on the contrary, I wanted to be his partner and helpmate. To build a life together. I adore the mudlarks and thought I’d found my place…” Her throat swelled, and she was suddenly close to tears again. “I was wrong.”

“I think there is something he’s not telling you.” Livy ate a forkful of cake. “A man in love doesn’t just change his mind overnight.”

“You’re probably right. But why wouldn’t he talk to me? I deserve better.”

Anger momentarily blocked out Pippa’s despair. With a sense of irony, she realized that her time with Cull had renewed her self-confidence in time for her to be utterly livid at his treatment of her. While she was heartbroken, she also knew she deserved an explanation—deserved better from him.

“Of course you do. It is Mr. Cullen’s loss,” Glory said loyally.

“Thank you.” Pippa gave her friends a watery smile. “Talking about it makes me feel less sorry for myself.”

“Actually, we have an even better distraction to offer, if you’re up for it.” Excitement sparkled in Livy’s eyes. “We’re taking a trip to Kensal Green tonight.”

“To dig up Lady Hastings’s grave?” Pippa said in surprise. “But I thought we were waiting for Hawker to return?”

“Since time is of the essence, I convinced Hadleigh to help,” Livy said. “He’s bringing his friend Mr. Chen as well.”

Pippa had met Mr. Chen, who’d helped the Angels before. Chen operated a clinic in the East End that specialized in treating opium habits, and Livy had confided that he’d been pivotal in Hadleigh’s recovery years ago. Not only was Chen a skilled healer, but he was also a master of the fighting arts, which made him a valuable addition to any mission.

“We’ve come up with a plan to deal with the guards,” Glory added.

“And I, for once, am Brambleton-free this eve.” Fiona raised her auburn brows. “So, dear Pippa, are you in?”

“She woke up earlier,” Grier said quietly. “She was in pain, so I gave ’er the tincture the physician left. She’s going to be fine.”

With a tight nod, Cull said, “That is a relief.”

Fanny had been asleep when he’d arrived and had looked improved, thank Christ. Grier had invited him into the study, and now they were in the wingchairs by the crackling hearth. Grier took a swallow of whisky as he stared into the flames, deep lines creasing his face. Cull wished the Scot would yell at him, punch him, do something to him for the pain he’d caused. But Grier didn’t. And that made Cull hate himself even more.

He set down his untouched whisky. “Grier, I…I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

Paltry, pathetic words. Yet they were all he had to give.

Grier met Cull’s gaze. “You ain’t got anything to be sorry for, lad.”

“It’s my fault Fanny was shot. If I’d just listened to you and taken care of Squibb—”

“You listen to me now.” Grier slammed his glass down onto the side table, startling Cull into silence. “My wife is lying in our bedchamber with a bullet wound in ’er side. She’s going to live, but the recovery ain’t going to be a stroll through Hyde Park.”

Cull’s gut twisted. “I know.”

“And when she came to and was aware of everything that ’ad ’appened, do you know what she said to me?”

“No.”

“‘Don’t let that fool lad think this is his fault.’”

Cull’s eyes heated.

“Now you know Fanny, she’s not one for regrets. But I know that if ’er life ’ad taken a different direction, she would’ve wanted a son like you. Even if you’re not ’er blood, she looks at you with a mother’s pride. And do you know why?”

Dragging his sleeve across his eyes, Cull shook his head.

“Because you grew up like she did, like I did, and you didn’t let that destroy your decency.” Grier nodded. “In fact, you remind Fanny and me of our friend, the former owner of our club.”

Cull knew of Andrew Corbett, of course. He was a legend in the rookery. A former prostitute turned successful businessman, he’d used his wealth to champion charitable causes. He’d founded Nursery House with Fanny, and his good deeds numbered so many that he’d been knighted by the Queen.

“I don’t see why,” Cull said wryly. “No one is addressing me as Sir.”

“Corbett was made a knight because he’sa gentleman. Not vice versa. And that’s ’ow you’re like ’im. The way you treat others, protect those little birds…not many would take that on. So even if you fail from time to time, lad, you try—which puts you ’ead and shoulders above most men.”

Cull hunched his shoulders. “When I fail, people get hurt—”

“It wasn’t you who shot Fanny but that bastard Squibb. You may be the Prince o’ Larks, but you’re still a man, which means you cannot know everything and protect everyone. As a leader, you’ll suffer losses no matter what you do. Do you try to minimize them? Yes. Do you learn from your mistakes? Absolutely. Do you sit ’ere and blame yourself for every bad thing that ’appens? No, you do not—because that is not what a leader does.”

Grappling with his friend’s counsel, Cull said, “The truth is I…I never wanted to be a leader.”

“That’s too bloody bad. Because you’re a damned fine one who ’as stepped up time and again when no one else would. Why do you think those mudlarks look up to you, eh? Why do you think my lass who, let’s face it, ain’t no soft touch, acts like a meddling mama where you’re concerned? They know your worth, Cullen. And they choose to be around you.

“Who else are you carrying on your back? Your sister, your mam?” Grier’s gaze was unrelenting. “This is what you have to learn: people make their own choices. It ain’t only foolish o’ you to take responsibility: it’s bloody arrogant.”

Pippa had called him arrogant too. And, Cull realized with a jolt of clarity, he had deserved it. She and Grier were right. It wasn’t his responsibility to decide what was best for others. And it certainly wasn’t his place to tell her where she belonged. Jesus wept. He had a strong, loyal, and beautiful woman who wanted to be part of his world and to stick by him, through thick and thin…and he’d shut her out, telling her all he’d wanted was a bit of fun?

“I’m an idiot,” he said, stunned.

“’Appens to the best o’ us, Cullen.”

“I pushed away the woman I love.” He dragged both hands through his hair, planting his elbows on his knees. “And I told her it was for her own good.”

Grier winced. “Ach. I don’t envy you the groveling that’s in your future, lad.”

Cull’s gut clenched as he recalled the hurt in Pippa’s eyes. How she’d compared him to her sod of a former husband…and she hadn’t been wrong. Remorse percolated through Cull as he recognized that he had locked her up, even if the cage was a pedestal. By idealizing her, he hadn’t allowed himself to see the dazzling complexity of who she was: a lady, yes, but also a bold and capable partner, a sensual wanton…and his true companion.

His princess, who belonged in his bed and by his side.

He shot to his feet. “I have to talk to her, beg her forgiveness—”

“Cullen! I know you’re in there.” A deep voice boomed through the house. “Come out, you lily-livered bastard, and face me like a man.”

Grier sprang to his feet. “Who in blazes is that?”

Already headed for the door, Cull turned and said with a grimace, “God willing, my future father-in-law.”