“We have to speak with the girl, Driscoll. We cannot continue as if nothing is wrong. Despite her active table her returns for the night have consistently been lower than her ten days when you were watching her.”
Driscoll ran his fingers though his hair. “I know. But something tells me there is more than the obvious answer to the puzzle.”
Dante snorted. “I know what the ‘something’ is that’s keeping you blindfolded to the chit.”
Driscoll gritted his teeth, his blood pumping furiously through his body. “Do. Not. Call. Her. That.”
“Which one? Chit or thief?”
Within seconds Driscoll was across the room and had his brother by the throat on the floor. “Amelia is not a thief!” He drew his fist back and clipped him on the jaw.
They rolled around the floor throwing punches until the door to the office opened.
“Whatever is going on in here?” Amelia stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the two of them. “I can’t believe two grown men—brothers no less—are fighting like a couple of street urchins.”
Driscoll shoved Dante away and stood, dusting off his jacket. Dante climbed to his feet, rubbing his chin. He pointed his finger at Driscoll. “Take care of it.” He strode to the door, rearranging his clothes. He pulled the door open and turned back. “Or I will.”
Amelia flinched when the door slammed, then walked to Driscoll and fussed with his jacket, fixing the collar while he stood staring at her. No matter what the evidence, and despite his fondness for her, he could not believe she would steal from them.
Before he could change his mind, he drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and waist. Her hands stopped and rested on his chest. He lowered his head and captured her soft lips. He brushed his lips back and forth until she leaned into him with a slight moan.
All the passion mixed with fear from Dante’s accusations turned the kiss into something more than he’d ever shared with her before. More than he’d ever shared with any other woman.
Amelia was his. He might have a small doubt in his mind due to his brother’s accusations, but there was no question about his feelings, and his desire to take the next step.
He pulled back and smiled. Her eyes were glassy, her short breaths coming rapidly, drawing his eyes to her delectable breasts.
She drew small circles on his jacket with her fingertip. “What was that all about?”
Driscoll slid his palm down her arm and linked their fingers. “Let’s take a walk to the dining room and have our nighttime drink.”
* * *
Amelia continued to stare at him, waiting for her question to be answered. When he moved forward and led her from the office to the dining room, she followed him.
She was beginning to believe she would follow Driscoll anywhere. Her feelings for the man had grown ever so much since she fell through his window. She enjoyed his kisses and caresses and wondered how it would feel to allow him further liberties. Although an innocent miss, she was not an ignorant one.
There was no doubt in her mind that Driscoll desired her, she felt the evidence of his hunger pressed up against her belly every time they embraced.
She also recognized the feelings that settled in her stomach when he was near. She shivered thinking about the time he pleasured her. Next time would he remove her clothes and run his large, warm hands over her naked skin, then take her to bed?
“Are you chilled, sweetheart?” He frowned and pulled out a chair for her to sit. When she nodded, he shrugged out of his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. She pulled the jacket closed and inhaled the smell of its owner. Male, spicy, warm. Driscoll.
Dare she tell him she shivered from anticipation? Would he then consider that statement as her consent and do what she’d been thinking about and dreaming about for weeks? To finish what they’d started the last time they were alone together?
Best to remove those thoughts from her mind. Although it was hard to keep herself focused on it, she hadn’t altered her plans because of this attraction between them. Lately, despite the increase in Driscoll’s attentions to her, she sensed a holding back that had not been there the first couple of weeks she’d worked for The Rose Room. There were times when he just studied her, a question he obviously wanted to ask, but refrained from doing so. Almost as if he didn’t trust her.
Which was quite understandable since she did not trust him completely, or she would have shared her troubles with him by now. A bit of trust missing from both of them. For as far as they’d come it was doubtful they could go any further until they trusted each other.
* * *
“Well, look who’s still lollygagging at the breakfast table. Don’t you have work to do?” The morning after their fistfight, Dante entered the breakfast room at Huntington Townhouse in Mayfair, Driscoll right behind him. “At least that’s what you always tell me when I’m on a well-deserved break at the club.”
Hunt grinned as his brothers pulled out chairs and sat. Dante reached for a slice of toast and the jar of jam to top it with. He smiled at Hunt’s wife, Diana, who was quite close to delivering their first baby. “How is my favorite sister-in-law feeling today?”
“Tired. Bored. Ready to have the baby.” She smiled, the strain on her face and her pallor confirming her words.
After examining his wife carefully, Hunt turned to Dante. “I do have work, in fact. I have to check over the financial statements you sent me.” He frowned at Dante. “What happened to your chin?”
Dante waved his hand. “I walked into a door.”
Driscoll took an orange from the middle of the table and began to peel it. “Going over the statements. Don’t trust your kin?”
Hunt grew serious. “I trust you, as you well know. But mistakes happen.”
“Lately there seems to be a lot of mistakes coming from Miss Pence’s table,” Dante said and glanced over at Driscoll.
Driscoll cast his brother a warning glare. The last thing he wanted was to end up rolling about the floor again in front of his sister-in-law. “I’m sure everything is fine.”
