Pippa and the Prince of Secrets by Grace Callaway

3

Cull led the way into the cabin. As the barge had been fashioned with speed in mind, the space was small and Spartan, furnished with a table and cushioned benches against the walls. Narrow windows gave views of the passing river. Pulling the curtains closed, he faced the woman who’d haunted his dreams since he was a lad…and realized that she’d changed.

Pippa was no longer the young miss of his fantasies. Her cheeks had lost some of their youthful roundness, her bones elegantly pronounced in her sculpted face. While the color of her eyes hadn’t altered, the way they looked upon the world had. Her gaze was no longer guileless and sparkling with spirited innocence; instead, it was shadowed by suspicion. She studied him, taking his measure, the same way he took hers.

She was still tall and slender, maturity adding to her curves. When she’d been draped over him, he would’ve had to be a saint not to notice the soft bounty of her tits pressed against his chest. She had bound them to go along with her disguise, but he would have wagered money that he’d felt the enchanting poke of her budded nipples. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Still, he hadn’t imagined the lushness of the hips he’d grabbed onto when trying to break her fall…or the sleekness of her thigh when it had rubbed against his burgeoning erection.

God, she made him hard.

Age had deepened her power over him, for now she was no longer a pretty, well-bred virgin on a pedestal beyond his reach. She was a stunning, sensual, experienced widow…

And even more out of your reach,his inner voice pointed out. She’s a bleeding countess now.And you…have you forgotten what is beneath your mask?

Cull hadn’t, of course. He saw himself every morning in the looking glass when he shaved…the side of his face that still sprouted whiskers, that was. He’d never been a man who avoided reality. In the rookery, doing so would get a man killed, and there was a reason he’d reached the ripe old age of nine-and-twenty.

He focused instead on the opportunity before him. To spend a few stolen moments with Pippa. To hear her voice, which still had the sweet lilt of birdsong that her newfound willfulness couldn’t hide. Not that he blamed her for being prickly. She’d been through a lot, waiting years for that sod Longmere to marry her, only for him to get himself killed and in such a bloody stupid fashion.

Any man blessed with a wife like Pippa ought to do everything in his power to keep breathing and, more importantly, to make her happy. Longmere, the asinine fop, had done neither. Instead, he’d left Pippa with a broken heart, burdening her with grief and regret. A volatile mix for anyone to contend with, let alone a sweet and gentle creature like Pippa.

Was it any wonder that she’d sought out distraction? That she’d used adventure and, aye, danger, as a shield against pain? Cull didn’t account himself an expert in much, but having observed Pippa for years, he had an inkling of her inner workings. At present, she reminded him of the wounded birds in his sanctuary. In the glass aviary he’d built for them atop the Nest, they flapped in crazed trajectories until they found their wings again.

He could help Pippa. Be her friend in this moment if she let him. Although he longed for more, he would take what he could get.

“Well, Mr. Cullen?” Pippa arched her curving brows, which were a shade darker than her hair. “We have privacy. Would you care to explain why you have been meddling in my affairs?”

Even dressed like a dockworker, she had a countess’s poise. She’d put the table between them, her chin angled up and arms crossed. Her hair was a golden cascade that reached her hips. She kept her balance like a ballerina, her slender body swaying gracefully with the river’s currents.

“It’s Cull,” he reminded her. “We were friends once.”

“I am not interested in the past.” She narrowed her glorious eyes at him. “What I want to know is why you got in my way this eve.”

There was no point beating around the bush. From the information Cull had gathered, she’d been avoiding the Hunts, her loving family. She’d told her parents that she needed privacy to mourn, and they’d given her what she asked for…enough rope to hang herself.

No, what Pippa needed wasn’t solitude; it was the company of truth.

“You were out of your depth,” Cull said bluntly. “You needed help, and I provided it.”

Her cheeks reddened, the ring of gold blazing in her heaven-blue eyes. “How dare you presume to know me or what I need.”

Instead of arguing, he gave her the facts.

