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 from 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.”
They seated themselves again and Driscoll took a deep breath. “It’s been nearly five weeks since you’ve been with us, Amelia. How are you faring?” He offered what he hoped was a sincere, friendly smile.
She blew on the liquid and took a sip. “Fine. I am quite happy with the job.” She lowered her cup and frowned. “Is there a problem?”
Apparently his sincere, friendly smile hadn’t worked. “No. No problem.” He took a sip of tea. “Well, just a little one.”
“What’s that?”
He cleared his throat and sat back, again attempting the sincere, friendly smile. She looked more confused than nervous. Wasn’t that proof that she hadn’t done anything wrong? “It’s not really a problem. I just wanted to tell you I will be gone for possibly a few weeks.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Gone? Where?”
“This is confidential.”
Amelia nodded.
“I take assignments on occasion for the Crown. I have been asked to help break a code that involves a great deal of numerical coding. Since I am fairly adept at numbers. . .”
Amelia grinned. “That’s wonderful. Does everyone know you do this sort of thing?”
Driscoll shook his head. “Only my brothers.”
“Why are you telling me?”
He shrugged. He didn’t know why he was telling her, actually. It started as a way to avoid discussing the money situation. Then he realized he wanted her to know that about him. His thoughts ran more along a permanent arrangement between them in the future. Possibly the near future.
Nothing that Dante said would dissuade him from believing Amelia would not steal from them. He also hoped by telling her these little things about himself she might feel comfortable to open up and confide in him. Let him know what or who she was running from.
“When are you leaving?” She actually looked troubled as she gazed at him over her teacup, which gave him hope.
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
“And you must stay there?”
He nodded. “Yes. Until the code is broken. There will be two others working with me.”
She grinned. “Number geniuses, too?”
“Hopefully.”
She avoided his eyes, her fingertip drawing small circles on the table. “Who will do your work while you’re gone?”
“There are others who are familiar enough with the workings to at least do some of the work. The
