Tittle-Tattle blinked in confusion. “Does she? A female scholar? How unusual. How interesting.”
“Oh yes,” she burbled, clasping her hands together. “I was so very interested in your chapter about unknown artists. There was one in particular…”
Bull gave her a little squeeze. “The women with the ruby necklaces, Lord Tittle-Tattle. Rosie is particularly interested in studying those. We can make it worth yer while—and so can my future father-in-law,the Duke of Lickwick.”
Praise and flattery, all at once. Rosie couldn’t help but be impressed by Bull’s style. She also couldn’t help but be impressed by the way heheldher, the way he praisedher. It was a heady feeling, to be supported by a man like him. Not only supported, but praised and…and bragged about. He wasbraggingto Lord Tittle-Tattle, and she was hit by a pang of longing.
How wonderful would it be to have arealfiancé who was that proud of her? Who bragged about her to scholars she admired? Who held her tight and yet displayed her proudly to the world?
Lord Tittle-Tattle, however, was shaking his head, sending his wild white hair poofing around his head. “I am sorry, oh dear. Well, nothing for it: those paintings are gone.”
“Gone?” Bull’s tone had taken on a sharp edge. “What do ye mean? Stolen?”
“Oh, no no no. Stolen? No. I had two of the portraits by that artist, both of the same woman. She was wearing a ruby necklace, yes, but they weren’t worth much.” The little man kept shaking his head as he backed out of the room. “I kept them for amusement, you understand. The delight of the history. But the offer—such an offer!”
Bull pulled her along as he stalked after Lord Tittle-Tattle. “What do ye mean? Ye sold them?”
For the first time, he wondered why the fook the blackmailer didn’t just offer to buy Allie’s portrait, since the bastard clearly had money to throw about on this quest to collect ruby-necklace portraits.
“I don’t part with my pieces to just anyone, you understand! And the offer was more than generous! This estate is hemorrhaging money, and now I’ll be able to write my book in peace for another month, at least. Did you say your father was interested in sponsoring my work?” he asked Rosie vaguely, blinking four times in rapid succession before continuing, “I would be happy to put his name in the acknowledgements.”
“Ye ought to be askingRosie,” Bull growled. “She’s the one who gives a shite about yer work. Who bought the portraits?”
The man had backed his way into the foyer now. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly reveal that! Privacy, my good man, privacy!” He gestured to the elderly butler. “See them out, Collier. It was nice to meet you, Duke of Lickwick’s daughter. Goodbye!”
Solipsistic crockhawk.
Excretable cuntwomble!
Invidious spunkmuffin.
They were fooked.
CHAPTER 9
Bull didn’t even bother to maintain a polite fiction as he wrenched Rosie’s coat from the butler, scowling at the older man as he helped bundle her up—but the servant was obviously used to such rudeness, and merely held out Bull’s overcoat and hat.
“Give that to me,” Rosie commanded softly, taking the briefcase so Bull could shove his arms through his sleeves with abrupt movements. “Perhaps we can convince Lord Tittle-Tattle to tell us?—”
“He’s only interested in yer father, sweetheart,” Bull growled, ramming his hat onto his head. “Well, fook him.Ye’rethe one he ought to be flattering for patronage;ye’rethe one with the talent and the skill.”
When he offered Rosie his arm, it was to see her staring up at him with something in her green eyes he didn’t recognize. Something like…a sad sort of appreciation.
Huh.
He patted her hand, where it rested on his arm…but instead of the movement being a brisk reassurance for the benefit of the role they were playing, he found his fingers curling over hers. Gently. Apologetically. Comfortingly.
Her lips twisted wryly, and she exhaled.
Was this part of the role she played, or was he seeing Rosie’s real emotions?
And what werehistrue reactions?
“Come on, love,” he murmured as he led her out the front door. “I should no’ have sent away that hired hack.”
It had dropped a few degrees as the sun set, and he felt her shiver on the front step. “We are going to have to walk to the road,” she warned him, “to find a cab.”
“Aye, but at least the scenery will be lovely.”
