She pushed that unwanted thought from her mind and continued with the food, particularly relishing the warmth from the tea.
“I don’t wish to pry, Miss Pence, but may I ask why you were climbing a tree at,” he looked over at the clock hanging on the wall, “one o’clock in the morning?” He grinned before she could answer. “And please don’t tell me you endangered yourself by climbing a wet, slippery tree because you did not have an umbrella at hand.”
Amelia wiped her mouth and placed the napkin next to her now empty plate. “I appreciate everything you did for me, Mr. Rose. However, despite your kindness I cannot tell you why. All I can do is assure you that I am not running from a crime, nor am I involved in anything illegal.”
Mr. Rose stared at her, obviously not happy with her answer, but he did not seem to be overly concerned about it either.
“I thank you very much for the food and a chance to dry off and warm up, but I will take up no more of your time.” If he was going to continue questioning her, she needed to remove herself before she said something to her detriment. She rose and almost made it to the exit before a large hand slapped against the door, preventing her from opening it.
She leaned her head against it and sighed. She could not tell Mr. Rose that her stepbrother was looking for her. Even though she was of legal age, most people would return her to Randolph, assuming as her guardian, he knew what was best for her.
Hardly.
Behind her heat radiated from Mr. Rose’s body, combined with the sound of his breathing, the air sweetened with mint. “No, Miss Pence.”
He broke with all propriety and placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I will not allow you to wander the city in the rain. I don’t know from what or from whom you are running, but a lady alone in the dark on the streets of London at this late hour is much too dangerous. I do not enjoy reading about murders and other horrendous things happening to lovely young women in my morning newspaper.”
Amelia closed her eyes, fighting tears. She was frightened, penniless, worn out, cold, and in possession of no plan to avoid Randolph. Why was a stranger kinder to her and more concerned for her welfare than a relative who was supposed to be her guardian and protector?
Mr. Rose backed away, perhaps realizing the impropriety of touching her. “I insist you avail yourself of the empty bedroom where Betsy will take you. You may stay the night, and I assure you no one will bother you. In fact, there is a sturdy lock on the door that you can engage.”
Although she hadn’t been familiar with the Rose brothers in her short time in London, she’d learned that The Rose Room was an elite gaming club owned and run by honest gentlemen connected to the nobility. Compared to Randolph’s plans for her, which would result in her forever banished from polite society, and the life she had wished for herself, Mr. Rose’s kind offer to let her stay at the club was a minor infraction.
“I will accept your offer, Mr. Rose. I am sure I am breaking some sort of rule of propriety in doing so, but since I know so few people in London there isn’t much that can harm my reputation at this point.”
He looked as though he wanted to ask a question, but her drawn appearance must have been enough for him to merely nod. “Very well. When Betsy returns with the clothes for you, I will have her take you to the bedchamber.
“I reiterate, please do engage the lock, which will make me feel better. We rarely have trouble in the club, but I do not wish to take any chances with your well-being and good name.”
Shortly after their conversation, Betsy returned to the room with articles of clothing draped over her arm. At Mr. Rose’s instructions the young maid escorted Amelia to a lovely bedchamber several doors down from the office where she and Mr. Rose had conversed.
The room was done in very masculine colors and style. No doubt the space was used for the brothers when they decided to stay overnight.
Once Betsy made sure Amelia knew where everything was and offered her the clothes, which consisted of a soft cotton nightgown and dressing gown, the maid left. Clenching the borrowed clothes in her hands, Amelia sat on the bed and stared out the window at the darkness.
She had a place for tonight, but what would tomorrow bring?
3
Around noon the next day, Driscoll looked up from the newspaper he was reading as Dante entered the brothers’ dining room at the club and dropped into the chair across from him.
“Good morning big brother.” He reached across the table and took a slice of toast from Driscoll’s plate and smothered it with jam. “Can you tell me why when I tried to enter the bedroom down the hall, the door was locked?”
Driscoll shrugged and continued to eat.
“Your lack of response is interesting.” Dante finished the stolen toast and crossed his arms over his chest, tilting the chair back on two legs. “Does the lock on the door have something to do with the full plate of food I saw you hustle upstairs last night? You, who never eats beyond ten o’clock at night?”
“Sometimes I eat beyond ten o’clock,” Driscoll mumbled.
Raised eyebrows was Dante’s only response. “Well, I know you don’t have a woman in there.” He gestured toward the bedroom down the hall.
Driscoll stiffened and frowned. “Why not? Why couldn’t I have a woman in there?”
“Because you never raise your head from your ledgers long enough
