Was that it, then? Not just that there was a decade and a half between them, but that Bull—that he inexplicably saw himself asbeneath her?
Was that why he hadn’t slept beside her for the last two nights?
Did he think of her as toogood?
The journey normally would have been short, but at the station they hired a carriage to carry them the last few miles from Banchot, which struggled in the snow—it should have been fitted with sleds. So, to pass the time as the sun set in the west, Rose turned the conversation back to the portrait, and from there to the case, and the hopes for what her mother Georgia could tell them.
Rosie was so engrossed in a debate with him about what to do if her motherdidn’trecognize the woman in the painting, that when a familiar roar from outside interrupted her, she winced.
Ah, yes. Reality.
Bull, on the other hand, went wide-eyed as he reached for the curtain. “Is that yer father?”
“I hope so,” she murmured. “Or someone else out there knows my middle names.”
“Rose Anna Elizabeth Hayle!” her Da roared again. “Ye’d better be in that crumblemuffin carriage!”
“I’m going to start calling ye Libby,” Bull quipped brightly. “Or Annie. Or Betsie?”
But shelikedthe way he’d started calling herRose, when everyone else—even her!—thought of her asRosie. It was as if he knew and recognized her truest self.
“Rose, ye dobber!”came the bellow again, and with a languid sigh she twitched the curtain to see her father’s horse picking through the deep snow toward the carriage, which thankfully hadn’t stopped.
She gave a cheeky little wave and opened the window justslightly. “Why hello, Da. Terrible weather for the time of year, is it not?”
“Ye weaselsquiffing moronic?—”
“We are on our way to Endymion,” continued Rosie brightly. “Care to join us?”
“Ye’ve been ‘on yer way’ fordays!” Da jerked hard enough on the reins that his favorite gelding pranced in a circle. “I’ve been terrified?—”
“It was snowing,” she pointed out unhelpfully. How had he known they’d been on their way here? She hadn’t told them the plan of leaving London to visit Lord Tittle-Tattle before continuing on to Endymion.
Her father didn’t seem inclined to explain as he peered into the carriage. “If that duplicitous spunkgoblin—if that bastard of a toad—if thatreprobateis alone in there with ye?—”
“This is my cue,” Bull murmured with a sigh, before leaning over to offer a wave. “Good afternoon, Demon.”
Da’s face—even the scarred parts—turned red with rage. “Get yer arses into the housenow!” he roared, thrusting his finger toward the estate. “And pray my wife doesnae chew yer hide for this!”
“Oh, Mother would never?—”
“I wasnae talkin’ toye,”her father said darkly.
Rosie slid the window closed as she murmured, “Oh dear.”
Da was this enraged just at the thought of her being alone with Bull? Thank God he didn’t know about how she’dwarmed his nude body or rubbed herself against him until she came in mewling ecstasy.
And he never will know, will he? Because that is not the sort of thing one discusses with others. And if onedid, it would be discussed with her closest friend and cousin,perhapsher mother, if truly desperate for advice. Definitely not her father.
Eeew, no.
But as Bull moved across the bench, his thigh pressing against hers, she felt…relief, to have him so close. “Will Georgia chew my,ahem, hide?”
She glanced at him in surprise. “What? No, of course not.”
But he winced. “Ye’ve been alone with me for days, Rosie. I should have thought how that would look to yer mother—she’s a proper lady, just like ye.”
“Firstof all”—Rosie jabbed him in the knee with her finger—“just because we are ladies does not mean we have no understanding of unusual circumstances, or have sticks up our derrieres. Second of all, mymotherwould never say anything hurtful to us. Andthirdof all…” She frowned. “I do not remember my last point.”