“After your husband died, you joined Lady Fayne’s operation. You’ve been working as a covert agent. You’re talented…but also reckless and impulsive. You have a habit of charging ahead on your own, of endangering yourself and the mission,” he summarized. “Tonight, you should have waited for the other Angels. Instead, you went after Hastings and nearly destroyed your cover. If the mudlarks hadn’t intervened, you would have tipped Hastings off to the fact that you were tailing him. That his own wife was having him investigated. In short, you could have ruined your case.”

Breathe. Stay calm and in control.

As a debutante, Pippa had been known for her sunny and amicable nature. She’d never liked conflict and found it natural to see the best of people and situations. In fact, sniggering wags had dubbed her “Patient Pippa” due to her drawn-out courtship with Edwin. She’d believed in his promises and waited years for him to come up to scratch. All she’d wanted was to spend the rest of her life with her true love.

What she got was a year of marriage, along with doubts about whether love was all the poets made it out to be. Well, that wasn’t true. She’d grown up with parents who adored each other, their passionate devotion a shining example of what she’d yearned for. Which meant that the problem wasn’t with love but with her.

Maybe she wasn’t the kind of woman who inspired unconditional love in men. Maybe that was why Edwin had kept her waiting for years, unwilling to make that final commitment. Why he’d kept secrets from her throughout their short union. And maybe that was why Timothy Cullen had kissed her once, left without saying goodbye, and now had the gall to lecture her like she was some ninny.

Although she strove to keep her surprise hidden, she was astonished by Cullen’s depth of knowledge about her. Knowing that the Prince of Larks had eyes and ears everywhere was one thing; having that attention placed on her was another. She didn’t like feeling exposed.

Her training allowed her to keep her voice even. “My life is no concern of yours. You are not my husband, my family, not even a friend. You have no right to interfere.”

“There you are wrong, my lady,” Cullen said steadily. “I am your friend.”

“Some friend,” she scoffed. “As I recall, your last words to me were, I’ll see you later. That was fourteen years ago.”

He cocked his head like a predator sensing prey. “You remember what I said to you?”

Dratted man. No way was she going to let him know that she’d spent months secretly pining after him. Dreaming of her first kiss with the rough-edged lad whose soulful eyes had seemed to see to the heart of her.

“That’s hardly the point,” she retorted.

“Then what is?”

“The fact that you’re an unreliable bastard who has no right to tell me what to do.”

“Aye, I am a bastard. No arguing that, is there?”

At his bland reply, Pippa felt a stab of shame. She’d used “bastard” as a reference to his character, not his origins. She knew that Cullen and Maisie were born out of wedlock and raised by their mama. Cullen had taken care of his sister while their mother walked the streets to keep a roof over their heads, eventually drowning her miseries in drink.

As Pippa’s own papa had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, she believed that a person’s worth lay not in the circumstances of their birth, but what they made of themselves. Timothy Cullen, for all his high-handed ways, had looked after his sister and found her a safe place to land. And rumors of his ruthlessness aside, he’d carved out success as an elite purveyor of information and a leader who had the fierce loyalty of his group.

“I didn’t mean it literally,” Pippa muttered. “I was referring to your character, not your parentage.”

“Is that better or worse?” he said wryly.

“Since one has no control over the circumstances of one’s birth, one can do nothing about it. On the other hand, one has perfect control over one’s behavior,” she said pointedly. “One can, for example, strive to be less of a nosy and interfering jackanapes.”

His eyes glinted at her…then he barked out a laugh. The sound was as rich and warm as a drink of chocolate, and her tummy fluttered. She quelled the reflexive quiver of her lips.

“This jackanapes has your best interests in mind,” he replied.

“As I’ve said, you have no right to care about me or my interests.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What is it that you’re really after, Cullen?”

“I’m looking out for you, sunshine. Your husband is dead, and you’ve pushed away your family. If you won’t take proper care of your pretty self, then I’ll have to step in.”

Her reaction was a jumble of emotions. Anger at his arrogance, shock at his acuity…and a teensy, mortifying spike of pleasure that he’d remembered the endearment he’d once used with her. An unbidden memory floated to the surface…

“Why do you call me ‘sunshine’? Is it because of my hair?” she’d once asked.

“Partly.”Despite his fading bruises and rough-hewn looks, his slow, crooked smile had made him the most handsome lad she’d ever met. “But mostly on account o’ the fact that you light up any room you enter.”

