This was the gentleman who had penned the explosive series of articles that had lately brought down a powerful politician. A dogged and indefatigable reporter, possessed of an unassailable firmness of character, unafraid of retaliation or threats.

For the first time, Nell considered the possibility that she might be out of her depth.

“As to the cat,” Mr. Quincey continued, releasing her hand, “she’s barely civilized. She’ll be hiding here somewhere.” He crossed to his desk, taking a seat behind it in the large leather chair. “Did Higgins offer you tea? I can have some brought in for you.”

“I thank you, no,” Nell said. She made an effort to regain her composure. To be sure, she was rather astonished she’d lost it—even if it was only for the space of a heartbeat.

She wasn’t accustomed to dealing with men, that was the trouble. She’d spent the majority of her life at the Academy, first as an orphan, then as a teacher. Nearly the whole of her three-and-twenty years, surrounded by girls and women. The only gentlemen to ever set foot through the gates were the antiquated members of the Parish Council, and then but rarely. Miss Corvus saw to that.

Nell couldn’t recall when she’d last been obliged to deal with any gentleman under the age of fifty. Unless one counted the stripling lads from the village who sometimes attempted communication with the orphan girls. And Mr. Quincey was no stripling. He must be thirty, at least.

He regarded her from across his desk’s cluttered surface. He wasn’t a handsome man. Not in the classical manner. His face was too angular and severe—his brows too stern, his clean-shaven jaw too hard, and his bold aquiline nose a fraction too large. But his features hung together in such a striking way that one could easily forget their asymmetry.

“Your journey wasn’t too taxing?” he asked.

“Not terribly,” she said.

“Yet still a lengthy business. I’d have preferred coming to you. It would have saved you the trouble.”

“I have multiple reasons for coming to London,” Nell said. “My trip will not have been wasted.”

She was to visit Effie when she and her husband returned to town in two days’ time. Until they did, Nell had other Academy business to attend to. Important business. It was that which should rightly be occupying her thoughts, not the solemn countenance and unusually broad shoulders of a prying newspaperman she would likely never see again after this morning.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he said. “I won’t keep you overlong. There are just a few matters about the charity school that I’d hoped you might clarify.” Small talk dispensed with, he picked up his pen, giving every indication that he intended to take notes of their conversation.

Nell would have expected nothing less. “By all means,” she said. “Miss Corvus’s Academy has nothing to hide.”