Being with you made me realize what I’ve been missing all along. What I never felt in my marriage.
Cull noted with frothing fury that Longmere had not only been a lying bastard, but a ham-handed one. Pippa was so sensual and sensitive, and the fact that she’d been deprived of such basic pleasure—and worse yet, had blamed it onherself—made Cull want to punch a wall. It had required all his self-discipline not to go to her, to show her what she’d been missing, what heburnedto share with her.
But he couldn’t. His priority had to be finding the villain who’d attacked Ollie and killed Lady Hastings. In doing so, he would also be protecting Pippa. He knew that the chances of her and the Angels standing down were practically nil. Case in point: she and the Duchess of Hadleigh had attended the funeral yesterday, and he’d wager his life’s earnings it wasn’t just to pay their last respects. He had to put an end to the dark business before the Angels got hurt.
On top of that, he had to address the attack on him outside his own headquarters. The larks had tracked down the shooter; yesterday, Cull had gone to have a chat with the bastard. After some “convincing” on Cull’s part that involved exercising his knuckles, the assailant had sung like a bird: Chester Squibb had ordered the attack.
Squibb headed a group of sweeps that cleaned more than chimneys; they were known to steal anything that wasn’t nailed down. The conniving bastard had been looking to expand his gang and no doubt coveted the larks, who were small enough to work as climbing boys and smart enough to collect information and goods.
As much as Cull despised the sweep, an out-and-out war was his last resort. He didn’t want to expose the larks to Squibb’s bloodthirsty band. Which meant Cull had to go about things with care. He had scheduled a meeting with a formidable underworld ally and planned to call in a favor she owed him. When Cull struck, he didn’t want Squibb to get back up.
After Cull took care of Ollie’s attacker and the sweep, then maybe he could see Pippa again. He would have to show her what was behind his mask. If things were to progress between them, he had to be honest with her. Had to ensure that she was making an informed choice to be with him…with his scars and all. And that, he thought bleakly, could stop their affair before it even began.
“I will be back in a few days,” Abernathy said. “If anything changes, send word.”
Cull extended his hand. “Thank you for tending to Ollie.”
“It is my pleasure.” Abernathy’s handshake was firm. “By the by, I saw the basket of treats in the lad’s room. A gift from Miss Pippa—Lady Longmere, I mean to say?”
Cull stiffened at the familiar use of Pippa’s name.
“I have not seen her since my first visit,” Abernathy added.
Nor had Cull. Apparently, she’d paid a visit to Ollie while Cull had been out hunting for information about Squibb.
“Does she visit at a regular time?” Abernathy inquired.
Cull clenched his jaw. “Why do you want to know?”
“Er, no particular reason.” Ruddiness crept over the physician’s chiseled cheekbones. “I used to see her frequently at the Hunt Academy. Before she married. And I wished to inquire how she was doing…health-wise, I mean. Widowhood can take its toll on a lady’s constitution.”
“I will convey your concern,” Cull said evenly.
Speculation entered Abernathy’s eyes. “How did you say you and Lady Longmere met?”
“I didn’t.”
“Ah.” After a pause, the doctor muttered, “I must be on my way. Good evening, sir.”
Bag in hand, Abernathy exited.
Long Mikey showed up a few minutes later.
Cull frowned at the mudlark. “Why aren’t you tailing Lady Longmere like I told you to?”
“Calm your ’orses, I got eyes on ’er. But I thought you’d want to know what she’s up to.”
“What?” Cull asked with foreboding.
Mikey held up his hands. “First, promise you won’t shoot the messenger.”
15
“Would you care for some wine, my dear?” Hastings asked.
Pippa bent her lips into an inviting smile. “That would be lovely.”
As the viscount sauntered to the cabinet of spirits, Pippa took a quick survey of his suite. Gaining access to his home had been surprisingly simple. Yesterday, she’d approached him at the funeral. Feigning empathy, she’d told him how terribly lonely she felt after her own spouse’s death. She’d added a few touches on his arm here and there. Like a lion sensing prey, Hastings had pounced. Before she knew it, he’d invited her over for a privatetête-à-têtetonight so that they could “console” one another.
