A Lady's Trust (The Rose Room Rogues #2) - Callie Hutton Page 0,3
in front of the door. “No.” He shook his head, again with a bit of levity in his look. “I am afraid I demand more answers from you before I let you go.”
Amelia groaned and shivered again. This solution to escape Randolph was becoming more vexing than her problem.
2
Driscoll doubted the woman had given her real name, or a reason why the devil she was climbing through the window. However, he was having more fun at her expense then he’d had in ages.
She was a pretty little thing. Big blue eyes and blonde ringlets, now wet and plastered to her forehead. Plump lips perfect for kissing tempted him and a small nose with a scattering of light freckles across her cheeks gave her an elfish look and brought a smile to his face. When she’d first fallen through the window, had he gotten a good look at her in wet trousers and her shirt clinging to her body, displaying all her wonderful curves, he would never had addressed her as ‘sir’.
He brought himself up short, realizing that the gentleman in him should not be ogling her, but addressing how she shivered, and how those lovely, kissable lips were beginning to turn blue. Unusually cool September night air, combined with her wet clothing, could have the girl suffering from an ague.
“Despite your desire to flee my presence, I must insist you stay until you are dry.” A slight rumbling from her middle presented another problem. “Have you eaten dinner?”
Her shaking grew worse, and she shrugged which meant to him that she had not eaten. He moved to the pot belly stove in the middle of the office and threw in another log.
Miss Pence did not move from her spot despite him walking away, which was promising. He grabbed his greatcoat from the coat rack near his desk and beckoned her to move toward the stove.
The poor girl seemed to have lost her spirit and shuffled meekly to the chair he pointed to and sat. “Remove your jacket.”
Although her eyes grew wide at his command, she did as he bid before he draped the greatcoat over her shoulders. “I will send to the kitchen for tea and some food.”
Miss Pence merely nodded.
“Can I trust you not to leave while I give instructions to the cook?”
“I w-w-won’t l-leave.” She pulled the coat flaps together and bent forward, getting closer to the stove.
Driscoll left, not at all sure if he could trust her not to vanish while he was gone. Since he knew nothing about the girl, it was questionable why he even cared. Was he truly so bored with his life that a wet, sopping woman, dressed in trousers, tumbling through the window in his office, interested him enough that he was reluctant to let her go until he learned her story?
Sadly, yes.
The club employed a cook who prepared food for the guests to partake of in a buffet style from around midnight until closing. It had originally begun as a courtesy, but despite the cost, it soon turned a nice profit when those who availed themselves of food remained and continued to gamble.
Driscoll headed to the table and filled a plate with cheese, cold meats, bread, a berry tart, and two pieces of fruit.
“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—”