She wanted to smooth her fingers over his lapel—his boutonniere was an orange blossom today—and to lean against him as she had once before, a moment of complete rest and surrender. Resenting his focus on completing the audit was irrational of her, when only a fool would try to work with figures while hammers literally pounded the walls.

Did the bank clerks feel similar exasperation regarding Ellie’s own obsession with figures? When she nattered on about quarterly reports while the clerks simply wanted a fresh pot of tea?

“Yes, I will go to Ambledown with you, for a day or two. If you make yourself available to me without interruption, I can accomplish much in a short amount of time.”

He murmured something she didn’t quite catch.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Do we take the cat with us or abandon her to the fare available in the alley?”

Elsmore thought of the cat, but he could ignore the most passionate kiss Ellie had known. Soon, she’d be able to hate him, a vast improvement over pining for him.

“I’ll leave a note for Lord Stephen’s cook, and Voltaire will feast on cream and cutlets. When shall we leave?”

“How soon can you be packed?”

“Ten minutes.”

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Belonging to three exclusive clubs was both a pleasure and a necessity for Eddie the Elegant Dorset. His place of business was the bank, which would hardly do as a venue for a man gaining a reputation for brokering discreet financial transactions. Membership in the best clubs was within reach only because Eddie had ducal connections, but he wanted those memberships assured for his sons as well.

For his daughters, vouchers to Almack’s were the sine qua non of gentility, while for his wife…

No need to travel down that path yet. Madam Bisset was far too interesting a companion for the nonce.

Lord Bartleby, by contrast, was as dull as day-old pudding. He was a reliable customer though, never needing too much money for too long, and usually repaying promptly.

“How was your steak?” Eddie asked. “Done to a turn, I do hope?”

“Quite good,” his lordship replied, pouring the last of the port into his glass. “Unlike the present state of my finances.”

“Oh, dear,” Eddie murmured. “Speaking as one who has experienced the occasional run of bad luck, you have my sincere sympathies. Is there anything I might do to help?”

A burst of laughter came from a table across the club’s dining room. The Thomlinson heir was doing homage to his third bottle of claret in little over an hour. He was abetted by two of his cronies, though their drinking was more moderate than his.