“Your Grace.” She dropped into a curtsey that might have been a shade more ironic than proper. “How kind of you to be so… prompt.”
His mouth quirked. “I was taught that keeping one’s hosts waiting is the height of rudeness. Though I understand thatparticular lesson has rather fallen out of fashion among my peers.”
“Along with common courtesy and basic decency, from what I’ve observed.”
“Marianne.” Her mother’s warning tone carried from behind her.
Adrian’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Mrs Whitcombe. Thank you for the invitation. I have brought a small token—something from my own cellar.”
Her mother accepted the bottle, her merchant’s eye immediately cataloguing its worth. Her eyebrows rose slightly. “A Sauternes from the nineties? Your Grace, this is... extremely generous.”
“It’s a fitting choice,” he said quietly, his gaze still on Marianne. “Some evenings merit the best one has to offer.”
Before anyone could respond to that loaded statement, her father’s voice boomed from the dining room doorway. “Your Grace! Come to brave the merchant’s table, have you?”
Edmund Whitcombe stood with his hands on his hips, studying Adrian with the same assessing look he used when considering a profitable but dangerous investment. The two men faced one another across the entrance hall, and Marianne held her breath.
Adrian inclined his head slightly. “Mr Whitcombe. Good of you to have me.”
“Good of you to come,” her father returned. “Though I admit, I’m curious as to why you accepted.”
“Edmund!” her mother gasped.
“It’s a fair question,” Adrian said evenly. “I suspect you’re a man who values directness.”
“I’m a man who built his fortune on reading intentions. And yours, Your Grace, are decidedly obscure.”
The tension stretched taut as a wire. Then Adrian smiled—not his usual sardonic curl, but something more genuine, and therefore more dangerous.
“Then we have that in common, Mr Whitcombe. Your daughter is rather… unexpected.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed, then he barked out a laugh. “That she is. Come then, let’s eat before Cook takes to her bed with nerves. She’s been fretting over this meal since dawn.”
The dining room had never felt smaller. Adrian’s presence seemed to fill it, making their carefully laid table suddenly intimate despite its formality. He pulled out Marianne’s chair before the footman could, his fingers brushing her shoulder as she sat. The contact lasted no more than a second, yet it sent electricity racing down her spine.
“Wine, Your Grace?” her father asked, already pouring without waiting for assent. He had chosen one of their better bottles—though nothing approaching the Sauternes the Dukehad brought, which had been whisked away for some future, more momentous occasion.
“Thank you.” Adrian accepted the glass, his gaze sweeping the room with idle interest. “You have a fine home.”
“We have an expensive home,” her father corrected. “Cost a small fortune to buy from Lord Ashfield when his gambling debts came due. Still finding empty brandy bottles in the oddest places.”
“Edmund, really,” her mother murmured.
“What? It’s the truth.” He took his seat at the head of the table, fixing Adrian with that penetrating stare. “I assume you made your inquiries before accepting our invitation.”
“Of course.”
“And?”
Adrian sipped his wine, considering. “You began as a clerk in a shipping office. Within ten years, you owned the company. Within twenty, you controlled half the merchant fleet operating out of London. You’re known for fair dealing, but ruthless negotiation. You’ve never defaulted on a contract, never betrayed a partner—but you’ve destroyed men who crossed you.”
Her father smiled, showing teeth. “And what does that tell you?”
“That your daughter comes by her steel honestly.”
The compliment hung in the air like a challenge. Marianne felt the heat climb her cheeks but kept her expression composed as the first course arrived—a delicate soup Cook had practised three times to perfect.
“And what of your family, Your Grace?” her mother asked, clearly attempting to steer the conversation toward safer waters. “I understand you have a younger sister?”
