When Jones, Eliza’s butler, materialized at her side, Bull breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if he could focus on the case once more, now he knew she was being watched over.
He turned his attention to Hoyle. “Well? Ye said ye found a portrait by the same artist?”
The other man blinked, then pressed his fingertips to his mustache and glanced away. “Er…yes. I believe so. It appears to be a later work, perhaps the artist had matured in his style somewhat, so I cannot be certain.”
“Then why do ye look so excited?” Bull growled, irritated he’d gotten his hopes up.
“Because the portrait must be the same woman. The ruby necklace is the same, and I remembered the book where I read about the mystery artist.”
A sudden calm settled over Bull, the way he felt whenever he exhaled and convinced his fingers to cease their fidgeting. This was the addictive feeling of a case on the cusp of being broken open; the calm before the most exciting storm.
One side of his lips drew up. “Ye’re certain? The verra same woman?”
Hoyle had glanced away, back toward the row of small portraits which Lady Mistree was now admiring, and Bull couldn’t see his face. “She is older in this piece, the backdrop a garden instead of a studio. But yes, I amcertainit is the same woman.”
The other side of Bull’s lips pulled up. “Excellent.” He reached out and closed his hand around Hoyle’s upper arm, turning him fully toward the wall of paintings. “C’mon man—which one?”
The other man had stiffened at the touch, bending away from him. Bull, for his part, hadn’t been certain why he’d grabbed the scholar in the first place, but he now tightened his hold to keep him from scuttling off.
“Which one?” he repeated, more threateningly.
Hoyle had removed his gloves since they’d stepped into the room and the shaking hand he now raised was too slender, too delicate to do anything besides flip the pages of a book.Pitiful. The lad looked as if he hadn’t done a day’s labor in his life.
“There,” the scholar whispered. “The one your friend is studying.”
Almost as if it had been planned, Hoyle’s words triggered a flurry of movement across the room. A masked manburstfrom a small door on the opposite wall, hurtled across the room, and yanked a small portrait from the wall. Lady Mistree and the young sketch artist both screeched in surprise, Jones stepping forward to catch his lady as she stumbled back from the thief.
Bull had already released Hoyle as the masked man turned toward the door, moving to intercept him—but the mansurprised him, running toward the middle of the room and planting one foot on the row of wooden benches where Bull had so recently been sitting, before running along them and launching himself toward the door to the main foyer.
Whirling around, Bull knew he wouldn’t be able to intercept the thief, not from this far away. But Hoyle—he was standing in the man’s path, his eyes wide, his hands out.
“Hoyle!” Bull bellowed. “Catch him!”
He should have known better. The other man was too small, too weak to stop a determined thief.
But to his surprise, the slight scholardidtry. Bull saw the moment Hoyle realizedhewas the only one in the masked man’s way. He stepped toward the thief, arms wide, chin up, mustache bristling…
And the man barreled into him, not slowed even a moment by Hoyle’s weak attempt. Nay, instead the art scholar’s hat flew in one direction and the man himself went flying a different way—directly into Bull’s path.
Without thinking Bull reached out to grab the other man to keep him from harm. His arms closed around Hoyle’s torso as their chests slammed into each other, and he tightened his hold for just a moment before dropping his hands to the other man’s upper arms before setting him aside so he could chase after the thief.
At least, that had been his intention.
Because sometime around the point when he had intended to thrust Hoyle away from him and run down the masked man, Bull’s brain caught up with his instincts and he realizedwhat he’d felt.
Or rather, what he hadn’t felt.
When he’d clasped Hoyle to his chest, Bull hadn’t felt a man’s body, not even aslightman’s body.
Two decades of experience had taught his fingersexactlyhow it felt to hold a woman.
Mind spiraling, Bull’s instincts abandoned him, and he whipped his head back to where Hoyle was steadying himself, putting the escaping thief from his mind.
“Hoyle?”he rasped, reaching out to grab the man—thewomanonce more.
His—hereyes widened as he yanked her to him, her head tipping back to stare up at him, fear in those bright green depths.
And in that moment, Bull knew.
