“You’re trying to keep her away from you?”
God, yes. He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want her touching his things, leaving her mark, tempting him. Didn’t want her threatening his sanctuary. Didn’t want her tainting this dark place with her light. “I’m trying to keep her away in general.”
She leaned forward. “She’s not your lover.”
“Of course not.”
One of her black brows rose. “There’s no of course about it. Perhaps there would have been if I hadn’t seen her face.”
“I may well owe the girl an apology, but that doesn’t make her anything close to my lover.”
Sally smiled at that. “Don’t you see, Cross? It’s because you feel you owe her an apology that makes her closer to your lover than any of the rest of us.” She paused for a long moment before adding, “And even if you didn’t feel that way, the girl’s face would have been enough.”
“She came to request my assistance in a matter.” A ridiculous matter, but Sally need not know that.
“She may request your assistance in one matter,” the prostitute said with a soft, knowing laugh, “but she wants your assistance with something else entirely.”
Cross’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sex,” she said, plainly, as though she were talking to a child. A child wise beyond his years. “The woman saw what I am. She knows what I do. And she was jealous.”
Cross met her dark eyes, seeing only Pippa’s large, shocked blue ones, made massive by the lenses of her spectacles. “There’s no reason for her to be jealous.”
“Sadly, that is true.” Sally’s mouth pursed in a perfect moue, and she leaned back in the chair. “But she doesn’t know that.”
Frustration coursed through him. “I mean, she wasn’t jealous.”
Sally smiled. “Of course she was. She wants you.”
“No. She wants my assistance with some”—he hesitated on the word—“research.”
Sally laughed, long and loud. “I’ve no doubt she does.”
Cross turned away, reaching blindly for a file he did not need. “We are finished.”
Sally sighed and stood, approaching the desk. “Just tell me, does she know?”
He closed his eyes, frustrated. “Does she know what?”
“Does she know that she’ll never have you?”
“She’s marrying a lord in just over a week.” And even if she weren’t, she’s legions too good for me.
“Engagements are made to be broken.”
“I forget how cynical you can be.”
“It’s a hazard of the occupation.” She moved to the door, turning back before she opened it. “You should tell her. Before the poor thing becomes sick with unrequited love.”
He did not reply.
After a long moment, she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow with your list.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded once and opened the door, turning to leave before she looked back, a smile playing over her too-red lips. “Shall I allow your next appointment in?”
He knew before he looked what he would find when Sally stepped out of the doorway.
Philippa Marbury was seated on a high croupier’s stool, not five feet away, nibbling at the edge of a sandwich.
He did not mean to stand, but he stood anyway, coming around his desk as though he were chased. “Did someone feed you?”
Of course someone had fed her. Didier, no doubt, who had a soft spot for any soiled dove who found her way to the kitchens of the Angel.
But Philippa Marbury was no soiled dove.
Yet.
And she wouldn’t be if he had anything to say about it.
“Your chef was kind enough to make me a plate while I waited.” Pippa stood, extending the plate in question to him. “It’s quite delicious. Would you like some?”
Yes. God, yes, he wanted some.
“No. Why would she feed you?”
“I’m pupating.”
He looked to the ceiling, desperate for patience. “How many different ways do I have to tell you that I’m not interested in helping you emerge from this particular cocoon?”
Her jaw went slack. “You referenced metamorphosis.”
The woman was driving him mad. “You referenced it first. Now, did I or did I not tell you to go home?”
She smiled, a lovely, wide grin that he should not have liked so very much. “In point of fact, you did not tell me to go home. Indeed, you quite washed your hands of me.”
He considered shaking the maddening woman. “Then tell me why it is that you remain here, waiting for me?”
She tilted her head as though he were a strange specimen under glass at the Royal Entomological Society. “Oh, you misunderstand. I am not waiting for you.”
What in hell? Of course she was waiting for him.
Except she wasn’t. She stood, thrust her plate—along with her half-eaten sandwich—into his hands and directed her full attention to Sally. “I’m waiting for you.”
Sally cut him a quick look, clearly unsure of how to proceed.
Pippa did not seem to notice that she’d thrown them all off, instead stepping forward and extending her hand in greeting. “I am Lady Philippa Marbury.”