“Oh, Willy,” Rosie pouted becomingly, and he knew there was genuine disappointment there. “Perhaps we could learn who bought it, and make them an offer? I would love to hang it onmywall.”
Playing the role of her patron, Bull harumphed, “Ze wall zatIpay for.”
“Yes, but you like that wall. That’s where you pin down my hands and?—”
Much to Bull’s relief—and disappointment—Madam Desiree was already shaking her head regretfully. “I am sorry, my dear, but the offer and the transaction was handled anonymously through an agent. I do not know who purchased it, nor where the courier delivered it.”
Damn, again.
Because when Rosie turned those big green eyes imploringly up at him, blinking back tears, Bull was struck with the sudden urge to do anything humanly possible to find that painting for her.
Not because it was part of the mission, but because Rosie was begging him. And if she begged, he’d do anything.
Oh, ye’re fooked, ye dobber.
Bull heaved a put-upon sigh and turned back to the older woman. “Vere could I pur-chase another painting like zis one?” With his free hand, he gestured to his throat while rolling his eyes. “Viz ze ruby necklace?”
“By the same artist, my lord?” Madam Desiree pursed her lips in consideration. “You have to understand that since the painter is unknown, it is difficult to know exactly which pieces are his. He is said to have painted exclusively…” She cleared her throat with a knowing glance at Rosie. “Well,fallenwomen, using the ruby necklace as an indication.”
“Yes,” Rosie sighed, pressing her temple against his shoulder forlornly. “A true artiste who appreciates a fine woman. You can understand why I fell in love with that portrait. I wish there were more.”
As the older woman studied Rosie, Bull realized he was holding his breath. He told himself to calm down; he himself had overseen the application of Rosie’s makeup and mask, and knew there was no way Madam Desiree could see the resemblance between this stunning woman and the one in the portrait.
Except, perhaps, for the smile…
Finally the former courtesan shrugged. “I am sorry, my dear, but I have not had any others by that artist come through my collection, nor be shown at my auctions. The only others I have heard of are in the collection of the Marquess of Tittle-Tattle, in Alnwick.”
At his side, Rosie stiffened so subtly that he doubted anyone not holding her would notice. “Perhaps we could visit him!” she burbled, sounding far more vacuous than she had any right to. “If he will not sell us the pieces, even just having the chance toseethem…”
But the madam was shaking her head. “Old Tittle-Tattle is a recluse, my dear, andquitesnobbish. Trust me.” She offered a little wink and a smirk. “He did not deign to meet with me when I requested a private audience about,ahem, another matter—claimed he wasfar too busywith his next book. He will not see you.”
“Oh, dear,” pouted Rosie, before swinging her attention back to Bull. “Perhaps a baron could?—”
“I have heard he will not welcomeanyoneto see his collection,” Madam Desiree interrupted gently. “Even those of his same social rank, which—if you’ll forgive me, my dear—you clearly are not.”
A thought was coming to Bull.
A terrible, wonderful thought. He fought to keep his expression neutral, fought to keep his dread—his excitement—from showing when he sighed. “Zees English are—what is ze word? Idiots. Come, my love, ve have no more need to be here?”
Rosie’s sigh sounded genuinely dejected. “No, Willy. There was nothing else at the auction I wanted to see.” The way she forced a smile and a small curtsey to Madam Desiree—looking exactly like a younger courtesan intent on maintaining niceties and honoring their hostess—made the older woman preen. “Thank you so much for the opportunity, Madam, and your generous hospitality.”
“Oh, my dears, I would bedelightedto welcome you back to any of my future auctions.” The older woman curtsied to Bull, her decolletage displayed to its maximum benefit in that impressively corseted costume. “And my door will never be shut for you, Baron von Trapped.”
As if he had no idea what she was implying, Bull sniffed and gave a curt nod. “Yes, yes, zank you for ze ball, it was quite fun. Now let us be home, my love. I haf tried as you asked and in exchange I was promised?—”
Rosie’s giggle as they hurried down the corridor, away from Madam Desiree, sounded perfectly natural. “Oh Willy, do you promise not to rip my gown this time? My lips are perfectly capable…”
Thank Christ they’d reached the curtain leading back to the ballroom by then, because Bull tripped over his own feet—something he hadn’t done since he was in leading strings—and used the movement to sweep them through the doorway.
“Yerlips?” he hissed, aghast, as he scanned the room, doing his absolute best to ignore the way his cock throbbed at the thought of Rosie on her knees, her lips parted. In the bathtub. All…nipply.
“It seemed like a good parting shot,” Rosie murmured back. “She bought the act.”
“She did indeed.” His arm tightened around her as he turned them toward a servant who could retrieve their cloaks for them. “And we got absolutely nowhere.”
At least as far as the case went.
As far asliterally everything else in the worldwent, tonight had been…enlightening as hell. He’d learned that Rosie wasgoodat this kind of subterfuge, that their next quarry only respected people of a higher social standing than himself, and that Rosie tasted like sunshine.
