Chapter 5
He followed her home.
Of course he followed her home, for fook’s sake!
Sitting in the hired cab, watching Rosie—Robert?—bounce up the steps to Merida’s apartment building, Bull felt his lips twitch, remembering the shite she’d given him about his crude language.
She was right; she’d grown up hearing much worse. Apparently Demon had done his best to moderate his cursing when his children had been born, but as they’d grown, he’d slipped back into his old ways.
The eligible Lady Rose Hayle could likely out-curse a sailor, if she had a mind to.
But Rosie? His Rosie was more interested in art theories and family history. She’d glued a mustache to her lip, for crying out loud, to see this case through to the end. And then she’d more or less forced him into taking her to the auction.
The reminder sent him into a scowl again, even as Bull told himself he’d had no choice but to agree.
The kind of woman who would dress in a disguise of trousers and awful facial hair just to accompany him to the National Portrait Gallery was definitely the kind of hellion who would attend that masquerade ball and auction by herself.
The door to the building shut behind her overcoat-wearing rear end, and Bull sat abruptly forward.
There were two lads lounging outside the stoop. Impossible to tell if they were the ubiquitous London urchins without a home, or perhaps locals who’d been shooed outside by an overwrought parent.
Either way, they could be useful.
Bull gestured the older one closer, and when the lad sidled to the hack, Bull twisted his wrist, making a coin appear to roll across his knuckles. “Did ye see that—that man who just entered the building?”
The lad didn’t seem to notice his slip and nodded, his gaze locked on the coin.
Bull grinned.
“I’ll have two of these for ye if ye trot along inside, follow him without him noticing ye, and come tell me which apartment he goes into.” As the lad ran eagerly for the stairs, Bull called after, “And if he’s smart enough to lock the door behind him!”
The lad darted into the building and Bull sat back against the squabs, idly passing the coin across his knuckles, watching it catch the light.
The thought of Rosie wandering the city alone, forgetting to lock Merida’s door…
He shook his head and swallowed down the instinctual growl.
Rosie was just a lassie, damn his eyes! He had no right to pull her into this kind of sordid affair; mistresses and courtesans and secret artists! She needed to be sitting pretty in a parlor somewhere, sewing or…or whatever it was lassies did.
He remembered the sight of her and Merida giggling together on Hogmanay, and nodded to himself. That is what lassies should be doing.
Except…
Except that had likely been the day they’d cut each other’s hair. Even then, in that charmingly picturesque scene in the parlor where they’d laughed and tugged each other’s curls, they’d been planning mischief.
Bull scowled again.
Women were devious.
Gadding about, planning such shenanigans and chaos while looking so sweet and innocent?
Fook.
And she’d out-maneuvered him today. Aye, Bull’s instincts had been on high alert since the moment he’d been introduced to Robert Hoyle, but he hadn’t realized why until he’d held him—her in his arms. He’d been so shocked, he’d missed the opportunity to chase down that art thief.
But the real issue was her ultimatum in his office.
She might not be the only one who could identify this mystery painter’s work…but she’d made it clear she would be going to the scandalous art auction, and he’d be damned if he let her go alone.
Demon is going to kill ye.
Demon—Duke of Lickwick, he of the monstrous curses—could never learn the truth.
He likely thought his daughter ensconced with her cousin, studying art or something.
If he found out his precious Rosie had gone gallivanting around London attached to a mustache like that…
or worse still, attended a scandalous ball and auction…
Bull shook his head.
It would be up to him to make sure no hint of Rosie’s identity ever reached Society’s ears. To do that, they’d both have to be disguised.
The door to the apartment building slammed and the lad came running out. The second one joined him as they both arrived, breathless, at the side of the hack. “He’s in there, mister!” the older one said eagerly. “Went up to the third floor, second door on the left.”
Bull nodded, the coin glinting as he rolled it. “And did the door lock behind him?”
The lad, gaze caught by the coin once more, nodded eagerly. “I heard the lock myself, then I heard two women talking.”
Good. Bull felt himself sagging in relief to know that not only had Rosie made it home safely, but Merida was there as well. He was going to have his work cut out for him, making sure Rosie was safe.
For now, he flipped the coin to the lad, then a second he’d been hiding in his palm to the other lad. Both of them snatched the coins out of the air and ran off, shoving each other in some youthful rivalry. Bull shook his head, then called to the cabbie, “Home again, please.”
As the hack rattled on, he leaned back.
