The guard nodded and strode to where Benson stood. He leaned down and said something that had the man immediately straightening up. Jenkins patted him on the shoulder in a friendly but determined manner and led him from the room.
Problem solved.
Driscoll wandered the area, but the usual thrill he received from watching what he and his brother had accomplished was just not there. Maybe it was time to visit with Sir Phillip DuBois-Gifford, their contact at the Home Office to see if there was an assignment for him to add some excitement to his life.
Unbeknownst to practically everyone in London, the Rose brothers were oftentimes called upon by Sir Phillip to handle delicate matters for the Crown. Sir Phillip was not on any record of employment with the Home Office, but he managed to work behind the scenes and correct sensitive situations near and dear to the Prime Minister and sometimes the Queen herself.
After Driscoll had spent another thirty minutes meandering the rooms while consuming two brandies, he returned to the upstairs office. Dante was still in the same position, snapping a rubber band.
“All right, little brother. Break over.” He shoved Dante’s feet off the desk.
“Benson on his way?” Dante asked as he stood and stretched.
“Yes. Luckily the man brought his own carriage so any consequences from his overindulgence would be his own mess.”
Dante left the room and Driscoll sat once again at his desk in the corner and pulled the ledger closer. He had to push himself to focus, but eventually settled down and continued his work, albeit with no more enthusiasm than when he’d left.
It was nearing midnight when a noise startled him, and he looked up. The sound seemed to come from the window on the far side of the room. He’d left it open earlier when the room seemed to grow stuffy. Perhaps it was a branch from the tree outside hitting the side of the building.
He shrugged and continued with his work. Within seconds, another thump caught his attention. He looked up to see a young man climb through the window, stumble, then fall to the floor with a crash.
* * *
Miss Amelia Smythe grunted as her hip hit the floor and a sharp pain shot down her leg like an arrow hitting its mark. She winced, but didn’t cry out, trying to remain as silent as possible. From what she had observed perched on the tree branch from which she’d just jumped, this room was unoccupied.
She climbed to her feet and straightened her jacket.
“May I help you, sir?”
Amelia almost fell back out the window at the sound of a man’s voice. She whirled around and stared for a few seconds at two deep brown, possibly angered, eyes. “Why are you here?” She barely got the words out.
The man, his dark brown hair falling over his broad forehead, was quite good-looking the female part of her noticed. He merely raised his eyebrows and continued to stare at her. Given this unexpected setback, it was probably best if she got out of there as quickly as possible. “Um, if you will excuse me, sir, I will leave now.” She waved at the window.
“Wait!” He walked toward her, his full lips tipped in a slight grin. “You’re not a young man.”
She shook her head and sucked in a breath as the room seemed to shrink as the man grew closer. He was broad-shouldered, tall, and quite imposing. His aristocratic features blended well with his deep brown eyes. A slight tingling erupted in her middle and all the available air in the room had seemed to rush out the opened window.
She’d watched the space from outside on her perch while another man had sat with his feet up on a desk, snapping rubber bands. Eventually, he got up, stretched, and left. She hadn’t seen anyone else enter.
Her mistake.
“No. I am not a young man. I’m sorry for the disturbance, sir.” She nodded toward the desk she hadn’t seen from the tree and said, “I will leave you to your work, then.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand, a frown of curiosity on his face. “Why did you crawl through my window?”
In full panic now with the man gripping her hand, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. “It’s raining outside.”
Although it seemed impossible, he raised his brows even higher. “You do not possess an umbrella?”
She shook her head, wondering if she could make an escape before he called the Watch. Although truth be known, if they hauled her off to jail it would be better than what she had waiting for her at home.
No. She mis-spoke. Or rather, mis-thought. She had no home. Her horrid stepbrother, Randolph had committed the shocking offense of using her to pay a gambling debt to the ghastly Daniel Lyons. She felt the need to roll her eyes every time she thought of the man’s name.
Randolph, the Viscount Newton was her thirty-year old stepbrother. With nine years between them and no common parents, they’d never been close in the fifteen years their parents had been married to each other.
When not away at school, Randolph had spent a good part of his time teasing and tormenting her. When he grew to manhood, his form of torture turned to reminding her he was the heir and when his papa died, control over her person and dowry would pass to him. With her mother dead these past few years, and then her stepfather, the former Viscount Newton, it hadn’t taken long for the snake to drag her to London and offer her services as mistress to Mr. Lyons in lieu of paying his losses in a card game.
Once Randolph had told her to prepare herself because Mr. Lyons was to arrive at their doorstep in two days to ‘claim’ her, she had no choice but to run. Her dilemma was being without sufficient funds, and since she’d spent most of her life in the country, she had no friends in London to
