Once she had her breath back, he casually stated, “You are no longer an employee of The Rose Room, Miss Pence.”
“Miss Smythe,” she mumbled. Her shoulders slumped. He was angry with her. Probably all the Rose brothers were.
Driscoll raised his brows at the news of her real name. He removed the glass from her hand and placed it, along with his own on the small table in front of them. “Do you know why you are no longer employed?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. Of course, she could think of many reasons, starting with his anger at the secrets she refused to tell him and ending with requiring him and his brothers to rescue her from the clutches of her horrid stepbrother who they had already banned from the club.
Before she could ask for a reason, he slipped from the settee and rested on one knee in front of her. He took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes. “Miss Amelia Pence—Smythe, if that is your true name—I would be the happiest of men if you would consent to be my wife.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, one at a time, while he stared up at her.
Wife?
Oh, good heavens, she was about to cry again. She couldn’t speak, only nod. Driscoll’s grin convinced her he was serious. He pulled her down alongside him on the floor and cupped her face, covering her mouth with his. The passion that exploded in her body would have knocked her to her knees had she been standing.
Driscoll pulled her closer, angling her head so he could take the kiss deeper. His tongue nudged her lips and she gladly opened to him. Their tongues tangled, sweeping, tasting, sucking. Every fear, worry, and rage that had occupied her mind for the past few days vanished like a wisp of smoke on a windy day.
Driscoll pulled back and kissed the sensitive skin on her neck. He moved to her collarbone, nipping, soothing with his lips, his tongue. “I love you, Amelia, and I’ve wanted you for so long, and dear God, I thought I’d never see you again.”
His hands wandered her body, squeezing, caressing, stroking. He cupped her breast and flicked his thumb over her nipple which immediately responded standing straight and hard. Once more he covered her mouth, crushing her to his body. He could not get enough of her. And to think he almost lost her.
Slowly pulling back, he rested his hands on her shoulders. “I want you. Now.” He eased forward, his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “Diana mentioned which bedchamber you were given.” He kissed her closed eyelids. “Smart woman, my sister-in-law.”
Amelia sucked in a breath at what he was suggesting. She looked at him, with all the love that was in her heart. Without hesitation she said, “Yes.”
It seemed that was all he needed to hear. Driscoll jumped up, extended his hand to help her rise. He wrapped his arm around her waist and quickly herded her out of the drawing room, up the stairs and down the corridor. Quietly, he opened her bedchamber door. “I will be gone before dawn, so no one needs know,” he whispered against her lips.
He pulled her inside and cupped her chin to kiss her once more as the door latch slowly clicked shut.
21
The morning after the auction disaster Newton sat at his breakfast table still dressed in the clothing from the night before. His bleary eyes could barely focus with the throbbing of his head and the roiling of his stomach.
One didn’t have to be overly intelligent to guess the Rose brothers had something to do with Amelia’s disappearance. Once he was feeling better, he would go to the club and demand they return the chit to his protection. He was her guardian and if he had to invoke the courts, he would do just that.
“My lord, you have a visitor.” Stanford, his butler at the door spoke quietly having already received a tongue lashing for speaking too loudly earlier.
Randolph waved his hand. “I’m not receiving.” It was most likely another disgruntled guest from the night before wanting to harass him further. It was bad enough that he still owed Lyons the money for the wager and now the man was demanding Amelia as well as fifty pounds for his trouble. Where the devil would he get fifty pounds?
Stanford took his leave and before Randolph could return to his muddled thoughts a scuffle ensued outside the door to the breakfast room. He looked up to see Driscoll Rose looming over him. “Get up, Newton.”
“Come to gloat, did you? Well, I intend to visit with my solicitor today and make arrangements to have Miss Smythe returned to my care.”
“Your care?” Rose growled. “You call auctioning her off to a bunch of leering, debauched wastrels taking care of her?”
“’Tis none of your business.”
Driscoll leaned down, so close Randolph could smell the coffee on his breath. “Stand up.”
When Randolph didn’t move, Driscoll grabbed him by his cravat and hauled him to his feet. With one swift punch to the gut, Randolph collapsed to the floor, casting up his accounts all over the Aubusson carpet, the last of his finer things—everything else having been sold.
Driscoll grabbed a napkin from the table and dropped it on him, then growled, “Clean yourself up and stand. I’m not finished with you.”
If not for the crazed look in his visitor’s eyes, Randolph would have curled up into a ball and shouted for Stanford to toss Rose out the door. However, he wiped his mouth and climbed to his feet.
Rose grabbed him again and slammed him into his chair. “Miss Smythe is no longer your concern. She has accepted my hand
