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Raised eyebrows was Dante’s only response. “Well, I know you don’t have a woman in there.” He gestured toward the bedroom down the hall.
Driscoll stiffened and frowned. “Why not? Why couldn’t I have a woman in there?”
“Because you never raise your head from your ledgers long enough to notice anyone else. Let alone a female. And, even if you were to go against your nature and have a woman in there, even you wouldn’t be sitting here eating breakfast while she lounges in bed.”
Driscoll threw his napkin down alongside his plate. “I beg to differ. I do enjoy females, and might I remind you that I took Miss Bailey to the theater just last week?”
“Brother, she was my date that I foisted off on you.” Dante stood and filled a plate from the sideboard. Eggs, bacon, tomatoes, sausage, toast and an orange.
“What do you want with the bedroom, anyway?” Driscoll studied him. “It’s already after noon, you certainly don’t plan to sleep now.”
Dante sat and eyed his food. “No. I spent the night at Mrs. Bancroft’s house, but I needed a clean shirt.”
“Why don’t you keep clothes at her house? You sleep there more than your own bed.”
Dante grinned. “Ah, but we don’t do much sleeping, brother.” He took a sip of tea. “But you are avoiding my question. Why is the door locked?”
“I have a guest.” Lord, how he wished to avoid this conversation. He wasn’t yet sure what to make of Miss Pence. Frankly, he was relieved to hear that the door was still locked, since he hadn’t the nerve to try it himself. That meant she hadn’t escaped during the night.
There was no tree outside that room.
He’d decided if she had remained by morning that he would offer her temporary lodging, as long as he was comfortable that she wasn’t, indeed, running from some criminal activity.
However, there was nothing about the woman that suggested wrongdoing. Of course, shimmying up trees in the rain to climb through the window of an unknown building did suggest some sort of misconduct. At least from what he’d known about proper young ladies; the ones he had avoided like the plague since they were all anxious to lead a man to the altar.
Dante stared at him. “Well?”
“What?”
His brother sighed. “Who is your ‘guest’ in the bedroom?”
Driscoll removed his spectacles and rubbed them with his handkerchief. A subtle maneuver to allow him time to gather his thoughts that was not lost on his brother. “Last night a woman fell through the window into the office.” Bloody hell there must have been a better way to say that.
Dante’s brows shot to his hairline. “Fell through the window? How the devil did she do that?”
“Climbed the tree outside the window,” he mumbled.
Dante let out a low whistle. “And here I thought you led the most uninteresting life possible.”
Driscoll frowned. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story, or just sit there and insult me?”
“Can I do both?” He grinned and shoveled more food into his mouth. He waved his fork at Driscoll. “Continue.”
“Her name is Miss Pence. She is running from something, but I doubt—with as much assurance as I can muster—that she is a criminal.”
“She climbs through the window of a gaming club in the middle of the night, and you don’t think there is anything criminal about her? Did she drag her bag of ill-gotten goods with her, or leave them at the base of the tree to retrieve after she cleaned out our office?”
“Do you want to hear what I know?”
“Yes.” Dante smirked.
“She said her name is Miss Amelia Pence. She was familiar with the club but didn’t know that was where she was seeking shelter from the rain.” Driscoll took a sip of tea. “She was cold, wet, tired and hungry.”
“And you being you, never noticed if she was attractive or not?”
Driscoll growled. “Yes, she is attractive, and yes I noticed. And no, before you ask, I did not offer to share the bed with her.”
Dante shook his head. “Pity.”
