“Hungry tonight, brother?” Dante eyed the full plate from across the table where he filled his own plate.
“Yes.” For some reason he hesitated to share the information about the young lady—Miss Pence—with his brother. Most likely the chit would be gone by the time he returned, anyway.
To his surprise, and annoying delight, Miss Pence sat precisely where he’d left her. From his approach behind, her slumped shoulders and occasional shiver touched him. ‘Twas obvious the girl was in trouble. Hopefully, over food and the tea he’d asked Cook to send up, she might be more forthcoming about her situation.
“I think this might help to warm you up, also.” He handed her the plate of food that she took with enough enthusiasm to convince him that the poor girl must have been starving.
“Th-th-thank you.” She clutched the plate with shaky hands.
“I don’t want to be disrespectful, Miss Pence, but I think the best way for you to warm up is to remove your wet clothes.”
He winced when her eyes widened, and it appeared as though she was about to bolt.
“No. No, that is not what I meant.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean there is a bedroom on this floor—”
Miss Pence jumped up, placed the plate of food on the table in front of her and made for the door, his greatcoat dropping to the floor. Bloody hell, he was making a muck of things.
“No. Please.” He bolted ahead of her and blocked the door.
“Move away from the door, sir.” She raised her chin, the wet curls clinging to her forehead. The combination of her shaky voice and body only made him feel worse. The last thing he wanted was to frighten the girl and have her race back out into the foul weather.
He moved aside. “Please allow me to explain. I went about this all wrong.”
She placed her hand on the door latch but didn’t open the door, the caution in her eyes making him back up.
“There is another room on this floor,” he smartly did not mention the word ‘bed’, “where you can change into something else. Then we can spread your clothes in front of the fire and allow them to dry while you eat.” He raised his hand. “I swear to you, Miss Pence, I am a gentleman, and I would never, ever take advantage of a young lady.”
She drew herself up, and although she was at least a half a foot shorter than his six feet, she gave the impression of looking down at him. “You have not even introduced yourself, sir.”
“I truly beg your pardon, Miss Pence. I am Mr. Driscoll Rose. I am brother to the Earl of Huntington. My other brother, Mr. Dante Rose and myself, own this club.”
She visibly relaxed, but not completely. “I do not travel in Society, Mr. Rose, so I must admit I do not recognize your brother’s title. However, I am familiar with The Rose Room, which is, I assume, where I managed to make my very awkward and embarrassing entrance?”
Despite her disheveled appearance and abrupt arrival, she managed to enthrall him further with her humor, and Driscoll felt more than the usual ennui for the first time in weeks. “Yes. This is the second floor of The Rose Room.”
* * *
Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. The Rose Room was the one place her brother would never find her. He’d been banned from the elite club for fist-fighting over three weeks before.
When she’d spotted the open, welcoming, and well-lit window at the back of the building, she had no idea what the structure housed. A large oak tree, with branches a mere few feet from the window was far too tempting not to climb.
As she studied Mr. Rose, she had no idea how to accomplish it, but if she could remain here until morning, it would give her time to come up with a plan while assuaging her hunger and staying warm and dry.
Depending on this nice man to be the gentleman he claimed, she came up with a decision. “Yes, Mr. Rose. I believe a dry set of clothes would be most welcome.”
The smile he offered her caused butterflies to dance in her middle. However, she was neither at a time, nor in a place to encourage attention from a man. She was already on the run from two men. What she needed was a way to earn money without her stepbrother finding out so she could leave London.
“Excellent. I will have one of our maids accompany you to the room and help you change. The women we employ to clean and help in the kitchen live in rooms in the basement. Perhaps one of them will have a more appropriate outfit for you to wear.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Rose. You are too kind.”
He stepped to the door and called to someone to send up Betsy. He then waved her toward the food. “Please, Miss Pence.”
With a great deal of thankfulness, Amelia returned to the seat she’d so abruptly left and helped herself to some bread and cheese.
She tried very hard to be a lady, but she hadn’t eaten all day and was quite hungry. Mr. Rose took the seat across from her, them both enjoying the heat from the stove. He didn’t speak, but watched her in a way that was, remarkably, not threatening.
He hopped up at a knock at the door and admitted a gentleman carrying a teapot, followed by a young woman.
“Ah, good evening, Betsy. This is Miss Pence who is in need of a dry set of clothes. Can you accommodate her?”
The maid eyed Amelia and nodded. “Yes, Mr. Rose. I believe I have a few articles for Miss Pence to wear.”
“Excellent. Please fetch them, and then you can escort our guest to the bedchamber down the corridor and help her change.”
The maid dipped and left them, not raising a brow or showing any sort
