“You look splendid to me when you’re not wearing anything at all,” Babette said. “Shall I wait for you after Friday’s performance?”

Now came the hard part, the part Stephen hated and was so adept at, but had already put off for too long. “Did I mention I’ll be leaving Town shortly? Hand me my hat, would you?”

Babette passed over a high-crowned beaver. “Leaving when?”

“Possibly by the end of the week. You can catch up on your rest.” He tapped the hat onto his head, then gave it a tilt. Not quite rakish, but a nod toward style.

“How long will you be gone?”

Stephen started for the door, his progress slow. Upon rising, he often overestimated his mobility because his knee hurt less. Pain, by contrast, kept him careful.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. I’m heading north to avoid the Little Season, and the ordeal of making my way to my country dwelling is sufficiently taxing that I dread the return journey. I might not come back to London until next spring.”

That had been his plan before Miss Abbott had arrived, looking haunted and weary.

He made it to the door, then paused, waiting for Babette’s response to his announcement. He preferred a rousing farewell argument, complete with recriminations and curses, and maybe even a stout blow to his cheek. The lady was entitled to make such a display, and the verbal beating assuaged his conscience.

“This is good-bye, then,” Babette said. “I will miss you.”

She was so young and so dignified, Stephen nearly did bolt out the door.

“You will not miss me,” he said. “You will consider yourself well rid of me, but I did buy you a small token of my esteem in the hope that you will recall me fondly.”

He withdrew a folded paper from the pocket of his coat. He’d been carrying this particular paper for several weeks. Preparation was critical to victory in any battle, especially the battle to maintain his reputation for savoir faire.

“What’s this?” Babette said, eyeing the paper.

“It’s not a bank draft,” Stephen said. “If you need blunt, I am happy to pass some along, and if you should find yourself in an interesting condition, you will most assuredly apply to me before you pursue any rash measures, Babette. Promise me that.”

She smoothed a crease on his sleeve. “I’m not in an interesting condition. I take precautions, because the sheaths aren’t reliable.”

“I meant if you ever found yourself in an interesting condition. My solicitors know how to reach me, and you know how to reach them. Your word on this, please.”

She nodded. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re tossing me over?” Such vulnerability lay behind the ire in her gaze.

“Yes,” Stephen said, leaning against the door and mustering a scowl. “Yes, you have done something I cannot countenance. If you must know, I am growing too attached to you, and that will not serve. I have no time for maudlin sentiment or fawning displays, but you threaten my resolve in this regard. I hope you’re pleased with yourself, because German princesses and the most celebrated of the grand horizontales in Paris haven’t accomplished the mischief you’ve caused.”