PROLOGUE
Hogmanay, 1900
Bull Lindsay stood, arms folded across his chest and hands uncomfortably still, as he leaned against the roaring hearth and frowned at the two lassies across the room. They were doing absolutely nothing wrong, and that was part of his irritation.
Their group of friends—extended chosen family, you might even say—gathered each Hogmanay to ring in the new year at one estate or another. This year they were gathered at Peasgoode, Bull’s mother and stepfather’s estate, and the festivities had been absolutely smashing, as always—especially with the new additions to the family. Everyone kept getting married and popping out bairns, it seemed.
Or growing up.
His scowl deepened as the two girls giggled—nay, that was a full-bodiedlaugh—and his cock stirred at the sound. Heshifted, beyond irritated at himself and his body’s idiotic reaction.
But it was no surprise, really, and the reason he’d been in a bad mood since the holiday had begun.
Sometime in the last five years—more?—shehad gone and grown up when he wasn’t looking.
Rosie Hayle.
She had always been like a little cousin to him; one of theinnumerablebairns running about, tripping over things, nagging him for piggyback rides—permitted—or pickpocketing lessons—refused—at their yearly reunions. Bull’s parents’ and older brother’s generation had gotten married and started popping out children left and right, and wee Rosie was among the first.
Fook me, I remember the Christmas she was born!
With a sigh, he scrubbed a hand down his face. Twenty years? Nay, twenty-one as of last week. How had it been twenty-one years already?
Bull was gettingold.
To be truthful, six and thirty was notthatold, but when the Duke of Lickwick had arrived for the celebration with his family and Bull had lain eyes on wee Rosie—recently back from finishing school and looking like the perfect young lady—he’d felt verra old indeed.
Like an oldlech.
Because at some point, wee Rosie had grown up…into an incredibly desirablewoman.
Bull had never felt the urge to admire Demon’s wife Georgia—a woman who had treated him as part son, part family rascal for two decades—but Rosie most definitely had her mother’s beauty…and a wild streak from her father.
Bull had immediately turned about and stalked out into the snow for a long, hard, cold gallop.
It hadn’t helped, and now he’d been stuck inside struggling with his body’s response to a lassie he’d thought of as an annoying little cousin for years. Bull had done his best to stay away from her—he didnotneed to get up close with her again, because staring into those bright green eyes which lit fires all across his body just the once had been enough,thankyeverramuch—but even from across the room, even with everyone else chattering in the salon waiting for the dinner bell, he was uncomfortably aware of her.
Another complicated cousin, Merida, laughed loudly and reached over to tug on one of Rosie’s curls, which she now wore piled atop her head in an elegant fashion to rival her mother and aunt. His Rosie swatted her hand?—
HisRosie? Fook, Bull was in trouble.
If his scowl deepened any more, his chin might dislocate and fall off.
Merida was a few years older than Rosie, and for some reason, those few years seemed to be important. That, or the fact that Bull had hired Merida and her artistic skills many times over the years. His detective agency had plenty of need for forgeries, and although the vivacious redhead was now renowned for her landscapes, she was also askilled forger, thanks to her father’s connections with the underworld.
And since their mothers were sisters, it was inevitable that Merida and Rosie would be close friends. So why did it bother Bull so much to see the two of them giggling together?
Because they look so Goddamned innocent, and ye’re standing here having completelyun-innocentthoughts about one of them!
Cursing himself under his breath with a stream of obscenities, Bull pushed away from the stone hearth and forced himself to turn his back on the enchanting image of the two young women. Soon enough he’d be back in London, Rosie would be back in Endymion with her parents, and Bull could get back to his regularly scheduled debauchery and detective cases.
For the rest of the visit he would continue to keep his distance—he didn’t need to be in the same room as Rosie, much less get close to her again—and no one would know he was having distinctlyun-older-cousinly thoughts about her.
Not that they were actually cousins. Not even close. They’d just been raised together?—
Shut up! Are ye trying to justify those thoughts?
Bah!