They were going to need a hell of a costume.
The thrum of adventure seemed to sing through Rosie’s veins as she tipped her head back to stare up at the window of Bull’s office on Friday. This was it! In a few hours, she’d be on her way to the masquerade ball and Madam Desiree‘s auction!
She was dressed in a drab, paint-covered smock and hideously outdated bonnet, the worn shawl wrapped around her shoulders doing little to keep out the chill.
This morning, Merida had—quite rightly—pointed out that if she resurrected the Robert costume once more to travel to Bull’s office and someone noticed, they’d see a man entering the office and a woman leaving.
“Besides,” Meri had pointed out, “we were forced to throw out the mustache on Wednesday.”
That they had, and Rosie had scrubbed her lip raw trying to remove the glue they’d used to attach the damn thing. As exhilarating as it had been to wear trousers—with pockets!—Rosie doubted she had a future in travesti roles.
Here we go.
She took a deep breath and marched up the steps. At Bull’s office she knocked, glanced up and down the hallway, and slipped inside—
Only to stop short as she surprised Bull, who was stepping out from an interior door with a towel thrown over his shoulder, his shirt untucked and rolled up at the sleeves, and his hair wet.
Rosie’s eyes grew wide as she allowed her gaze to linger on the patch of skin at his throat. Was it getting warm in here? She absentmindedly kicked the door closed behind her, her tongue darting out over her lip.
Fooking hell, the man had delicious forearms, didn’t he? All ropey and muscley and—her gaze dropped to his waist, where for the first time, she could see his hips without the cover of a jacket. His hips, and a bulge. A growing bulge—
“Ye’re early,” Bull growled brusquely, turning away from her.
But not before she’d understood what she was seeing. Rosie’s lips curled in delight.
“Yes, I am.” She shrugged out of her shawl, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel. Inside, her heart was thumping in excitement. He’d been aroused, merely by her looking at him? Excellent!
She shot him a glance from under her lashes, a little disappointed to see him rolling down his sleeves with abrupt, terse movements, so she tested a subtle tease. “I found myself anxious to see you again, Bull.”
Was it her imagination or did he freeze for a moment, his movements stuttering to a stop before he shook his head once and continued his movements? “I’ve heard back from Madam Desiree,” he abruptly announced.
Madam—oh, the former courtesan, the one hosting tonight’s ball and auction. “I am impressed you—”
“No’ me,” he barked, his back still to her. “Baron von Trapped will be attending tonight’s event with his mistress, and requested permission to view Madam’s collection early, to bid. She is most welcoming, and told me her man—he’ll be dressed in a penguin costume—would collect us for the viewing.”
“Oh. That is…” Rosie bit her lower lip. “Convenient.”
“Aye. I’m ready for ye,” he finally announced, rolling his shoulders and turning back to her, as if he’d had to prepare himself to face her. “Come along.”
When he jerked his head toward the interior door, she hid her confusion and followed.
“Ready for me?” she murmured.
He pushed open the door to reveal…a sleeping chamber. His sleeping chamber.
And for one delightful, wonderful moment, Rosie thought ready for me meant something involving that huge, neatly made bed. Bull’s room really was quite minimalistic, wasn’t it? There weren’t nearly enough pillows…
“You live here?” Did she sound as if she were strangling? Perhaps she was.
He scowled over his shoulder. “I find it more convenient to combine my office with my apartment. I could afford to rent—to buy—elsewhere—” He bit off the protest with an abrupt shake of his head. “I am no’ puir.”
Her shoulders slowly softened. “I never thought that, Bull. You are so successful at what you do—”
Bull’s growl—really, what was he protesting?—interrupted her as he stalked across the room to pull open another door.
“I dinnae need yer pity. Get in here.”
Get in where? Rosie hesitantly stepped forward, into—
A bathing chamber.
Oh my.
If his room had been simple, then this chamber was ornate; beautiful blue and white tiles, a claw-foot bath, and a basin. She found herself staring. It was a nice little set-up; he’d clearly converted the apartment’s sitting room into an office, and lived where he worked.
She wondered why she’d never considered it before.
“This is—” Rosie cleared her throat. “This is your home?”
“Aye.” He pulled out the chair from the dressing table and plopped it in the center of the tile. “Sit down. Are ye judging my quarters?”
The command almost hid the question, and Rosie blinked as she settled in the chair. “No, I think it is quite cozy. I am…impressed.”