Once Randolph had told her to prepare herself because Mr. Lyons was to arrive at their doorstep in two days to ‘claim’ her, she had no choice but to run. Her dilemma was being without sufficient funds, and since she’d spent most of her life in the country, she had no friends in London to turn to, either.
Of course, it would have been better had she not panicked, and instead thought carefully about her circumstances and made a plan for herself before she fled the house. At least a plan better than tumbling through the window into this man’s office to escape the bad weather.
She cleared her throat, pushing her thoughts from her old dilemma to this new one. “Actually, I do possess an umbrella, but unfortunately, I do not have it with me.” She tugged her hand from the man’s hold and edged back toward the window, keeping her eye on him. “Now if you will excuse me. . .”
Quickly, he reached out and took her hand again. “No. I am not going to let you crawl back out the window and possibly break your neck.”
She huffed. What was it with men who thought they could tell one what to do and what not to do? She was a woman grown of twenty-one years.
Adopting a pleasant demeanor, she said, “No need to concern yourself, sir. I will be fine, I can assure you.” She wiped the rain from her cheeks. “I made it up here, didn’t I?”
Apparently, her attempt at levity fell flat as the man continued to stare at her. “You will tell me who you are, why you are dressed like a man, and why you climbed through my window.” He nodded in the direction of the window.
She shifted from one foot to the other. Mayhap if she gave him some information, he would let her go. “I am Miss Amelia Pence.” There was no point in offering her correct name. The last thing she needed was him tracking down her stepbrother. “It is quite wet out there and I saw the light in your window and hoped to spend only a short time attempting to dry off and warm up.” As if to validate her words, she shivered, then raised her chin.
There. She had given him an almost-honest answer.
“Did it not occur to you to enter through the front door to do the same?” She hated how he seemed to switch from anger to laughing at her. “And why the outfit?” He flicked his finger up and down.
He was becoming quite vexing. Amelia drew herself up, attempting to look impressive even though she was in trousers, soaking wet and just made a complete cake of herself by falling through the window. “Why I am wearing these clothes is none of your concern, sir. Now if you will excuse me and seeing that you won’t let me go back out the way I entered, I will just use that door behind you to make my way downstairs and exit the building.”
Feeling less confident than her words, she moved to go around him and came to a complete halt when he stepped 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 me
ant 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.