He was smiling because hewantedto smile.
Rosie Hayle, the lassie he’d thought of as a little cousin for so long, had definitely grown up…and bantering with her made him want to smile.
When had he last smiled like this? Freely, without thought?
Oh, he was charming and gregarious, but in the last decade since his agency had become so successful, Bull had pared his actions down to those which served him—and his missions—the best. Nothing was to be wasted. If he smiled, if he laughed, it was because that’s what the situation called for.
But here he was, smiling not because he wanted her to see him smile, but because hewantedto smile.
“Bull?”
He hummed.
Her eyes had grown panicky behind the mask. “Bull,”she hissed.
“Aye, lass?” Shite, he feltmarvelous. His bones felt like butter—all save one.
“Do not look now, but I think that is Lady Mistree standing across the room, speaking with a parrot.”
Damnation.
Bull’s senses went into high alert and he stiffened, moving to block more of her body from expected danger.This is what ye get for allowing yer mind to wander. Allowing yerself to smile, to react without thinking.
“Ye’re certain it’s her?” he murmured, ducking his head slightly, hating that he needed to rely on Rosie for this. “Did she notice us?”
Because in that moment, Bull didn’t give two shites about the case, or charming Madam Desiree into allowing them early access to the auction items, the way he’d explained in his letter to her. Suddenly, all that mattered was Rosie’s reputation. If one of Society’s granddames somehowrecognized the two of them…
“She is not in costume and is sitting along the windows.” Rosie stepped closer, pretending to brush something from his shoulder as she peered over his shoulder. “She looks even less healthy than she did at the Gallery—so frail.”
“Why in the hell would she be here?” Bull growled, ducking his head to make his hair and height less obvious.
“Perhaps she is interested in the ruby-necklace portrait, after that one was stolen in front of her at the Gallery?” She was close enough that he couldsmellher light citrus scent.
“I dinnae ken,” he murmured, trying to ignore how fookinggoodshe smelled. “We have to get ye out of here.”
“Me?” Bright green eyes blinked up at him. “But we are so close to examining Madam Desiree’s collection and—what was it Marcia once said? Cracking the case?”
“It doesnae matter anymore,” he muttered, his gaze darting from side to side, looking for an escape and wishing he could turn about and see how far away Eliza was.
“Bull?” her hand rose to cup his cheek, her tone a little panicky.
In a flash, his focus was on her once more, wondering how to calm her. “What is it? Just maintain the role, Rosie, I’ll get ye out of?—”
“Bull, Lady Mistree is staring at the back of your head.” Her other hand snaked around his waist—hisalmost barewaist, sending a forbidden shudder through him—and she stepped closer as she tipped her head back, exposing the delectable column of her throat. “I think we need to allaysuspicion.”
His brain had stopped working. That was the only explanation as to why there was nothing but silence in his head.
Rosie Hayle’s hands were on his skin, her tits were pushing up over the top of that gownhe’d designedexplicitly for this scandalous look, and she was looking up at him expectantly. And thus every single bit of Bull’s blood had abandoned his brain and drifted southward.
Allay suspicion? What the hell did that?—
Rosie pushed herself up on her toes. “Bull, kiss me.”
He was obeying her order before he could think otherwise.
Rosie’s lips…
Rosie’s lips?
