The sheer circumference of a crinoline kept its wearer separate and apart, protected from all but the most determined encroachments. Not only that. She took up space for herself—demanded space—on the pavement, in a crowded conveyance, and in every sphere through which she traveled. The greater world must step aside and let her pass. They dare not stop her.

The clerk bowed and withdrew, shutting the door after him.

Nell took the opportunity to cast an eye over the room. Know your surroundings. Know your opponent. Know yourself. They were the three most important rules she had learned at the Academy. Rules meant to keep young ladies safe. To ensure they were prepared for anything, never overmatched or left unable to defend themselves.

It was the first rule that occupied her now. Unlike men, women didn’t have the luxury of entering a situation blindly. A female must know the four corners of where she stood—the entrances, the exits, the problematic terrain. She must, at all times, think both defensively and offensively.

Fortunately, Mr. Quincey wasn’t a complete unknown. Nell’s recently married Academy sister, Effie Royce, had a passing acquaintance with him and his premises. Among other things, she had warned Nell to anticipate cats.

There appeared to be none in residence today. The room was seemingly empty. Although…Was that a faint rustle of movement beneath the sofa?

The door jerked open before she could investigate the matter. A deep male voice sounded behind her. “Miss Trewlove?”

Nell’s head turned sharply. Never mind that she’d been expecting him, the sight of the tall, raven-haired newspaper editor still served to send a jolt through her. She stared up at him from behind her veil. “Mr. Quincey?”

He was in his shirtsleeves, his cravat askew and his black waistcoat rumpled. It did nothing to lessen his air of command. Self-assurance radiated from every inch of him. “Apologies for the delay. One of my reporters has gone missing and my staff is up in arms.” He entered, closing the door behind him. “I trust you don’t mind my not leaving it open? I’ve no wish to let the cat out.”

“The cat?” She flicked another glance to the sofa as she moved to rise. “I didn’t see any—”

“Pray don’t get up. We’re not much for formalities here. We’ve precious little time for them.” Rather than bow, he reached to shake her hand. “I am, however, very pleased to meet you.”

Nell’s mouth went dry as his fingers engulfed hers. His hand was easily twice the size of her own, surely better suited to holding a broadsword than a pen. His shoulders were quite broad, too, lending an unmistakable power to the leanness of his long-limbed frame.

Alarm bells jangled in her head, inspired as much by his physical presence as by the peculiar intensity that gleamed at the back of his dark brown eyes.