As the meal continued and the three spoke of various innocuous subjects, he was beginning to regret his offer to have her help him with the books. The two of them alone together in the office for hours while they did the tedious work might be too much for him to handle.
Her scent, her soft laugh at something Dante just said, and her very presence would be a distraction he did not need. On the other hand, his curiosity about the woman, where she came from, who she actually was, and why she had no home despite being of the upper crust, teased his brain, making him want to learn the answers.
“Do you ride, Miss Pence?” Dante asked.
“I do. But it has been a while.”
She tilted her head slightly and directed her question to Dante. “Since Driscoll told me to address you as ‘Dante’ why do you continue to call me ‘Miss Pence’?”
Driscoll smiled at her. “We prefer to keep things formal among our employees while on the game floor. I am referred to as Mr. Rose as is my brother. Since I am not on the game floor very much, there isn’t a great deal of confusion between us.”
“Then you must call me Amelia when not working.” She put her fork down and studied him. “If I am to be an employee, I expect to be treated as the others.” She waved her hand around. “I am the only employee eating here, I am the only employee with a bedroom on this floor.”
Driscoll looked over at Dante who took a sip of wine and shrugged. “Your call, big brother.”
He did not want to relegate Amelia to the basement with the other employees. He attempted to convince himself it was merely because she was a lady, and not that he thought of her as someone special.
He cleared his throat and looked over at her. “I believe for now we will leave the sleeping and eating arrangements as they are. We will continue to address you as Miss Pence while you are working on the floor.” He gestured to the footman to pour them all more wine.
David Jenkins, the security guard the brothers depended on to keep patrons from fisticuffs when things didn’t go their way, entered the dining room. He gave a slight bow and turned to Dante. “I apologize for interrupting your dinner, but there is a problem with the Hazard table. When you are through with your meal, can you see to it?”
Dante finished the dregs of his wine glass, wiped his mouth and stood. “I am finished.” He nodded at Driscoll and Amelia and left the room.
“We generally have tea and dessert. Would you care for some?” Driscoll felt the strain of Dante’s absence immediately. He and Amelia were alone again. Which is what they would be for the rest of the night. He needed to put her from his mind. Perhaps he should not be treating her differently.
She placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her upraised hand. “I am too full for dessert, but I would love some tea.”
The maid immediately left the room to fetch the tea. The silence was deafening. It annoyed him that Dante’s departure had put him on edge.
During the dinner, he’d spent time studying Amelia’s hand to determine if there was an indication of a wedding ring that she might have removed. The thought that she might belong to some man depressed and angered him. And the thought that said man might have harmed or threatened her in some way, forcing her to flee into the wet, cold, dark night, had his blood pounding in his head.
Then he chided himself. Amelia was an anomaly, someone who by speech, manners, and demeanor, clearly came from the upper class, but had the nerve and audacity to wear trousers, leave her home in the rain, climb a tree, and enter an unknown building through the window in the middle of the night. The two scenarios did not gel.
The tea arrived and every subject Driscoll thought to discuss would have sounded like he was questioning her. He didn’t realize until now how very difficult it was to have a conversation with someone who was hiding their identity.
Finally, Amelia saved him by asking her own questions. She stirred a bit of sugar into her tea, avoiding his eyes. “You said the Earl of Huntington is your brother. How is it you ended up owning a gambling house?”
Driscoll leaned back in his chair, happy to have an easy question to answer. “Dante and I, being second and third sons had no expectations of inheriting anything. Hunt—which is what everyone calls the earl—was generous enough to settle a yearly allowance on both of us. However, after a year or so of wasting our time and money, we came up with the idea of buying this club.”
“So, it had already been a gaming club when you bought it?”
Driscoll nodded. “Yes. It hadn’t been very successful and was subject to numerous raids. Since Hunt has a standing in both the community and the House of Lords, we were pretty sure we could turn the club into a place where the elite in London could go for some gambling fun and not be harassed by the police.”
“Since gambling is illegal,” Miss Pence said with a slight smirk.
“Hmm. Technically,” he smiled. “We approached Hunt about advancing us the money to buy the club outright. The previous owners were anxious to sell, so we got a good deal. We completely renovated the building, added sleeping quarters and a kitchen in the basement and opened for business.”
“And have been successful since then.”
“Yes. If Scotland Yard plans a raid, which they must do on occasion to avoid too much animosity with those who care about such things, we generally know at least a half hour in advance, which gives us time to close down the gaming part of the room and make it appear as any other gentlemen’s
