“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 ismagical.”
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.”
