One of those was more important than the others, and Bull doubted he was in the right frame of mind to focus on which one it was.
Aye, ye’re fooked.
CHAPTER 7
As they settled into the cab of the hackney coach, Rosie’s heart was beating double-time.
Itcouldhave been the worry of being recognized in this scandalous costume at this scandalous gathering.
Itcouldhave been the excitement of playing a role so perfectly that Madam Desiree completely believed their story.
But she was rathercertainit had everything to do with the man currently holding her hand. Bull had handed her in, all solicitations and kind smiles, and hadn’t released her fingers yet.
She doubted anyone else would notice the tightness at the corners of his lips. Desperate to maintain an air of nonchalance, desperate to pretend she was used to such excitement, Rosie asked lightly, “What is wrong?”
The interior of the cab was dark, lit only by the street lamps they passed, but she could feel Bull’s sharp glance.
“What do ye mean?”
“You are angry about something. Is it me?”
His breathwhooshedout of him as he slouched against the squabs. “Ye did brilliantly, Rosie.” His praise made her suck in a sharp breath, then hold it tightly when she heard his next words. “I’m just irritated our mysterious blackmailer got to Madam Desiree before us.”
Ah.
Well, yes, of course he would be angry about the case, you idiotic bungleshite.
“You are certain it was the same blackmailer?”
“Nay, but who else would it be?” Bull pulled his hat from his head and tapped it against his knee with his free hand. “A blackmailing letter, a theft in broad daylight, now a secret purchase? If we’d been able to see the correspondence of Madam Desiree’s buyer, perhaps…”
Rosie winced, realizing there’d been no way forBaron von Trappedto request such a thing. “I am sorry I did not think to ask.”
He sighed again. “Ye did fine, Rosie. I wish?—”
Hesitantly she squeezed his fingers, praying she wasn’t making a mistake by reminding him he was still holding her hand. “That I had not been there.”
She felt his sharp glance. “I was no’—”
“Yes, you were,” she prompted gently. “And I should apologize for kissing you.”
His sharp bark of laughter didn’t soundjoyfulat all. “Are ye mad? Any other man would’ve loved that, lass.”
Oh God.Any other man.Her eyes closed, even though she couldn’t see him in the dim carriage to begin with. Somehow, it was easier. “It was only for the role, Bull,” she lied, almost unsure if she was protecting herself or protecting him. “And I should not have done it without your permission.”
This time his chuckle sounded a little more at ease, and he was the one to squeezeherhand. “It was a good distraction. I wish I could have done this without ye, so ye didnae have to be exposed to—och, well, ye ken.” Another huff that might’ve been a laugh. “I could’ve gotten the information myself, with a different identity. But ye did well.”
Rosie peeked open one eye. When a gray sort of emptiness met her, she slowly opened the other. She wanted to squeakReally?and force him to repeat the compliment, but didn’t want to push it. Instead, she cleared her throat and introduced the topic she’d been hesitant to remind him of.
“Lord Tittle-Tattle has at least two ruby necklace portraits. By our mystery artist.”
“How do ye—och, ye’re the art scholar.” His tone was dry. “Should have kenned.”
Her lips twitched. “He was the one who wrote the book where I learned of the paintings. He was intrigued by the similar motifs and structures of the portraits. But Madam was correct, he is reclusive—more so than my father—and old-fashioned.”
Bull hummed. “Old-fashioned, how?”
The hack took a corner a little too fast, and she rocked into his side. “My apologies,” she murmured, pushing herselfupright once more. “I have heard Lord Tittle-Tattle places much value on a man’s place in Society.”
