He put a finger to her lips. “I will not thank you. Don’t turn up arrogant on me now, Eleanora. You insisted I look where I didn’t want to look, and now you keep me in the dark. I will never thank you for that. I appreciate the warning regarding my bookkeeping, but I was already stumbling to the same conclusion. The books at the bank are far from pristine.”

He was leaving, and if Ellie were smart, she’d wish him farewell and be on tomorrow’s packet for Calais.

“You think there’s more than embezzlement going on at the bank?”

Elsmore left his coat unbuttoned and whipped his scarf over his shoulder. “I suspect there’s every sort of graft and mayhem neatly obscured by the sort of accuracy to which you have devoted yourself. The issue isn’t whether somebody is embezzling, it’s how many of my relations are either stealing from the bank or ignoring those who do.”

And he apparently had no idea who, no idea which smiles were false, which were genuine—if any.

“You will be dragged down with them,” Ellie said. “If the problem is that extensive, you will be accused of turning a blind eye to it, profiting from it. You cannot charge into the middle of this and expect to emerge unscathed.”

He kissed her cheek. “A token, as I ride into battle. Wish me luck, Eleanora. I’ll need it.”

She wanted him to stay, to explain to her every shred of evidence he’d collected from his bank ledgers, and she wanted him to go to the theater, there to be handsome and charming for the rest of his evening, and the rest of his life.

“Do you want to see your family members hanged?” she asked, as Elsmore strode for the door. “They will be. Murderers get transportation, but English judges take a very dim view of those who mishandle money.”

She’d said too much, but at least she had his attention.

“People put their life savings into my bank, Eleanora. They entrust their entire security to me. I turn a blind eye to this pilfering and I become as reprehensible as the embezzlers and cheats.”

“Elsmore—Wrexham—what about the duty you owe your family? When you are tried in the Lords for fraud and misfeasance, what about your sisters and widowed cousins? What about the boys at university who will no longer have your consequence to open doors for them?”

His scowl suggested he hadn’t followed the path of righteousness to its logical conclusion, straight into a briar patch of conflicting loyalties.

“I must go,” Elsmore said. “The sooner I identify the swindlers, the sooner they can be dealt with. Goodnight, Eleanora. Safe journey.”

Two words, and they hurt, though they weren’t meant to. “Good luck, Your Grace. Be careful.”

He pulled on his gloves and again, the cat stropped herself against his boots, the traitor.