When Elsmore had stood so close to Ellie, the scent of his shaving soap still detectable late in the day, she had noticed little, save utter amazement that he was about to kiss her. She could admit to finding him attractive, but hadn’t entertained the possibility that the attraction might be reciprocated. She’d braced herself for disappointment, for a brief pawing that would reveal Elsmore to be as heedless and self-absorbed as the rest of his gender, and then…

Soft warmth against her cheek, a moment of closeness, and a quiet click of the door latch as he’d left her in solitude.

His kiss had been perfect. Respectful, sweet, surprising…

“You pose an interesting topic,” Her Grace said, sipping her chocolate. “I could never have envisioned myself married to Quinn Wentworth, much less becoming anybody’s duchess, but you are exactly correct: Were he a blacksmith, a pawnbroker, a candlestick maker, I would choose to be his wife, and choose only him to be my husband. Who or what, I wonder, belongs with you, Eleanora?”

“Ledgers are my lot,” Ellie replied. “We get on well, and I am never bored in the presence of sums and tallies. The benefit of our association is that my expenses are paid and my cat and I eat well and regularly. That is as much perpetual bliss and forever after as one lady needs.”

“Have some more shortbread,” the duchess said, holding out the plate. “I suspect you are in need of the fortification.”

“Thank you.” Ellie took two more pieces, because she was, indeed, in need of fortification. Elsmore might kiss her again or he might not. Either way, she’d need to be strong and sensible, and never lose sight of the fact that she could not have forever after.

She of all women knew better than to pine for a duke, much less both forever and a duke.

The duchess, as was her habit, walked Ellie to the door, and insisted on sending her home in the ducal coach. The weather was threatening more rain or possibly even sleet, so Ellie accepted.

“And Eleanora, promise me something,” Her Grace said, re-arranging the drape of Ellie’s plain wool scarf.

“I will be back next week, you may depend upon it.” Ellie treasured this odd, comfortable association, and suspected Her Grace did too.

“Of course you will, but beyond that. Soit prudent. Les ducs peuvent être dangereux.”

The reminder was timely, also wise. “Yes, Your Grace. I know.” Better than most, Ellie well knew that titled men could be dangerous. “I will be very careful. You needn’t worry about me, or about the duke.”

*  *  *

“Your Grace, I feel it only fair to warn you that continued intransigence on your part will serve no purpose other than to aggravate me past all bearing. You will not care for the consequences.”