A Lady’s Trust: Rose Room Rogues ~ Book Two

by Hutton, Callie

  Also, in the past two weeks their kisses had become more daring each time they were alone together. They could not seem to keep their hands off each other. He spent almost as much time thinking about Amelia as he did working on his books, which had consumed his life for years.

  He knew in his heart that had she arrived in his life during a normal course of events, he would probably have proposed marriage to her by now. She was sweet, caring, smart, beautiful, and kind. She would be a wonderful wife and excellent mother. Even the rest of the staff loved her, despite the additional benefits she received.

  His feelings for her went deep, but always the niggle of doubt at the secrets she guarded so closely kept him on edge. Now the missing money only gave his already skeptical brother more reason to second guess their employee’s background and intentions.

  “I will speak with her. I think the questions will go easier on her if I am the inquisitor.” Driscoll winced at the term. But sitting down with her, boss to employee, to inquire about things that would embarrass them both did indeed make him feel like an interrogator.

  Dante headed to the door, obviously relieved to be done with his part in it. “Let me know what you uncover.” He stepped out and came right back in. “I understand your reluctance to believe anything untoward about Amelia, but keep in mind we are running a business.”

  Driscoll nodded. “I understand.”

  He closed the books he’d been working on and headed down to the gaming floor. As usual, the room was packed; shouts of both distress and excitement rose above the crowd. He headed to Amelia’s table which was full, and again a few men deep stood behind the players, awaiting seats.

  A sense of pride rushed through him. She had come a long way from her first night. She dealt the cards efficiently and was able to count and keep track of each player’s hands while bantering with the gamers.

  Once Driscoll had made it known to the patrons that Amelia was there for the purpose of dealing cards and nothing else, and any lewd comments to her would result in the member being banned for a month, things had become much more pleasant at the vingt-et-un table.

  And for Driscoll.

  He had hated listening to the things said to her and came close to using his fists more than once. Leave off and say no more, she is mine, he screamed to himself more than once. The only quasi-negative thing that continued was the numerous requests from the players for her to remove her mask.

  Amelia went from ignoring the appeals to flat out refusing with a curt answer. Unfortunately, it left the men placing bets on who the lovely new dealer at The Rose Room was. As far as he knew there were even bets recorded at White’s and Brooks’s gentlemen’s clubs wagering books.

  Driscoll took up his place along the wall so he could view Amelia’s table clearly. All looked well, but it wasn’t the playing that disturbed him, it was the money she counted and turned in each night.

  Without mentioning why he wanted to know, he’d questioned John, the banker who received the money after the club closed. To make it unknown to him who he was concerned about, he asked John to re-check all the receipts.

  For three nights now John had assured him the amount of money each staff member turned in matched the numbers written, in their hand, on the paper that came with the muslin bag of money. Since John had been with them since they opened, he had no reason not to trust him.

  On the other hand, he refused to believe his assessment of Amelia’s character was so far off that she would steal from those who had aided her when she had nowhere to go.

  As he studied her, he realized he could not be objective about this missing money situation. He would still question her, but he knew his heart wasn’t in it.

  It was otherwise engaged.

  Unfortunately, with the woman who had dropped through his window on a rainy night a few weeks before giving no information about herself.

  * * *

  Amelia smiled as Driscoll sauntered around the room, glancing occasionally at her table. He looked quite dashing in his black trousers, silver threaded waistcoat and black jacket. His ascot, as usual, had been tied in a hurry.

  He’d gone from watching her all night to only visiting once in a while. It made her feel good to know he believed her capable of handling the job. And truth be known, she looked forward to the tiny flutters that erupted in her stomach when she saw him coming down the stairs.

  She was quite proud of how she’d learned to deal like a professional, and banter with the patrons. Most of all she loved being paid to do actual work. So many ladies—especially those of her class—never got the feeling of purchasing something with money they earned themselves. It was quite heady.

  She’d grown comfortable and was even quite relaxed most of the night. One thing she’d been grateful for had been Driscoll putting a stop to the comments and offers for unsavory assignations from some of the men who visited her table.

  However, she needed to stop seeing Driscoll as her savior, her knight in shining armor. Although they’d grown quite close, and she was thoroughly enjoying his kisses, touches and embraces, her initial plan had not changed.

  For as comfortable as she had become, she could not be sequestered here for the rest of her life. Despite spending a bit of her pay on frivolous things for herself and repaying the Rose brothers for the items they had purchased for her when she first arrived, she was putting aside money to escape. Even though there had been no further talk about Randolph being allowed back into the club, she was still nervous that he would show up or Mr. Lyons would recognize her.

  She’d almost had a fit of vapors when Lyons sat at her table a few nights before. He studied her for a while but didn’t seem to know her. Of course, back when her brother’s plan had been revealed to her, she’d questioned Randolph about why the man wanted her for his mistress since they’d never met. He told her Lyons had seen her from a distance one time when he was at the house for a party.

  Only that one slight encounter combined with the mask, had apparently been enough to prevent him from shouting Aha, I’ve caught you! You’re mine. Bought and paid for. And then dragging her from the place.