“Miss Pence? You have a woman working at The Rose Room?”
“Yes, and her table is swarmed every night,” Dante said between bites. Hunt had generally appeared at the club a few times a week. However, as the arrival of the Huntington heir grew closer, Hunt had been absent more than present.
Hunt looked over at Driscoll. “Whatever made you hire a woman?”
“She’s smart, talented, a good worker and the members love her.” His words were clipped as if expecting Hunt to challenge him.
Hunt shrugged. “Your decision.” He looked at Dante. “What is the problem with her table?”
“Nothing,” Driscoll said as Dante also answered, “Shortages.”
Diana rose, and all three brothers jumped to their feet. “Well, I will leave you gentlemen to fight this out. I am going to take a short lie-down before Hunt and I go for our ride this afternoon.”
“Are you well, Diana? You look a little drawn.” Hunt studied her as he rounded the table to take her arm.
“I’m fine. Just a bit tired, as I said. I also have been troubled by a backache all night.”
“Should I send for Dr. Reading?” Hunt frowned as he led her out of the breakfast room, calling for her maid to assist her upstairs.
“No.”
Driscoll lowered his voice. “I prefer not to bring this up here and now, Dante.”
“Hunt is a partner, or have you forgotten that minor fact? He has as much right to know about shortages as we do.”
“Not until we have done more research on it ourselves.”
“Ah, but I feel as though you are not doing the proper research.”
Driscoll placed his fisted hands on the table. “Exactly what is it you are accusing me of?”
“Are you two still arguing about Miss Pence?” Hunt took his seat and studied the two of them.
“There is nothing wrong with Miss Pence’s final tally reports.”
Driscoll practically growled at Dante.
Dante shrugged. “If you say so.”
“How did you find this female dealer?” Hunt motioned to the footman to bring another pot of coffee.
“She fell into his lap, as it were,” Dante said, grinning widely.
Driscoll made to jump up and swing at his brother. Hunt grabbed the back of Driscoll’s jacket. “Knock it off. What’s the matter with the two of you? And don’t think for one minute I believe you walked into a door, Dante. More like into Driscoll’s fist.”
“Hunt!”
The scream from upstairs had Hunt jumping up and racing to the breakfast room doorway. A woman, who Driscoll assumed was Diana’s lady’s maid met him, wringing her hands. “Her waters have broken, my lord.”
“What? Did she spill a glass of water on herself? Is that why she’s wailing up there?” He gestured with his thumb at the floor above them and the sound of Diana crying.
“No, my lord. Her waters have broken. You must send for Dr. Reading.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so, instead of talking about spilled water?” Hunt headed to the front door. “Peters, send for Dr. Reading. I think Lady Huntington is having the baby.”
Dante and Driscoll looked at each other and immediately left the breakfast room. “I think this is a good time for us to take our leave.” Driscoll pounded Hunt on his back. “Send word when it is all over.”
Like two scurrying lads in trouble with the headmaster, Driscoll and his brother grabbed their hats from Peters and fled the house.
15
“Oh, yes, Miss, the gowns and jewelry the ladies wear will make you swoon!” Margie’s eyes grew wide as she described the upcoming ball to Amelia.
Margie, Amelia, Betsy, and even Mrs. Bannon, the cook, were sipping afternoon tea at the long worktable in the kitchen and raising each other’s delight at the impending event.
“I am very excited. I’ve never been to a fashionable ball before,” Amelia said. ’Twas quite unfortunately true, despite her birth. All she’d been able to attend were a few local assemblies while in residence at the Newton country estate. As the daughter of a marquess and stepdaughter of a viscount, she’d grown up dreaming of her own Season, visits to the modiste, rides in Hyde Park, suitors calling with flowers spouting poor poetry, musicales, the theater and museums. And most of all, dancing until dawn with handsome gentlemen.
Given her current circumstances, a fairy tale, to be sure.
“We have gowns in storage you can borrow,” Betsy said, directing her comment to Amelia. “Most of us will do the same. Mr. Rose and his brother were kind enough when we held the first ball to make sure all the employees were included, and that they had appropriate clothing to wear.”
Although she’d never worn other women’s clothes before she came to The Rose Room, she was grateful to at least have something nice for the ball. As elegant as her work gowns were, they were just that. Work gowns. If she weren’t saving every penny for her escape, she would buy something new, but since this life was not hers forever, she could not justify the waste of money.
“I say, ‘tis only a week until the ball. Why don’t we visit the storage room now and see what we have for Miss Pence?” Betsy stood abruptly, not waiting for anyone’s agreement.
“Yes.” Margie clapped her hands and looked over at Mrs. Bannon. “Do we have time before we need to prepare for tonight’s supper?”
The older woman smiled at the young girls’ enthusiasm. “Yes. I believe we do.” She glanced at the clock on the counter against the wall. “We have about thirty or forty minutes.”
They immediately vacated the kitchen and hurried down the hall to what Betsy pointed out was the storage room. Amelia could feel the excitement building as they opened a large wooden wardrobe and began pulling out gowns.
