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her days in endless research. The thought was unaccountably lovely to him. Not exactly reading for delicate sensibilities, all of this—he saw books on Hermeticism to his right—but he was learning that he couldn’t take anything about this woman at face value. It was refreshing for such a mystery to be presented to him. He wanted to unravel her in numerous ways.
    Earlier, while his mother looked at dress patterns and lace, Elias had mulled over whether or not to return to the Sleeping Dove in the evening. Thackeray had sent word that there would be a special show they would not want to miss, so he knew where he would be, come nine o’clock. It was a fine respite from days mired in the property, but as a practical man, Elias knew that what was happening between he and Blue was a dodgy thing. He could not seem to stop himself frombaiting her, to see the color rise in her cheeks. Their fingers together on the piano against the black and white keys led his thoughts to moving those digits elsewhere and the interesting positions one could achieve on the bench in his personal chambers…
    He gave his head a violent shake. When he was young, he was often chastised for letting his imagination run away from him and now that he was older, he could see the curse of it. Images of the bluestocking consumed his brain, too vivid, from the compromising to the mundane—reading together by candlelight, snuffing those same candles to retire to bed for more physical pleasures.
    “Lennox!”
    His mother’s voice from behind the door snapped him back to reality.
    “I have finished my shopping, so do stop browsing,” she called. “I have a milliner’s appointment at the top of the hour.”
    “Damnation,” he muttered, looking down at himself with slight discomfiture. He grabbed an ugly yellow book large enough to shield his fervor for the few moments it would take to get himself under control. He felt like a silly adolescent boy.
    The duchess was waiting impatiently outside.
    “You were not in such a rush just moments ago, Mother.”
    “This place is so very dusty,” she sneered, her skirts swooshing as she made her way back to the large front room.
    Blue was nowhere to be found. Likely she had fled to an inner sanctum or left the premises. He was grateful for that, being that his ardor had just cooled and he doubted he could keep it that way if he saw her again. They paid for their books by way of the friendly sales girl, who was also the legendary Crimson. He gave her a secret smile, but she was chirpy and nervous. Elias let his mother exit before turning briefly backward.
    “If you would, miss, may I have the name of your employer? I would like to send along a note of thanks for all of her help.”
    The girl giggled.
    “I thought you knew, Your Grace. You bought her book.”
    Elias looked down at the title in his hand:
On Society’s Ills and the Real Price of Prostitution
, by Josephine Grant.

    “He did what?” Josephine demanded.
    “He bought your book, lovey. But I don’t think he even knew you were the author until I told him.” Sally appeared nonplussed by Josephine’s rage. “I really don’t understand the problem. You wanted more people to read it, you put it with the more serious books. So, if a duke reads it and agrees, perhaps he will tell others.”
    Josephine sank into a reading chair, finding no comfort in the cushions that were designed precisely for that purpose.
    “Oh, Sal. That man is exactly the irredeemable rake I wrote the book about. Bored, stuck in an arranged marriage, a patron of houses of ill repute. You saw him at the Dove last night.”
    “Flirting outrageously with the piano player!” Sally clutched her hands together at her chest, theatrical as always. She had aspirations of Drury Lane, that one. “Oh, dear! I’ve told a handsome and fabulously rich duke who is interested in your charms who you are. Heaven save us!”
    “He recognized me.” Josephine slammed a fist on the arm of the