“What sort of self-respecting pedigreed canine befriends an alley cat?” Elsmore finished undoing his coat, and Ellie let him slip it from his own shoulders and hang it on a peg near the door.

If she touched his coat, she’d want to touch him. If she hung up his coat for him, she’d sniff the wool and brush it against her cheek. If she started crying, she’d never stop.

“A dog raised with cats should be more tolerant of them. What I have to say won’t take long, Your Grace, but it strikes me as urgent.”

Elsmore ran his hands through his hair and looked around the apartment. “I don’t see any ledgers, Eleanora. You always surround yourself with ledgers.”

“Might we attend the topic at hand?”

He approached her, looking vexed and determined. “First, tell me what Lord Stephen was babbling about. What happened with your grandfather?”

Ellie whirled away from him, lest he touch her and destroy the last shred of her composure. “Grandfather’s circumstances are not relevant to the present inquiry.”

Elsmore remained where he was, near the fire. Why must he be so attractive, why must he look at her with such concern?

“When you turn up all duchess-y and impatient, you are nervous,” he said. “You have no ink stains on your fingers, Eleanora. Your watch is affixed nowhere on your person. You are upset. I hope we are friends enough to confide our upsets to each other, for I have a few matters to discuss with you as well.”

“I am moving to France.” The decision was made on the spot, having seen Elsmore again, having exercised the monumental effort not to lash her arms around him and never let go.

“Does this have to do with your grandfather, the victim of rumors?”

Ellie turned, finding herself face-to-face with the chill coming off her front window. Below her, the street was dark and deserted, the occasional porch light illuminating icy mud and dirty snow.

“He was rumored to be a forger of paintings. He was not a forger.”

“Then what was he?” Elsmore’s voice came from just behind Ellie.

She could feel him near, feel his curiosity, also his great patience. This man had spent years reconciling himself to obligations he did not enjoy; he’d wait an eternity for Ellie to share the truth with him.

“Grandfather was a fool, a trusting, talented fool, and that is by far a greater offense than copying a few paintings.” She sneaked a glance over her shoulder, expecting to see Elsmore’s expression go politely blank. Expecting him to step back, to fetch his coat.

“Go on.” His eyes held concern and maybe a little surprise. No judgment, no shock. No betrayal of Ellie’s trust in him.