  Could she trust Driscoll to stop that from happening?

  Driscoll made some rounds of the other tables and when the night grew to a close, he came back to her. He leaned on her table and made light conversation as she counted her money, wrote the amount on the piece of paper and placed it all in the money bag. He escorted her to Mr. Melrose to hand over the bag and then they made their way upstairs.

  It had become their habit to stop in the dining room and have a drink before he departed for the night for his own home.

  “Are you happy here, Amelia?” Driscoll asked as he placed a glass of sherry in front of her. He took the seat across from her and sipped his brandy.

  “Yes.” She frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just ensuring all is well. You are a new employee, and we like to make sure none of the staff members have issues that we can help solve.”

  An alarm went off in her head. Was he thinking of firing her? Was he not happy with her?

  “Is something wrong?” Her voice came out barely a whisper.

  “Not at all,” he responded. A bit too fast for her liking.

  Perhaps it was time to address the one thing that did trouble her. “I still believe I should move my belongings downstairs with the other employees. I’m afraid talk will begin, if it hasn’t already, about me living up here.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. Unusual for Driscoll, always the calm and placid one compared to his edgy brother. “What sort of talk? By whom?”

  She took a sip of the sweet sherry, avoiding a direct answer. “I don’t want people to think that we are. . .”

  His countenance softened and he leaned forward to run his finger down her soft cheek. “That we are what?”

  “Um, you know.” She could feel the heat rise in her face.

  He stood and moved around the table, taking the seat next to her. He pulled her
to him, wrapping his arms around her middle, then tickling the tender skin under her ear. “No. I don’t know. Tell me.”

  His breath was brandy-scented and warm, moist. She shivered and he placed soft kisses where his lips were. “That we are lovers?”

  Amelia sucked in a breath. “Yes.” Good lord, the way he said it had her wanting to drag him to her bedroom, remove all their clothes and find out just what happens when her body feels this sense of desperate need.

  His teeth nipped at her earlobe. “Do you want to be?”

  There went her idea that he was too much of a gentleman to ask such a thing.

  He leaned back and regarded her. “Before you answer, please know that I have no intention of having an affair with you.”

  Her spirits dropped. Apparently, any attraction between the two of them was only in her imagination.

  She stood. “Well, I am glad to hear that.” Driscoll tugged at her hand as she began to walk away. “Wait.”

  She shook him off and made it as far as the threshold when he caught up to her. He linked their fingers together and stayed with her until she reached her bedroom door. “Good night, Mr. Rose.”

  The cad actually laughed. “Mr. Rose?” His long, slim fingers tangled in her hair, crushing the curls in his hand. “If we get that far, Miss Pence, far enough that we are sharing a bed, it would be with a permanent arrangement.”

  Before she could make sense out of what he said, he pulled her in for a kiss that had her knees buckling. He wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her against his hard body. She gripped his shoulders as he swept into her mouth, tasting, nibbling, teasing.

  Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers, the air between them heavy with panting. “No privacy here.” He reached for the latch and opened the door, drawing her inside.

  He spun her around. She landed in his arms and he took possession of her mouth, her body—her very soul. Slowly his hand worked its way up between them to cover her breast. He rubbed his thumb over the nipple, bringing a low, soft moan from deep inside her.

  “I want to pleasure you.” He kissed her cheeks, eyelids, chin. “To hear you moan my name as you break apart in my arms.” He scooped her up and carried her to her bed, laying her down, then after toeing off his boots, climbed in to stretch out alongside her. He cupped her chin, stroking her cheek with his warm fingers. “I promise I will not take your virginity. Not yet. But I want to give you a taste of what we can share together.”

  Still reeling from what had happened so far, she merely nodded, the blood pounding in her head.

  Once again, he plundered her mouth as his hand worked its way under her skirts, up her leg, past her calf, above the ribbons holding up her stockings. She inhaled deeply when his fingers reached the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. His thumb circled a part of her there that came alive.

  She gasped. “Oh, my. That feels so good.”

  Driscoll gave her a slight, very male-satisfaction smile. “It gets better, sweetheart. Hold on.”

  He continued to plunder her mouth as his fingers played with her sex. She grew agitated, restless. She needed more. “I, I feel as if I need something, Driscoll.”

  “I know love, just lie back, let me do the work.”

  She had no idea what he meant; all she knew was she didn’t want him to stop doing whatever it was he was doing to her body. To her soul. She thrust her hips forward, pushing her mound against his hand, searching, reaching. “Please.”

  “Shh, Amelia. Relax. Don’t try so hard.” He kissed her, which distracted her very little from where his fingers were busy. Finally, she groaned and pulled him closer, holding him tight as the most wonderful feeling swept over her, coming in waves that she never wanted to end. Her lips were dry, her lungs gasping for air.

  She collapsed back onto the bed, and slowly opened her eyes to see Driscoll staring at her with an expression on his face that terrified her.

  Oh dear, what have I done?

  14

  “I found the bitch.” Daniel Lyons dropped into the chair alongside Randolph at White’s where he was enjoying a glass of brandy with Sir John Devlin.