There were seven or eight garments of various colors. Most of them in more subdued shades. Although Amelia had always imagined her first ball dressed in something white, or a pale color, befitting a young, unmarried miss, she was more than happy to consider any one of these gowns.
She particularly liked a deep green satin gown. She held it up and looked in the mirror attached to the wardrobe door.
“That looks lovely on you, miss,” Margie said. “You will be turning young men’s heads all night.”
Amelia doubted that very much. Although she hadn’t spent time at fancy events, she knew the women who would attend the ball the following week would wear the height of fashion, in vivid colors, with jewels draping their necks, wrists and ears. Most likely purchased by their protectors.
But then again, her primary reason to attend the ball was to have fun. To finally experience what she’d dreamed about as a girl. To dance and possibly flirt, at least once before she left London to start her new life somewhere else.
“Here, Amelia, this mask appears to match that gown.” Mrs. Bannon handed her a half face mask—quite similar to the one she wore each night—but in a color matching the gown.
“Yes, I believe you’re right.” Amelia held the mask up to her face.
“Are you taking that one, then?” Betsy asked.
Amelia moved back and forth in front of the mirror, holding the gown against her body. “Yes. I believe so.” She looked at the other women. “Unless one of you wanted this one?”
Mrs. Bannon laughed—her larger size denying any intention she would have had regarding that gown. The other two women shook their heads. “I wore that one last year,” Margie stated.
“’Tis not my color,” Betsy added as she pulled out a bright yellow gown with feathers and lace at the neckline. Amelia tried very hard not to cringe.
She had some time before she needed to dress for the night and help with setting up the club, so she hurried with the gown flung over her arm to her room to try it on.
Once she was out of her plain day dress, she held up the gown and smiled. She could use a much sturdier corset. The one she wore when working was softer since she had to wear it for hours while standing on her feet. And it would be truly lovely to indulge in silk stockings.
She pulled the gown on anyway, just to see if it fit without the correct corset. After stepping into it and pulling it up to her shoulders, there was a slight knock on her door.
Holding the front of the gown against her chest with the entire back open, she walked to the door, noting the hem on the gown needed to be shortened. “Yes?”
“Amelia, it’s Driscoll.”
She opened the door to see him leaning his arm against the doorjamb. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were dressing.” His eyes were fixated on the neckline of the gown, much lower than the ones she wore while dealing each night. Then he followed the line of the dress down to her toes. “It’s too long.” His voice was gravelly, and he swallowed a few times.
Amelia stepped back, her face flushing at the look in his eyes. “It’s one of the gowns from the wardrobe in storage.” She fumbled, trying to keep the dress from falling to the ground. “I had hoped to wear it to the ball next week.”
Driscoll seemed to have lost his train of thought. He just stood there and gaped at her.
Amelia cleared her throat, the tension between them growing. “Do you need to talk to me?” She felt stupid. Of course, he needed to speak with her, why else would he be standing in her doorway?
“Um, yes.” He raised his eyes to hers. The heat in his eyes frightened her, while at the same time feelings of warmth and an unnamed need filled her entire body, taking away her breath.
He shook himself and stepped back. “I will wait for you in the dining room, for when you are—” He waved in her direction, continued to back up until he hit the wall behind him, then quickly made his way down the corridor.
* * *
Driscoll collapsed into the chair in the dining room and banged his fist on the table. What a complete arse he’d made of himself. Just because Amelia was standing there half-undressed with her hair down around her shoulders looking as if she just stepped fr
om a well-used bed was no reason to behave like a green youth with his first woman.
He was an adult and had enough affairs under his belt to qualify as experienced. Yet something about Miss Amelia Pence reduced him to practically a blathering idiot.
He had finally worked up the nerve to confront her with the—assumed—missing money. He had no intention of accusing her, merely having a conversation about how she conducted her table, how she stored her money while dealing and filling out the receipt slip and placing it with all the money in the bag to give to John.
She’d been employed by The Rose Room for more than four weeks. The strong returns at the beginning had dwindled the last couple of weeks. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he had to face the fact that money was missing. Without saying why to either man, he’d had one of the security guards and an assistant manager watching her table.
The reason he’d given them for the scrutiny was he wanted to avoid any harassment of the young lady. They had reported back to him all was well, she was doing a fine job, even in handling drunk men who made improper comments.
He was proud of her when he received those reports, but he still had to address the question of the missing money. He’d gone through his ledgers, back to when Marcus had the table. Amelia’s returns had surpassed his for the first week and a half, then dropped below what he had turned in since then. Yet she was drawing a much larger crowd than Marcus ever had.
Driscoll stood as Amelia entered the room. She had changed into one of her day dresses and her hair was put up in a chignon at the top of her head. Gone was the flushed, just-left-the-bed look that had driven him into idiocy.
He pulled a chair out for her and she sat. She glanced over her shoulder and said, “Would you like a cup of tea? I think I will have one.”
Happy to have anything to avoid the conversation he nodded, and she hopped up to pour. He rose and followed her, taking one of the cups from her hand. “Thank you.”
A Lady’s Trust: Rose Room Rogues ~ Book Two Page 11