“It will take more time to set it up, then. We will need at least fifty or more men.” Randolph’s voice took on a whiny pitch.
“Don’t panic, Newton. We don’t need anywhere near that number. And as long as we keep the chit here, we have all the time we need,” Lyons returned.
She moved away, having heard enough. They were going to keep her here as a prisoner while they set up an auction? She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the absurdity of it.
She walked around the cottage, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. There was a heavy vase, but she feared if she tried to hurl it at one of them, she’d only drop it on her foot.
A search in the kitchen turned up a spoon as well as a heavy pan. Like the vase, she would most likely harm herself if she tried to use the pan as a weapon. However, she slipped the spoon into the top of her stocking.
Did she really think she could spoon someone to death?
She wandered back to the chair and slumped down, the sound of Randolph and Lyons’ voices still raised.
Drawing in a deep breath, she sat straight up, her heart pounding.
Driscoll.
If only she could somehow get word to him.
Then she laughed, the hysteria building. Yes, of course. Even if she could get word to The Rose Room, he was working on a special assignment for the Home Office at a place unknown even to his brother.
In her desire to keep everything a secret, Driscoll had no idea who she was, where she came from, and who her wretched stepbrother was. He would no doubt believe she had simply disappeared much like she had appeared through a window on a rainy night.
Why was it just now that she realized she could trust him? Why was it just now that she realized she most likely had fallen in love with him, but would probably never see him again?
Swiping angrily at her tears, she raised her head when the door opened.
Randolph stood in front of her, his hands on his hips. “We have a change of plans.”
“Oh, thank you. You will be returning me to The Rose Room, then?”
“No. But we can’t keep you here for as long as we need to, so we will be traveling back to London once we’ve had some sleep.”
Amelia jumped up and strode to the door to the small bedroom she’d seen when she returned from listening to them argue. “I will sleep here.” She closed the door, then dragged a small wooden chair over and tucked it under the doorknob.
She didn’t remove any of her clothing, including her dance slippers, and placed the spoon under the pillow, giggling hysterically at her only implement of defense. Despite her fears and anger, she was adrift in sleep within minutes.
* * *
“What the bloody hell do you mean she’s disappeared?” Driscoll dropped his satchel at his feet and glared at his brother.
“I don’t mean to be flippant, brother, but that is precisely as I said. She’s disappeared. Gone. No longer here.”
Driscoll turned in a circle and ran his fingers through his hair. “When?”
“The night of the ball.”
His head jerked up. “Wasn’t that last week?”
“Yes.”
Driscoll lowered his voice, his hands plastered on the desk in front of Dante. “Are you telling me Amelia disappeared a week ago and you didn’t see fit to send a message to me through Sir Phillip?”
“Why?”
“I’m going to take a deep breath to keep me from going for your throat. Not only is she an employee, but you know my feelings for her are more than that.”
“No. Actually, I did not know. I suspected, but. . .”