Rosie looked at the river they were striding beside, then nodded. “You are right.” But when she glanced back up at him, Bull was still staring down at her. Only then did she realizeshewas the lovely scenery he’d meant.
Her cheeks bloomed a lovely pink, as pink as the roses in her mother’s garden for which she was named.
For some reason, her reaction made him feel…better. The Lord Tittle-Tattle lead had been a bust, but all was not lost. They would take Allie’s painting to Endymion, avoid being torn apart by Rosie’s father, and Rosie’s mother could help them identify the subject. They weren’t done yet.
Bull tucked her arm closer, pulling it against the warmth of his body, and nodded firmly. “It’ll be all right, lass. I promise.”
Her inhale was shaky, but she managed a smile. Rosie was just opening her mouth to respond…when a new voice interrupted them.
“Stop right there.”
Cursing himself for his distraction—really, they were walking down a deserted lane, for fook’s sake!—Bull was already moving into a defensive pose when he looked up to see the masked man who’d just stepped out from behind a tree near the river. The bastard was holding a gun.
Robbery? Here?
A sense of calm settled over him as Bull instinctively stepped in front of Rosie, releasing her arm so both of his were free, shaking out his fingers to be ready for a fight. His gaze darted about, checking angles and options. He didn’t carry a gun, never had, but he had two blades on him, and past experience had taught him he could make the throw from this distance if need be…
“Come over here,” the man growled, gesturing toward the shadows with the gun. “Now.”
Right. Well.Here we go.
With a mocking sort of grin, Bull used his arm to push Rosie behind him as he moved cautiously toward the man. “Highwaymen are choosing strange sorts of places for an ambush these days.”
To his surprise, it was Rosie who quipped, “This is more like a quaint small-townlane.”
Bull snorted. “Lane-robbery doesnae really work, love.Highwayrobbery. Highwayman.” He eyed the bastard. “Quaint-small-town-lane-mandoesnae have the same ring,unless he’s going to rob us of only a few crowns. Which he’ll be lucky to get.”
But the other man hadn’t been distracted by their banter, turning slightly to keep Bull covered with his gun. “I’m not after your money,” he growled. “Give me the painting.”
Ah.
Come to think of it, this arsehole matched the build of the masked man who’d robbed the National Gallery of Art. Bull slowly straightened, his hands falling to his side, wondering if he’d be able to pull a knife in time.
Meanwhile, he needed to keep the thief distracted. “I dinnae have it.”
“Bullshit,” the man growled.
But Bull interrupted with a nod. “Aye, that’s what they call me.”
Behind him, Rosie made a little noise which might’ve been a huff of laughter. Apparently she’d also heard where he’d earned his lifelong nickname. Bull was just pleased she wasn’t panicking, or gripping onto him or some other way restricting his movements.
He needed to keep his attention on the gunman, who now commanded, “Give me the painting.” The revolver didn’t waver.
Bull shifted again, making sure he was covering more of Rosie, trying to hide the factshewas still holding the briefcase containing the painting—which was why he wanted to curse when she drew the man’s attention by speaking.
“Lord Tittle-Tattle was not willing to sell it to us,” she saidin the most innocent of voices. “Perhaps ifyouasked him, with your big scary revolver, he might sell it to you?”
Bull was furious she was drawing the thief’s attention, so why in the fook was he struggling to keep from smiling at her audacity?
By this time he’d moved the two of them to the side of the lane, a dozen feet from the bastard who was standing near the snowy bank of the river. Vaguely, Bull noted the footprints in the snow, knowing he could return in the daylight and try to find some clues as to the man’s identity—as long as they weren’t in for more snow.
But the masked man shook his head and stepped closer. “I don’t care abouthispaintings. I want the oneyou’vebeen carrying about.”
Huh. The blighter knew Lord Tittle-Tattle had more than one of the ruby-necklace paintings? Why the hell were these things suddenly so popular? Lord Tittle-Tattle’s had been purchased, so had Madam Desiree’s, and the one stolen from the museum, and Allie?—
“Are ye the blackmailer, then?” Bull mused mildly, as if it weren’t that intriguing a quandary. As if he weren’t standing here in the snow with his arms out, legs flexed, staring down the barrel of a gun to protect the woman he—the woman he was currently responsible for.Fook.“Are ye the thief from the Gallery? Are ye the one who threatened Miss Hawthorne with social ruin?”
The man snorted. “She was never in real danger. Unlikeyou, if you don’t turn that painting over to me!”
