The notion terrified Ellie even as it tempted her. She knew everybody in the building, even the carpenters and engineers Lord Stephen hired for his renovations. She knew the owners of the chop shop across the street and all of their employees. She knew the street urchins, the bank clerks…

She was safe in her London world. Safe from the unknown and, more importantly, safe from foolishness.

“You insist that I be available for regular interrogation,” Elsmore said, stacking the last of a dozen ledgers on the desk. “That means whither thou goest and so forth. We cannot work here, we cannot work at the bank, and you have refused the unoccupied dwelling I offered you earlier. Ambledown is less than two hours away, boasts every amenity, and above all, it is quiet.”

Above all, Ambledown was beyond the notice of Jack, Lord Stephen, and polite society.

Don’t do this. The voice in the back of Ellie’s mind sounded very like Grandmama, whose proper upbringing had never become reconciled to the exigencies of life as a disgraced portraitist’s wife. Ellie might ride about Town in the Walden ducal conveyance when the weather was inclement and attract only passing notice. Leaving London with Elsmore was another proposition entirely.

“You are concerned about the appearances,” he said, “though Lord Stephen’s porte cochere assures that nobody will see you climbing into my coach. The crests can be turned, the shades drawn, and your privacy assured. My sanity, however, is imperiled every moment that we remain in this pounding purgatory.”

The clerks were like this. Some could work in dim lighting, but not amid noise. Others needed the desk closest to the window, but could focus on their task despite riots in progress on the street below. This one had a messy desk, while that one could not work until he’d sharpened every pencil in his tray, set a cup of tea at his left elbow, and positioned the standish just so.

“I must have clean blotters,” Ellie said.

Elsmore stepped closer. “I beg your pardon?”

“Clean blotters,” Ellie said, more loudly. “I cannot work at a desk if somebody has covered the blotter with figures, doodles, and random scribbling.”

She could smell the fragrance of Elsmore’s shaving soap, a whiff of springtime amid coal smoke and sawdust. He, by contrast, apparently took no notice of proximity to her. He’d been a more than perfect gentleman today. He’d been preoccupied, answering her questions without any questions of his own, falling silent once he’d replied to Ellie’s inquiries.

In fact, he’d been indifferent to her, proof positive that for His Grace, a kiss truly could be of no moment.

“You require clean blotters,” he said, “because a blotter covered with jottings would be a puzzle-scape for you. A compilation of conundrums and riddles, the ultimate distraction. If I promise you clean blotters will you please accompany me to Ambledown?”