Oscar replied, “I find that silence is the most effective approach.”
Adrian leaned back, surveying Nancy. “He’s always been thus. When we were boys, Scarfield once went an entire term at Eton without speaking to another soul.”
“Impressive,” Nancy said. “Were you mute by choice, or simply unwilling to degrade yourself?”
Oscar’s eyes glinted. “I considered my peers beneath comment.”
Adrian nodded, raising his glass. “And he was right, of course. We were scoundrels.” He turned to Nancy. “What was your childhood like, Duchess? Were you always so formidable?”
“I was a terror,” Nancy replied, with practiced ease. “My mother once threatened to send me to a convent. I told her I’d convert every nun to atheism within a week.”
Adrian snorted sherry up his nose. “You see, Scarfield? This is the woman you need. Someone to keep you sharp.”
Oscar said, “She is sharper than you, at any rate.”
Nancy smiled at Adrian, then at Oscar. “Perhaps we should compare.”
Adrian, undaunted, pressed on. “Tell me, Nancy. Have you uncovered any of Scarfield’s secrets yet? They are legion, you know.”
Nancy cocked her head. “I have only begun to plumb the depths. What would you suggest I look for first?”
Adrian grinned. “His secret vices. He pretends to be a paragon, but I assure you, the real man is far more interesting than the one who stalks the halls in that coat.”
Oscar said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw shifted.
Nancy asked, “Care to reveal one?”
“Oh, I could, but then he’d never invite me back.” Adrian winked. “There are stories from Cambridge that would set your hair on end.”
Oscar shot him a look that could curdle milk. “If you repeat a single one, I will see you excommunicated from White’s.”
Adrian spread his hands. “You see? Such tyranny. Nancy, if you ever need a refuge, come find me in Mayfair. I will provide sanctuary.”
Oscar cut in, “You will do nothing of the sort.”
Nancy leaned forward, chin on hand. “What would I find if I took up sanctuary in your house, Adrian?”
“Debauchery, mostly. And a great deal of questionable company.” Adrian’s smile was a dare. “You’d enjoy yourself.”
Oscar’s eyes narrowed. “She is perfectly content here.”
Nancy said, “I have yet to see your house, Adrian. Perhaps I will judge for myself.”
Adrian whooped. “A woman of principle! I adore you, truly.”
Oscar picked up his fork with the finality of a judge about to deliver a sentence. “Enough,” he said. “Let us eat in peace for five minutes.”
Adrian grinned at Nancy. “He always says that. Never works.”
Nancy found herself enjoying the sparring more than she would have expected. The food was, as promised, excellent; the wine flowed; and Adrian’s running commentary kept the mood lively.
She nearly forgot, for a moment, that she was the new Duchess, or that there had ever been an awkward moment between her and Oscar. The air was light, the room full of laughter, and for the first time since her arrival at Scarfield Manor, Nancy felt like she belonged.
It was only when the meal drew to a close, and the footman arrived with the final course, that she caught Oscar watching her. Not in the way of a man cataloging faults, but in the way of a man memorizing the exact arrangement of light and shadow on her face.
She ignored him, but the knowledge of it made her chest feel dangerously full.
Adrian, never one to let a silence pass unmolested, said, “You must tell me, Nancy—what was it like, marrying the coldest man in England?”
