Who was she? And why did that man so desperately want all her paintings?
Sighing, Rosie slipped the painting back into its oilcloth case, and in doing so, the emerald ring on her hand caught her eye. It seemed most convenient that Bull had just happened to have that in this briefcase yesterday, and since she’d told the proprietor of this inn that they were engaged, it had seemed logical to keep it on.
Why did Bull have a ring like this? Where did he get it?
And should she keep wearing it?
For this part of their adventure they were playing a role which required her to wear it as a costume piece, the same as that mermaid gown he’d designed her.
But last night…last night hadn’t been a role. She’d been frantic to save Bull, not because she wasplayinghis fiancée, but because he wasBull.And then this morning…
She hadn’t intended to take advantage of him, not at all. In truth, Rose felt ridiculously guilty for what she’d done. But when she’d woken on top of him, rubbing her softness against his hardness…she couldn’t deny that it had felt remarkable. She hadn’t come fully awake—fully understood what was happening—until her climax had burst over her and she’d pushed herself upright groggily.
Lost in a delicious dream, she’d taken her pleasure from a sleeping man. Not any sleeping man, butBull. The man she…
The man she had rather a lot of complicated feelings for.
Rosie curled her fingers around the ring and stretched out on the bed.
It was impossible to deny she’d long held a flame for Bull Lindsay, no matter how much Merida teased her. But that man she’d admired from afar, he’d been…well, he’d been no more the true Bull Lindsay than she had been the wee lassie he remembered. They’d both changed, and these last few days, getting to work with him, trust him, be trusted by him…
Well, she was rather afraid she now held an altogether different sort of flame for him.
Rosie drifted into sleep worrying she’d scared him off with her wanton behavior.
When Bull returned at noon with two pies, two mugs of ale, and a deck of cards, she was relieved to discover he hadn’t abandoned her. Perhaps something of her thoughts showed on her face, because he grinned and leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“Ye thought I’d leave ye here for yer father to come fetch, eh? Shut the door to keep the heat in, would ye, Rose? I brought us luncheon, and entertainment, and news.”
“Start with the news,” she told him eagerly, jumping to arrange the table for the pies and ale. Rose again. It felt…strange. Pleasant, for Bull to call her by her true name. As though he saw her true self. “Unless itisabout my father, in which case, ale first.”
Chuckling, he complied. “The snow has stopped the trains. It’s still coming down out there, so we’re here for another day. The town appears to be taking it as an excuse to get drunk.” He lifted his ale. “Want to join me?”
They didn’t get drunk, but theydidenjoy the pies and spent the afternoon playing cards. Rosie insisted on being taught more sleight of hand as they wagered stories and lessons, and by the supper hour, Bull announced she could palm a card well enough to fool anyone but him or Thorne.
They took the briefcase down to the taproom, where she spent a delightful few hours watching him make friends with the locals and entertain everyone with stories of his ridiculous escapades, which she had a horrible feeling were all true.
On their way back to their room, Bull put his arm around her waist. Rosie told herself it was because they were playing a role…but it felt wonderful. It feltright.
“What are ye thinking about?” he murmured.
And she scrambled to think of something to say, something sophisticated and relevant. Something about the case? “The man who ambushed us. Have you heard anything about him? Did he…”
Drown.
She swallowed. He’d pointed a gun at them, but she remembered the stories of danger and violence Bull had told downstairs, and realized as much as she enjoyedworking with him, she didn’t want to wish death on another human.
But Bull hummed as he unlocked their door. “Nay, I’ve asked about—subtly, mind ye. Nae one has heard anything.”
“I wish we knew who—” A sudden thought, a memory, struck Rosie, and she sucked in a breath.
Perhaps Bull had the same exact thought, because his eyes were wide as he spun about to face her. “The paper.” His voice was hoarse, as if he were vibrating with excitement as well. “There was something in his pocket.”
“You picked his pocket?” Rosie breathed. Her smile bloomed as she shook her head and hurried toward her overcoat, hung beside his in the corner. “Thatis where it came from…”
Then Bull was at her side, hovering as she triumphantly pulled the crumpled—and still-wet—bill from her pocket. “Here,” she said eagerly, turning back toward the small table beside the hearth. “You were clutching this in your glove when you pulled yourself from the water.”
“Aye,” he murmured grimly, helping her carefully spread the paper out. “I’d forgotten it. Forgotten all but returning to…”
