“Now wait a minute. I have money. I can pay you.”
Her hand itched to slap his insolent face, but rather than make a scene, she walked as quickly as she could from the man, dodging other dancers as she fled.
“Miss Pence?” Dante’s voice managed to break through the pounding of her heart. He took her hand to halt her escape. “Is everything all right?”
Taking a deep breath, she turned and offered him a bright smile. “Everything is fine. I think I just need a breath of fresh air.”
“I will be happy to escort you.” He studied her carefully.
She shook her head. “No. There is no need for you to do that. I will just step outside for a minute or two.”
“If you are sure. . .”
“I am,” she snapped, anxious to escape.
She hurried away, just wanting to leave the room. The crowd had grown somewhat since she’d first come downstairs. She passed two men sitting side-by-side on a comfortable settee with a woman perched on one of their laps. The woman wore face paint, and the neckline of her deep red gown was scandalously low. She leaned over and whispered something in one man’s ear, making them both roar with laughter.
This had not been a good idea. She shouldn’t have come to this event. She didn’t know why, but she felt frightened, and not just because of the scoundrel who she’d danced with. For the first time since she’d arrived at The Rose Room all those weeks ago, she felt unsafe.
She made it as far as the front door and took a deep breath of the misty air. She moved down the few steps and rubbed her palms up and down her arms, sorry she hadn’t thought to go upstairs first and grab her cape.
“Here, miss, you look quite cold.” Two men in masks, obviously headed for the ball approached the doorway. One of them removed his cape and went to swing it around her. “This will keep you warm.”
She froze, her instincts kicking in. Perhaps she hadn’t recovered yet from the difficulty inside, but she felt as if something wasn’t right. She backed up and turned. “Thank you anyway, but I will just return to the ball.”
“No, you won’t, you bitch.”
She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, one of the men threw the cape he’d taken off over her head. Before she could even utter a sound, she was picked up and quickly bundled off. Taken by surprise, and with the cape over her head she had no idea which direction they headed.
After about three minutes of her wrestling with the arms that held her tight, her shouts muffled by the cape, she was tossed into a carriage. The door slammed. She landed on her hands and knees and the vehicle lurched forward.
The cape was ripped off her head as she sat on the floor of the carriage, her knees aching from landing on the hard surface. She pushed the hair out of her eyes, her mask dangling from its ribbons, resting on her heaving chest.
She sucked in a deep breath as she stared into the eyes of her stepbrother, sitting next to Mr. Daniel Lyons, both men grinning with satisfaction.
“Welcome back, sister.”
17
Dante sat behind Driscoll’s desk in the office, tamping down his need to yawn, while Lady McDaniel continued her tirade about a missing necklace.
“My lady, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do about your missing necklace right now. There are over a hundred people downstairs and conducting a proper search would be impossible. Can you tell me the last time you saw your necklace?”
Frankly, he found it hard to believe that the necklace she described could fall off her neck without her immediately noticing it.
“I didn’t notice it missing until I returned from the ladies’ retiring room.”
Dante glanced at the clock on Driscoll’s desk. “And am I to assume you checked there before summoning me?”
She lifted her chin as if he were a ninnyhammer. “Of course.”
“Good. Then we will begin to usher guests out shortly. I suggest you return to your home and we will do a thorough search first thing in the morning when the light is better and the room empty. I will send word to you as soon as we find it.”
Lady McDaniel stood, taking her husband’s hand as she rose. She used the opportunity to look down at him, which was a favorite pastime of ladies of the ton, since they never wanted him to forget he was a bastard and not accepted in polite society. Unless they were attempting to lure him to their bed, then the interaction was quite different.
“Very well. However, I must tell you if the piece is not returned by ten in the morning next, I will summon Scotland Yard.”
Dante nodded and clutching the rough sketch he’d made from Lady McDaniel’s description of the necklace, followed them out the door, reminding himself once again of the reasons they did not permit ladies in the club.