  “Amelia?” Randolph almost spewed out his brandy at Lyons’ blasé announcement.

  “The very one.” Lyons signaled the footman to bring a drink.

  Randolph was practically speechless. They’d spent weeks scouring London looking for his stepsister and here Daniel just casually drops the information. “Where?”

  Lyons took a sip of his brandy and leaned back, a cat-who-stole-the-cream look on his face. “At the Rose Room.”

  “The gaming club?” Devlin asked.

  “Yes. She’s a dealer.”

  If Lyons had announced that Amelia was working as a whore in the stews at Seven Dials, he wouldn’t have been more surprised. How the bloody hell did she end up in one of the most well-known gaming clubs in all of London?

  He hadn’t realized he’d mumbled it out loud until Lyons said, “I have no idea, but there she was—wearing a mask I might add—and dealing at the vingt-et-un table.”

  Devlin looked between the two men. “What’s this all about?”

  Lyons gulped the last of the brandy from his snifter and waved at the footman for a refill. “Just leave the bottle,” he said when the man arrived. Then he turned to Devlin. “Our friend here wagered his stepsister in a card game. He lost—” he grinned at Randolph, “and I won.”

  Devlin frowned. “Won in what way?”

  Lyons grinned. “She’s now my mistress.”

  “You have her?” Randolph finally found his voice after grasping Lyons’s words. He pushed back on the slight feeling of guilt that crawled its way into his thoughts. Since he could no longer afford to keep the girl fed and clothed, and with her dowry long gone, she was better off with Lyons. At least he wasn’t a mean man and would not require her to do things that would hurt her.

  Lyons shook his head. “No. It wasn’t possible for me to just lean across the table and grab her. I mean there must be some dignity to this whole thing. Besides, one of the Rose brothers had his eyes fixed on her almost all night.”

  Devlin looked back and forth between the two men and leaning back let out a low whistle. “Isn’t there some sort of a law against that?”

  Randolph drew himself up in indignation. “It was a wager between two gentlemen.” Bugger it, why did the man have to even be here while they had this conversation? If Randolph intended to find himself a wealthy wife, it would not do to have this information bandied about.

  “Between two gentlemen, you say? Clearly your stepsister didn’t agree, or she would not have disappeared.”

  Randolph gritted his teeth. Judgmental fool. “No matter. She will do as she is told. She has—or so I thought—no other choices. I have been providing for her since my father died, but with my own funds quite low, it was time for her to pay me back.”

  Having dismissed Sir John’s disapproving stance, he turned to Lyons. “Since she’s now turned up at The Rose Room, all we need do is snatch her one night when the place closes.”

  Lyons pulled out his pocket watch and stood. “Perhaps. Right now, I must be off. I have an appointment with my tailor. I will call on you later tonight, Newton to go over the plan to retrieve my goods.”

  Randolph winced at Lyons’ choice of words but shook it off. He needed Amelia to settle this debt since he had no blunt to pay it himself.

  Sir John watched Lyons leave, then turned to Randolph. “I say, Newton, while I certainly don’t agree with what you and Lyons have cooked up, I’m surprised you would offer such a sweet morsel for a single gaming debt.”

  Randolph drew himself up. “Why not?”

  “Thinking like the economist I am, it occurred to me you are paying one debt with the girl. If the chit is so desirable, I’m surprised you didn’t set up an auction.” He grinned and shook his head, taking another sip of brandy.

  Randolph’s jaw dropped. What a grand idea! “You mean, get a few gentle
men together, offer her to the highest bidder. That sort of thing? Have you been to one of those?”

  It was Devlin’s turn to look stunned. “I was joking, old man. I would never participate in such an event.” He pointed at Randolph. “And you would be wise to take it as meant. A joke.”

  Randolph waved his hand in dismissal. “Of course, I was just playing with you.” His mind in a whirl on how he could set something like that up, he finished his brandy and stood. “Well, I must be off. I have appointments myself.”

  He strode from the room, glancing around quickly to see who he thought might be interested in such an event. Miles Martin caught his eye. He’d just dismissed his mistress the week before. Then there was Lord Beltran who was always up for new flesh.

  There were others who came to mind, those who enjoyed life to the fullest, living the life of sin and debauchery, who would certainly be interested. Smiling and mentally rubbing his hands, his heart pounding with excitement, he left the club. Yes, this was a fine idea.

  Then he came to an abrupt halt, almost causing the couple behind him in front of a haberdashery to run into him. He apologized and crossed the street.

  Once they snatched the girl Lyons was expecting to take her immediately. How the devil to deal with that issue? While he was busy compiling the list of gentlemen to invite to the event, he would have to figure out how to get out of his debt to Lyons. Without resorting to pistols at dawn. After all, he was a gentleman.

  * * *

  Dante leaned against the doorjamb to Driscoll’s office, studying his brother. “What’s the news, brother?”

  Since there was no point in pretending he didn’t know what Dante was implying, Driscoll leaned back and tapped his pencil on the desk in front of him. “Lower receipts again.”

  Dante continued to glare at him, almost to the point where Driscoll felt like shifting in his seat.