“Your view of a duke’s life is understandable, but not applicable in the present case. My comings and goings are noted by my three siblings, by any of the several cousins who work at my bank, by my mother—whose acumen outstrips human explanation—my valet, my butler, my house steward, my footmen, my coachmen, and any number of gossips among whom my personal secretaries prominently number. I meet you here again at my peril.”

Ellie broke the shortbread in half and got crumbs on the page she’d been tallying. “What do you propose?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then pushed his thumb and forefinger up to stroke out over his brow. “I keep a house off of—”

“No.”

A frigid pair of blue eyes regarded her from down the length of a ducal nose. “I beg your pardon?”

“You cannot be seen to frequent this bank, and I will not be seen to frequent your…your love nest.” Ellie was blushing, surely for the first time in fifteen years. “My reputation means much to me, Your Grace, and unlike you, I cannot expect polite society to turn a blind eye to bad behavior or even the appearance of bad behavior.”

Then too, Mick and Jack would notice, and they would never believe Ellie’s explanation.

Elsmore pinched the bridge of his nose again. “For God’s sake, the property has been empty for months. The housekeeper alone bides there and she knows better than to gossip.”

“What has that to do with anything? If I meet you during daylight hours, the worst assumptions will be made about me precisely because the property has been unused in some time. Talk can ruin a woman as surely as it can ruin a bank.”

He stared at her as if she had two heads, one adorned with snakes, the other with horns. “What do you propose?”

Normally, Ellie liked puzzles, but not when they were presented by an unhappy duke. “Does the audit itself bother you, or is something else amiss?” Was he pale? Ellie well knew the scent of a man who’d overindulged the previous evening. All she detected on Elsmore’s person was his shaving soap and a hint of lavender.

He finished his tea, doubtless stalling while he framed half truths. “I spent last evening with family and friends and the company was not at all restful. A slight megrim—”

“No megrim was ever slight, Your Grace. Give me your hands.” Ellie held her hands out across the desk and waggled her fingers.

He regarded her. “You interrupt me more than all three of my sisters put together.”

“Your hands, sir.”

He held out his hands. “You give me more orders than they do, you contradict me, you scold me…What are you doing?”

Ellie took his hands in hers and found the muscle between the thumb and palm on each one, then pressed hard.