The footmen and security guards had done a good job of clearing out the room while he’d conversed with Lady McDaniel. He personally ushered the couple out the door with further assurance that the necklace would be found.
He walked slowly through the room and eyed the table with the bottles of liquor and decided a drink was just the thing to bring the night to an end. For some reason this ball had not gone as well as other years. Possibly because Hunt was only able to stay a short time and Driscoll was tied up with Home Office business, leaving him with the burden by himself.
He filled a glass and leaned against the wall. “Summon all the employees,” he said to Marcus as he returned from escorting the last of the guests out the door. Lord Bentworth had a bit of a problem leaving and Marcus had to encourage him to let the night go.
Once they had all gathered, Dante stood on the third step of the staircase and addressed them. “We had an expensive necklace go missing tonight. Tomorrow I want everyone down here by nine o’clock—yes in the morning,” he grinned at the moans. “We will need to do a complete search of the building.”
He waved at the group, his eyes glancing around the room. “Off to bed with you. Once the necklace has been found we will clean up this mess. No need to do it tonight.”
The employees quickly disbursed, leaving him still sipping his brandy and cursing all necklaces and the self-important ladies who wore them. Especially those worn by women who visited his club and lost them.
While he was cursing women, he might as well include Miss Amelia Pence since she occupied the bedroom where he could stay for the night instead of trudging home only to return early in the morning.
He then realized she was not at the meeting he just held. She did look a bit uncomfortable the last time he saw her, so most likely she retired early. With a loud, ungentlemanly yawn, he left the building and returned home.
* * *
Driscoll threw down the pencil, removed his spectacles and rubbed his very tired eyes. The decoding was not going well. He and the other two men who had been brought in to work on it were as baffled as they had been at the beginning.
Mr. Michael Taylor and Sir Stuart Wilson had been as enthusiastic about delving into the project as he when they’d begun. It was always enjoyable to use one’s brain to thwart another man’s idea of coding.
A full week and a half later they were still stymied. As bad as that frustration was to abide, the endless notes from Sir Phillip inquiring as to their progress only added to the tension in the room.
The most successful part of the project was acknowledging to himself that not only did he miss Amelia as much as he thought he would, but he was more determined than ever to have a serious conversation with her about their future. And yes. He’d decided they had a future. Together. Soon.
But presently there seemed a good possibility that the future he intended would happen when they were too old to stand before the vicar. Or climb into bed.
“I think I have something,” Sir Stuart almost shouted.
Driscoll and Michael jumped up and leaned over Sir Stuart’s shoulder. “What have you found?” Driscoll asked.
“This.” Sir Stuart pointed to a paper with numbers he’d arranged, that while not making sense, were at
least readable.
Driscoll picked up the paper and studied it. “This isn’t it. But we’re close.” He walked back to his chair and pulled out a fresh piece of paper. With determination to get the assignment finished, he wrote and arranged and re-arranged for about an hour.
Finally. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back and looked over at his co-workers. “It’s done.”
They scrambled over in his direction and stared at the sheet. After a few minutes Michael slapped him on his back. “Well done, old boy. I believe you have done it. Now all we have to do is decode that stack of papers and we’re finished.”
Because of the sensitivity of the project, once they cracked the code, they were to interpret the messages contained in the papers that had been confiscated from revolutionaries.
Driscoll looked over at the stack and groaned. Even with three of them working, it would most likely take at least four days to decode it all. He shook his head. “Let’s get started, then.”
* * *
Amelia kicked, scratched and bit her way out of the carriage. Screaming meant nothing since they took her to a small cottage deep in the woods somewhere outside of London.
At least they hadn’t tied her up and blindfolded her. They also hadn’t responded to her struggling by harming her. But then, she was sure Lyons didn’t want a mistress suffering from bruises.
“Settle down, girl,” Randolph said.
She lowered her head, attempting to bite his hand. He tightened his hold around her middle that almost took her breath away.
