The woman in the mirror was stunning.
In a daze, Rosie lifted her hand to touch the strands of hair which framed her face in a delicate, mischievous style. It was a puckish look, one she never would have imagined for herself, and it made her look…so much older. More knowing. Morefun.
“Oh my word,” she breathed in wonder.
And behind her, Bull snorted. “Fook’s sake, Rosie, watch yer tongue. Next ye’ll begoodness graciousingand clutching yer pearls.”
His teasing caused her lips to curl and her heart unclenched.
Bull’s reflection in the mirror jerked its head back toward his bedroom. “Want to see yer disguise?”
And just like that, the anticipation of adventure thrummed through her veins again. “Are you certain you can disguise me thoroughly?”
He might not think she was as talented as the others when it came to detective work, but he hadn’t fought her on tonight. Or rather, he’d capitulated when she’d pointed out—quite logically—that she could just go without him. Truthfully, she wassomuch happier attending the art auction and masquerade with him, rather than alone, because he was used to this sort of?—
Oh.
Bull pulled something from a hanger and spread it across his bed, and Rosie’s eyes had widened.
Whatever thought she might have had as far as disguises to attend the masquerade ball…Noneof it could come close tothis. She likely would have slapped on a pair of cat ears and a mask, and hoped no one would recognize her, butthis…
Holding her breath, she bent down to finger the fabric which felt like liquid jewels.
Thiswas something else entirely. The fitted skirt, the deep cut of the bodice with the seashell motif, the beautiful, shimmering colors which looked just like scales when she moved the fabric…
“No one will recognize me in this,” she breathed.
Behind her, Bull snorted. “Ye ever doubted me? I have our cover stories ready to go. I will be a Romanian baron in Britain visiting my sister, who is married to an industrialist. I collect medieval art from the Continent, attending the auction at the urging of my mistress.” His finger poked her shoulder. “Ye are a silly lass who has a passion for mid-century portraiture.”
If it would help the ruse for her to pretend ignorance of art, she could manage that, but…
Still in awe of this gown, she lifted it by the bodice, shaking out the bejeweled skirt. So much skin would be on display, more than she’d ever displayed before. A courtesan’s masquerade ball wasnotthe place for cat ears and a mask; it practically demanded a mermaid costume as scandalous, aserotic, as this one.
Her gaze skimmed the neckline. Bull would dance with her tonight—he would have to. He would hold her.Touchher. Look at all that skin on display…
Rosie felt her lips curl upward in pure wickedness.
“I am delighted to tell you this, Bull: absolutely everyone who sees me in this will believe us to be lovers.”
And wouldn’t that just be wonderful?
CHAPTER 6
“Iswear to Christ, Rosie, if you spill this on yer costume, I will never forgive you,” Bull hissed, handing his companion the smallest glass of wine he could find and reminding himself not to glare. He was supposed to be playing the role of a bored baron, after all.Fook.“Ye’re too young for this anyhow.”
Rosie merely rolled her eyes and snatched the not-quite-crystal from him. “Did you ever meet my father?”
“Of course I ken yer father,” Bull grumbled, stepping beside her so he could scan the crowded room from behind the ornate mask he’d bejeweled himself yesterday. “I’m terrified of yer father.”
Her laughter was too pure for this hellish company. Rosie—sweet, innocent Rosie—nudged him with her hip as she took a hefty sip—sip? Nay,gulp—of wine. “You are not terrified of him.”
“I am. The man once beat me senseless,” Bull explained without doing anything as crass as glancing down at her.He didn’tneedto; she drew every single one of his senses to her. “In one particular place.”
“The drawing room?”
Bull winced. “I limped for a week.”
More laughter, low and sensual. Rosie’s laughtershouldbe innocent and naïve, but Bull couldn’t mistake the throaty sound of familiarity beneath it; it sounded as full-bodied as the wine he was gripping too hard as he pretended to scan the crowd.
