“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 ofdoesexist. 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 givehimany 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.