Lyons opened the door to the cottage and Randolph carried her in. He released her and she ran across the room, leaning against the wall. “Don’t either of you come near me.”
“I’m going to have quite a bit of fun taming your sister, Newton.” Lyons grinned at Randolph.
“If you come near me, I will cut off your bollocks.” She had no idea where her knowledge of that word came from, or what she would use to accomplish the deed, but was satisfied to see Lyons pale at her remark.
He rubbed his hands together. “We will see about that. All in due time, my dear.” Lyons slapped Randolph on the back. “You may leave now. I have this all in hand.”
Amelia raced across the room and jumped on Lyons back, pounding him with her fists. She attempted to bite his ear, but he grabbed her wrist and swung her around as if she weighed no more than a child’s rag doll.
“You will behave yourself or regret it.” He shoved her away and she landed on her hands and knees again. He raised his fist. “Keep that in mind.”
Randolph cleared his throat. “Lyons, I would have a word with you outside.” He gestured with his head toward the door.
Lyons turned to Amelia. “Don’t try anything stupid.”
The two men left the cottage and Amelia dropped into a soft comfortable chair. Her thoughts raced through her mind, mostly focused on how she would get away from Lyons.
She looked around the large room which appeared to be a combination sitting room and dining room. There were a few windows, but even if she were able to climb out of one of them without getting caught, she had no idea where she was or how to get help.
Her head whipped around at the sound of shouting coming from outside the cottage. She stood and walked quickly to the door, leaning her ear against the worn wood.
“A deal is a deal, Newton. If you renege your reputation will be ruined. I will make certain of that.” Lyons voice came through quite clearly.
Was Randolph finally admitting his mistake in offering her as a wager and trying to talk Lyons out of taking her as his mistress? For a moment she smiled, thinking perhaps he was not such a bad sort after all. His next words quickly dispelled any respectable qualities she had begun to bestow upon her wretched stepbrother.
“All right. If you agree to release me from the debt so I can hold an auction, I will pay you your wager plus ten percent.”
“No. I want half your profits.”
Amelia’s jaw dropped. Auction! Randolph was going to auction her off like a prize bull, or a thoroughbred at Tattersalls?
“Half?” Randolph sounded outraged.
“Half.”
“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. . .”
“Stop!” The blood pounding in his head was bringing on a tremendous headache. Amelia was gone. Disappeared. No one would convince him she left on her own volition.
“Have you notified Scotland Yard?”
&n
bsp; Dante leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “There is something else you should know before you insist on calling in the authorities.” He hesitated for a minute, then continued. “A very expensive necklace went missing the same night your Miss Pence did.”
Driscoll’s stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But since we knew nothing about the girl, why for all intents and purposes she appeared to be in hiding while refusing to tell us anything about herself, I find it suspicious that both she and the necklace disappeared the same night.”
“Have you searched her room?”
“Briefly. I didn’t want to invade her privacy. I will tell you the necklace has not been found since the ball, and someone needs to search her room. Since you seem, shall we say, attached to the girl, I will leave that up to you.”
Driscoll strode from the office where he’d been speaking with Dante and entered Amelia’s room. Like a man possessed, he went through all her belongings, noting she left everything behind.
Dante leaned against the wall while Driscoll pulled out clothing, shoes, undergarments, hair clips, tossing them on the floor, his search becoming more frantic by the minute. He waved at the growing pile on the floor. “Do you honestly believe Amelia left here under her own power and took none of her things with her?”
Dante shrugged. “She’s done it before.”
Driscoll growled at him and knelt to look under the bed. He swept his arm in a wide arc and touched a box. He pulled it out and flipped the top off.
Sucking in a deep breath, he shook the box and thrust it at his brother. “Do you still think she absconded with the necklace? There are numerous shillings and a few farthings in here—saved from her earnings I would say. I hardly think a thieving young woman would steal an expensive necklace that she would be forced to sell, and then disappear leaving behind all her belongings, and this money.”
A Lady’s Trust Page 13
