Her gaze was momentarily dumbstruck, then puzzled, then troubled. “Thank you, Your Grace, but in my line of work, I can afford to trust no one.”

Interesting choice of verb—afford. “You like it that way.”

“I need it that way.”

How honest, and how lonely. Elsmore brushed her hair back over her ear, and when she did not protest that presumption he bent nearer. She stood still, eyes downcast, though he well knew she was capable of pinning back his ears.

“Eleanora?”

She closed her eyes, and he realized that was as much permission as he would get from her. He kissed her cheek and let himself out into the chilly corridor, pausing only long enough to make sure she locked the door after him.

As if her mind had imparted its restlessness to his own, he walked the distance to his home, turning over questions and ignoring the persistent freezing drizzle. Two streets from his own doorway, he took off his gloves and scarf and left them in an alley.

Why had he kissed Eleanora Hatfield? Even a chaste gesture such as he’d bestowed on the lady was an intimacy, and with the least intimacy-prone female he knew. Why cross that line? Why blur those boundaries? His musings yielded no satisfactory answers, but then, a man who failed to notice his trusted staff dipping into his coffers, a man who overlooked drinking from the wrong teacup, was probably overdue for an audit of his own sentiments and motivations.

*  *  *

Friday arrived on schedule, though Ellie awoke slightly groggy for having had two glasses of wine the night before.

“And good claret it was,” she muttered to the cat. “I saved you some scraps of beef too.”

Voltaire had liked the duke. She watched Lord Stephen from the safety of her windowsill on the rare occasions when he happened by, and most other visitors sent her scurrying under the sofa.

“Don’t get attached to Elsmore,” Ellie said, putting the scraps on a piece of paper for the cat. “We will determine where the ducal vessel is leaking, and he’ll be on his way, married to a suitable parti.”

She allowed herself a pot of tea to go with her jam and buttered bread, and settled in for a morning of absolute bliss among the ledgers. Drawing conclusions from too little information was a good way to miss important patterns, and Elsmore’s books were a puzzle in any case.

A messy puzzle. After pleasant hours with the ledgers, Ellie pondered that conundrum as she walked to the Wentworth town house. She was still pre-occupied when Jane, Duchess of Walden, swept into the room, a big, black hound at her side.

“Your Grace.” Ellie curtseyed, stifling the impulse to curtsey to the dog as well. Big dogs with big teeth should make anybody respectful, though the duchess’s pet was always beautifully behaved.