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“So, it had already been a gaming club when you bought it?”
Driscoll nodded. “Yes. It hadn’t been very successful and was subject to numerous raids. Since Hunt has a standing in both the community and the House of Lords, we were pretty sure we could turn the club into a place where the elite in London could go for some gambling fun and not be harassed by the police.”
“Since gambling is illegal,” Miss Pence said with a slight smirk.
“Hmm. Technically,” he smiled. “We approached Hunt about advancing us the money to buy the club outright. The previous owners were anxious to sell, so we got a good deal. We completely renovated the building, added sleeping quarters and a kitchen in the basement and opened for business.”
“And have been successful since then.”
“Yes. If Scotland Yard plans a raid, which they must do on occasion to avoid too much animosity with those who care about such things, we generally know at least a half hour in advance, which gives us time to close down the gaming part of the room and make it appear as any other gentlemen’s club.”
Amelia blew on her tea and smiled at him. “Very clever.”
Driscoll’s jaw dropped at the glorious way her smile lit up her face. His muscles tensed and his body responded by his blood taking a joyful race to his cock. He knew he was in serious trouble.
* * *
The little bit of wine she’d had at dinner along with the wonderful food left Amelia more relaxed than she’d been in a long time. Living with her stepbrother had been fraught with anxiety. Even before Randolph had come to her with his ridiculous demand that she meekly surrender to Lyon’s lecherous plans, she’d put up with numerous parties in the house. She would lock herself in her room, terrified someone would attempt to break in.
She’d not felt relaxed or even safe since she left her home in the country. It didn’t speak well of her stepbrother that she found security in a gambling club in the middle of London with two men she’d only just met.
“Does your brother, the earl, ever visit the club?”
“Occasionally. Right now, his wife is expecting their first child so he tends to stick close to home.”
“Oh, how lovely. They must be very happy.” She sighed, thinking about being happily married with her own home and a caring husband. A child would make
her life perfect. Right now, it didn’t appear that would ever be her life. She had to save money and move as far as possible from London, perhaps even England.
Driscoll covered her hand with his. “What’s wrong, Amelia? Won’t you tell me? Perhaps I can help.”
She was so tempted to turn to this kind man and tell him everything. But she still did not trust him. He might be aghast at her running from the man who was her guardian. Having a guardian at her age was preposterous, but with Randolph holding whatever money his father left, she really had no choice.
“Nothing.” She offered him a smile and pulled her hand out from under his. It was best to fight the attraction she felt for Driscoll. She needed to smother the feelings and strange sensations her body experienced when he was near, and grossly stupid to become too attached to this man. Escape was her only option. “Shall we begin work on the books?”
Driscoll looked a bit disappointed that she refused to confide in him, but she couldn’t concern herself with that. No longer would she depend on others. Her stepfather had let her down by trusting Randolph, and her stepbrother had done even worse. From now on Amelia would take care of herself.
They walked from the dining room to the office, neither one speaking. The sound of the gaming floor being prepared for the night reached their ears as they walked. Tables readied, furniture polished, carpets being swept. She actually found it exciting. She’d never been a part of something like this. Her life in the country had been quiet.
And safe, she reminded herself.
They had been at the work for hours on the books and Amelia was certain her eyes were crossed from staring at numbers. They were dry and burning. She rubbed them, but it didn’t help. She looked over at Driscoll who still methodically copied numbers from one book to another, looking back and forth. “How do you do this for hours?”
He looked up, almost seeming surprised to see her sitting there. He placed his pencil on the desk and stretched. Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. His muscles flexed under his coat, stretching the seams. For someone who spent a lot of time copying numbers and sitting at a desk, he certainly had quite a nice form.
She closed her mouth and looked down at the desk when he caught her staring at him. Her face flamed when he chuckled.
“Would you like a break, Amelia?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I would.” She stood, stretching herself, and was amused to see him staring at her as she’d just been staring at him. Except, instead of his face growing red as hers had, his eyes traveled over her body with a hungry look, making her face flush again.
He waved toward the door and she exited the room. They made their way down the hall to the dining room where a pot of coffee, and one of tea, sat on the sideboard, along with milk, sugar, cups and saucers. An array of biscuits and tarts decorated a silver platter alongside the drinks.
“Is this to keep you awake while you’re struggling with all those numbers?” Amelia poured tea into one of the cups.
“It helps.” He picked up another cup and filled it with coffee, the steam rising, its bold and lovely scent infusing the air as he poured. She oftentimes wondered why coffee smelled so much better than it tasted.
“If you want something more substantive to eat, there is a buffet table on the game floor. It’s where I got your food last night.”