The next day, he was gone. And she, like a ninny, had wondered if she’d done something wrong…if she’d somehow lost the supposed sparkle that he’d seen in her. It was the sort of stupid thing an adolescent girl would think, she thought darkly.

Luckily, she was no longer that silly miss; she was a woman who wasn’t fooled by a man’s careless compliments. By the kind of trifling flirtation that Timothy Cullen probably employed with every female he met.

She clenched her jaw. “I can take care of myself.”

“If that’s the case, why don’t you?” His mild tone didn’t mask the challenge in his question. “Why aren’t you taking better care of yourself, Pippa?”

Her breath caught as his question pierced her armor, the answer plunging into her with unerring accuracy. Because I killed the man I married, and I deserve whatever happens to me.

Edwin’s final masterpiece flashed in her head: the woman with the red-gold tresses, beautiful face, and desperate longing in her eyes. Portrait of a Lady Dreaming had won Edwin his heart’s true desire—recognition. If only the price had not been his life.

As Pippa tried to shove the memories back into their locked box, the barge lurched, knocking her off her feet. Childish laughter rang outside as she went flying. Cullen dove, his arms encircling her, his brawny body twisting to take the impact of the fall. They landed on a cushioned bench; winded, she found herself sprawled atop him once more.

His eyes, the rich brown of buried earth, drew her in. Her hair fell in a curtain around them, blocking out the world, and she couldn’t look away, couldn’t move as he reached up. The brush of his knuckles sent feathers of heat over her skin. His scent of sea, soap, and male wafted into her nostrils, and her senses brimmed with awareness.

Of his uncompromising masculinity and strength. Of her own sudden desire to melt into it…

“You all right, sunshine?” he asked.

Reality returned in a blink. She couldn’t let this stranger unravel her. Wouldn’t be weak and exposed and pathetic once more.

“I don’t need your help,” she stated.

She scrambled to her feet; he followed suit.

“Everyone needs help sometime,” he countered.

“The way your sister tells it, you’re not exactly a fellow one can count on, are you?”

His mouth tightened, telling her that her barb had hit home.

Although Pippa didn’t know the entirety of what had gone on between the siblings, she’d heard Maisie’s bitter complaints that Cullen hadn’t been there when she needed him. After kissing Pippa, Cullen had left the Hunt Academy and never returned, missing his sister’s milestones. After Maisie graduated, she and Pippa had mostly lost touch, save for the occasional catch-up letter. In her missives, Maisie wrote about her life as a housekeeper in Bristol and omitted any mention of her brother.

Being intimately acquainted with regret, however, Pippa saw it in Cullen’s gaze. She didn’t like hurting him—hurting anyone—but she wanted him to stop pestering her.

“Would my friendship be such a terrible thing?” he asked quietly.

Perhaps not…if she trusted him. Which she did not. While his intentions seemed harmless, she didn’t understand why he’d bothered to look out for her. She wished she could trust her intuition to guide her; when it came to males, however, her instincts had led her down the wrong path one too many times.

She leveled a look at him. “Does a friend hide behind a mask?”

“There’s a reason for my mask,” he said in a curt tone.

“I know the reason. You’re the mysterious Prince of Larks.”

Lines bracketed his mouth. A knock cut off whatever he would have said next.

“Cull, Long Mikey says to come on deck quick!” A girl’s voice came through the door. “A lighter pulled up, wif a giant fellow and group o’ ladies who look like they mean business.”

Reinforcements had arrived; Pippa welcomed the excuse to end this encounter.

“Those are my friends,” she said. “As they do not like to be kept waiting, I’ll bid you adieu.”

She marched to the door, but Cullen beat her to it.

Opening it, he inclined his head.

“Good evening, my lady,” he said. “We’ll finish our discussion another time.”

“We have nothing left to say.”

“When you’re ready to talk about Longmere, about what happened with him, come to me.” His penetrating gaze seemed to see far too deeply. “Whatever you may believe, I am your friend. You have my word that you and your secrets are safe with me.”

“I have no secrets.” None that I would share with you. “And you should continue doing what you’ve done for the past fourteen years: stay out of my way.”

She brushed past him without another word.