Driscoll threw his napkin down alongside his plate. “I beg to differ. I do enjoy females, and might I remind you that I took Miss Bailey to the theater just last week?”
“Brother, she was my date that I foisted off on you.” Dante stood and filled a plate from the sideboard. Eggs, bacon, tomatoes, sausage, toast and an orange.
“What do you want with the bedroom, anyway?” Driscoll studied him. “It’s already after noon, you certainly don’t plan to sleep now.”
Dante sat and eyed his food. “No. I spent the night at Mrs. Bancroft’s house, but I needed a clean shirt.”
“Why don’t you keep clothes at her house? You sleep there more than your own bed.”
Dante grinned. “Ah, but we don’t do much sleeping, brother.” He took a sip of tea. “But you are avoiding my question. Why is the door locked?”
“I have a guest.” Lord, how he wished to avoid this conversation. He wasn’t yet sure what to make of Miss Pence. Frankly, he was relieved to hear that the door was still locked, since he hadn’t the nerve to try it himself. That meant she hadn’t escaped during the night.
There was no tree outside that room.
He’d decided if she had remained by morning that he would offer her temporary lodging, as long as he was comfortable that she wasn’t, indeed, running from some criminal activity.
However, there was nothing about the woman that suggested wrongdoing. Of course, shimmying up trees in the rain to climb through the window of an unknown building did suggest some sort of misconduct. At least from what he’d known about proper young ladies; the ones he had avoided like the plague since they were all anxious to lead a man to the altar.
Dante stared at him. “Well?”
“What?”
His brother sighed. “Who is your ‘guest’ in the bedroom?”
Driscoll removed his spectacles and rubbed them with his handkerchief. A subtle maneuver to allow him time to gather his thoughts that was not lost on his brother. “Last night a woman fell through the window into the office.” Bloody hell there must have been a better way to say that.
Dante’s brows shot to his hairline. “Fell through the window? How the devil did she do that?”
“Climbed the tree outside the window,” he mumbled.
Dante let out a low whistle. “And here I thought you led the most uninteresting life possible.”
Driscoll frowned. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story, or just sit there and insult me?”
“Can I do both?” He grinned and shoveled more food into his mouth. He waved his fork at Driscoll. “Continue.”
“Her name is Miss Pence. She is running from something, but I doubt—with as much assurance as I can muster—that she is a criminal.”
“She climbs through the window of a gaming club in the middle of the night, and you don’t think there is anything criminal about her? Did she drag her bag of ill-gotten goods with her, or leave them at the base of the tree to retrieve after she cleaned out our office?”
“Do you want to hear what I know?”
“Yes.” Dante smirked.
“She said her name is Miss Amelia Pence. She was familiar with the club but didn’t know that was where she was seeking shelter from the rain.” Driscoll took a sip of tea. “She was cold, wet, tired and hungry.”
“And you being you, never noticed if she was attractive or not?”
Driscoll growled. “Yes, she is attractive, and yes I noticed. And no, before you ask, I did not offer to share the bed with her.”
Dante shook his head. “Pity.”
“She was frightened, Dante. Whatever it is she is running from can’t be good.”
“So, what is your plan here, big brother?”
“Frankly, I don’t know.” Alone in his own bed in his flat, he’d spent a good part of the time he should have been sleeping thinking that very same thing. She trusted him enough to accept his offer of a warm, dry bed.
“I don’t mean to come across as unfeeling, but we can’t have a strange woman staying at the club. I don’t know anyone by the name of Pence, so that could be a made-up name. Despite your good-natured belief that she is not a criminal, we have no way of knowing if Scotland Yard is looking for her.”
Driscoll sighed, hearing his very own thoughts spoken out loud by his brother. “I think we should see what she says this morning. For all I know, she went back out the window, and that would be the end of our problem.”
“There is no tree outside the bedroom.”
The sound of footsteps drew their attention. Miss Pence stood in the doorway, looking very much like a little lost lamb.
Everything protective in him reared its head. Driscoll took a deep breath, his heart speeding up. The devil take it, he was becoming ridiculous about the chit.
Both men stood. “Good morning, Miss Pence,” Driscoll said.
She moved farther into the room and offered a slight smile. “I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to stay here last night.” She dipped a curtsy, which she didn’t pull off very well since she was back into her trousers. Without saying another word, she turned to leave.
“Wait,” Driscoll said and walked up to her, taking her hand in his. A very soft hand, one that only a lady would possess. She had never done hard work. Another clue to her identity. “You must at least eat breakfast before you go.”
Miss Pence hesitated and glanced toward Dante.
“May I make known to you my brother, Mr. Dante Rose.” Driscoll waved at his brother. “Dante, this is Miss Amelia Pence.”
She backed up when Dante snorted.
* * *
Amelia felt the heat rise to her face at the snicker coming from Mr. Dante Rose. She’d wrestled with herself for the past hour, wondering if she should
