Smiling gently, she held up her hand to reveal an ornately crafted diamond ring. “Oh darling, no. Reggiegave me this one. Butthatone…” She nodded to the box in Bull’s hands. “That has been inmyfamily for a very long time.”
“I cannae take this, Eliza,” Bull blurted in almost panic, thrusting it back toward her. He was merely a bastard-born detective who lusted over a woman he wasn’t allowed, and scowled at strange mustaches doing him a favor; not the sort of man who should be taking an old woman’s heirloom.
But she clutched her reticule to her chest and leaned away. “Youwill. Do not take it for yourself, dear boy, but for your future. When you meet the right woman, that band will fit perfectly on her finger and you will know she is the one for you.”
Och, nay.
Bull shifted on the wooden bench, trying to keep his expression from screwing up into disbelief.
He’d grown up surrounded by couples deeply in love, and in the last year he’d seen some of his closest friends and relatives find love—somehow helped along by Lady Mistree herself.
But Bull had never, not once, felt the need to settle down.
He wasn’t lonely. He’d found love in all sorts of places, all guises, in his life. He’d had lovers from every walk of life and continent, and had enjoyed himself immensely. Why would he ever feel the need to restrict himself to one person, when variety—meeting and learning about new people?—was far more fun?
A quiet voice in his head whispered:Uncle Thorne felt the same way before he’d met Aunt Kit, remember?
Aye, but Aunt Kit had been dressed as Thorne’s valet when Thorne found himself falling in love, andthathad been amusing as hell to watch. What a fool, not able to see the obvious: a woman dressed as a man.
Still, in all his thirty-six years, Bull had never met a woman he wanted to bind himself to for the rest of his life. Someone who could match him, someone who wouldn’t eventually becomeboring? He’d never met the like.
“Ye…” He cleared his throat. “Ye actually think I’m going to get married one day?”
“Oh, dear boy…” Eliza leaned over and patted his hand. “I know it. Keep the ring in that box and hold onto it. You will know when the moment is right. Now, introduce me to your intriguing friend.”
The command, given so casually, derailed Bull’s planned argument that he had no intention of marrying. Instead, his attention was yanked across the room to where Hoyle was striding toward them, a new kind of energy in his step Bull hadn’t seen before.
In fact, for the first time he could see some of the other man’s expression clearly behind that ridiculous mustache. Hoyle’s shoulders weren’t drawn up so his scarf wasn’t hiding his chin and ears, and his head wasn’t tucked down. Bull couldn’t see his eyes, not beneath that hat, but he seemed…excited about something.
As Lady Mistree struggled to rise, Bull leapt to his feet, shoved the ring box in his pocket, and offered her his hand, without moving his gaze away from his excited art scholar.
“I found it, Bull!” Hoyle blurted as he skidded to a stop on the marble floor, his head tipped back to stare up at Bull,green eyes sparkling. “I found another painting by the same artist!”
This is generally considered the point at which ye say something in return.
But Bull barely heard the man’s words, much less comprehended, much less had a response.
Because those eyes…
That itchy irritation was back. Forget anagging sensationthat something was wrong about Hoyle: now it was a full-on suspicion kicking Bull in the back of the head, urging him tofooking pay attention.
Did he know Hoyle? Had he met the man before?
Why were those eyes so familiar?
Beside him, Lady Mistree cleared her throat delicately, and Bull shook himself. Time enough to dwell on those eyes later.
“Uh…Lady Mistree, allow me to present Mr. Robert Hoyle. Hoyle is a scholar of portraiture and he’s helping me on a case.” He tipped his head toward the old woman, his gaze still on the other man. “Hoyle, the Countess of Mistree.”
Eliza lifted her hand toward the scholar, who’d suddenly paled. “Charmed, I am sure.”
“Y-Yes, my lady.” The little man fumbled, reaching out to shake her hand even as he averted his gaze, as if she were another scholar. “Delighted.”
Well. Maybe he just wasn’t used to interacting with titled elderly dames.
Lady Mistree hummed in what might have been amusement as she tucked her reticule against her side and settled her cane in her other hand. “It was lovely seeing you, my dear,” she said to Bull, then nodded once, regally, to Hoyle. “Robert.”
She called him by his first name? Clearly Hoyle was astonished too, because he twisted to stare after the old woman as she hobbled toward the row of portraits Hoyle had most recently been studying.
