“It feels natural for me as well.” He grazed his knuckles along her jaw, down her throat, sending shivers through her. “Especially when we’re doing ‘whatever else.’”
Cheeks flushing, she heard herself say, “Has it been this way for you with other lovers?”
His lashes swept up. “Why do you ask?”
She bit her lip, uncertain if she ought to reveal what Fair Molly had said about Cull’s other lover. Since the mudlark had brought up the topic, Pippa had found herself wondering about this woman—her “twin” who’d apparently abandoned Cull in his time of need. At the same time, she didn’t want to land Molly in hot water, especially since she knew the girl’s heart was in the right place.
She settled for a compromise. “Before you, there was only my husband, so I’m rather new at this. But I assume this is not your first affair. And I wondered if, well, our relationship is…” She searched for the right word. “Typical. In your experience, that is.”
“Are you asking about my past lovers?” Now he sounded amused.
“I suppose I am.” She frowned, suddenly questioning how many lovers there had been. How many women had known Cull’s lovemaking and enjoyed moonlit picnics on this rooftop? “Have you, um, had many?”
“More than some, less than others.”
“Were any of the relationships serious?” she pressed.
“One lasted a year and was serious enough that she met the larks.” He hitched his shoulders. “But not serious enough for her to stay after I was injured in the fire.”
“Oh, Cull, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I’m not. She and I got on well enough, but we weren’t a good fit…and there’s a reason why there has never been a Princess of Larks,” he said prosaically.
Pippa stilled. “That reason being?”
“A woman has to put up with a lot, being tied to a man like me.” He gave her a grim look. “Having mudlarks underfoot constantly, dealing with enemy threats, knowing that my attention will always be divided. The life I have to offer ain’t exactly one of luxury and ease…which is why all the princes before me ruled in solitude.”
Wistfully, she thought that the life he described sounded rather exciting and meaningful.
“But I didn’t answer your question. About whether this”—he gestured between the two of them—“is typical for me. The answer is no.”
“How is it different?”
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“Oh.” Pleasure unfurled at his unequivocal statement. “Why is that?”
“Because, sunshine, none of them could hold a candle to the girl I kissed in a bell tower fourteen years ago.”
23
Cull wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he wanted Pippa. More than he wanted anyone.
Then, now, and undoubtedly for the rest of his life.
“But we were apart for so long.” She lifted a hand to her bosom, her eyes wide. “Surely you weren’t thinking about me…”
“Not every minute. Not always consciously. But you were there,” he said gruffly. “A glow at the back of my mind, the memory of the girl who lit up rooms when she entered.”
“If that were true, why…why did you leave without saying goodbye?” Her voice was tremulous. “Why didn’t you find me sooner?”
“The same reason I wasn’t there for Maisie. I wasn’t in a place to give you what you needed. What you deserved.” He brushed his knuckles against her downy cheek. “You were a lady, and I was little more than an alley rat.”
“I never cared—”
“ButIdid. You were so sheltered and sweet; I didn’t want to take advantage of your innocence.” He exhaled. “As the years passed, my fortunes improved. Sometimes I would think there might be a chance…but my duty to the mudlarks always came first. Then when you met Longmere and had eyes for only him, and I had my accident, I knew.”
“Knew what?” Her words were whisper soft.
