Nancy frowned. “I did, for a time. Until you stopped pretending to enjoy yourself.”
Oscar ignored the barb. “It was a remarkable display.”
“I’m sure it was,” Nancy said, voice sharper than she meant. “You know how I loathe to disappoint.”
He did not sit. He paced the carpet, each step measured. “You were very—lively—with Eastmere.”
“Ah,” said Nancy, realization landing with a dull shock. “So that is what this is about.”
He stopped. “You were aware of the eyes on you.”
“It was a dance, Oscar. Not a duel. Do you mean to tell me you have never smiled at a partner?”
Oscar’s gaze darkened. “You know it is not the same. You know what people will say.”
“Oh, I see. Now you care what people say?” She could hear her own voice rising, but did not stop. “You—Scarfield, the man who treats society’s rules as if they’re the world’s most tedious joke?”
“Rules exist for a reason, Nancy. You flaunt them?—”
“Because they’re absurd!”
Oscar’s lips went white at the edges. “You do not understand what it is to be?—”
“Try me,” she snapped. “Try me, Oscar. I have spent my whole life being told what I am allowed to say, and do, and think. The only reason I can endure it is that I refuse to let those rules become my bones. And now you would have me submit to them, for your comfort?”
He ignored that, or pretended to. “You were too familiar with Eastmere. People will talk.”
Nancy laughed—a single, sharp note. “You do not care about gossip. You care that I was happy. That I looked as if I belonged in my own skin for once.”
Oscar’s jaw worked, but he said nothing.
Nancy stepped closer. “Is that what troubles you, Duke? That I might find joy in something other than your approval?”
He did not look at her. “You are being childish.”
“Am I?” She pressed on, unable to stop herself. “You want control over every variable in your life, Oscar. Even me. Especially me. You want me quiet and clever, and a credit to your household, but you will not stand to see me content. Because you cannot even begin to imagine what that looks like.”
“It is not a desire for control?—”
“It is exactly that.”
He finally met her eyes. The force of it nearly buckled her knees. “I am trying to protect you.”
“From what? The thrill of being admired? The danger of feeling something?”
“From Eastmere, and men like him. They do not always announce their intentions.”
“And neither do women,” she snapped. “If you fear for my virtue, let me remind you that it is already in shreds, courtesy of our arrangement.”
He stiffened at that, but did not rise to the bait. “This marriage was meant to provide you freedom, not?—”
Nancy stepped forward, voice trembling now. “It gives me a cage, Oscar. A gilded one, yes, but a cage all the same. You make a show of liberality, but in truth, you cannot bear to see me act outside your control. You want me here—” she pressed her palm to her own chest, as if she could force the words through bone—“but you do not want me, not really.”
He was silent.
She tried again, voice softer. “Do you?”
The question hung, too fragile to be touched.
