Page 51 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“Keep your voice down.” Thorn walked over to sit across from Juncker. “Gwyn doesn’t know about my writing, and neither does her guest.”
“I could remedy that if you like,” Juncker drawled.
Thorn scowled. “And I could cut off all your funds. Just try me. See how you like not being able to use credit at half the taverns in town.”
“Fine.” Juncker straightened on the settee. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Did you finish the damned play?”
“I have the final scene mapped out in my head,” Thorn said truthfully. “But I haven’t had a chance to write it.”
“Your sister said you and she and your mysterious guest are off to Berkshire tomorrow. Is there any possibility you can write it there?”
“Perhaps,” Thorn said. “Give me a few days, and I swear I’ll try to have it to you. But after this one, we need to start a new sort of play with new characters. And that’s all I’ll say about that for now.” He rose. “I do have one favor to ask of you before you leave.”
Juncker eyed him suspiciously. “What sort of favor?”
“Our mysterious guest is an admirer of the plays. She’s seen every one performed, and probably more than once, given her extensive knowledge of them. She wants to meet the author.”
“You mean me.” Juncker laughed. “That must really gall you.”
“If it does, it’s only because she’s a fetching young woman whom I don’t want to see you take advantage of.”
“You thinkIwill take advantage of her more thanyouwould? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. You must be getting prudish in your old age.”
“I’m a year younger than you,” Thorn said dryly.
“Still prudish. A fetching young woman, eh? She’s not a friend of Vanessa’s, is she?”
“Grey’s cousin Vanessa? As far as I know, they’ve never met. Why?”
“Just making sure.” With a broad smile, Juncker stood and smoothed his trousers. “Vanessa will be the death of me. The chit’s got some fool notion that if I marry her, she’ll be able to manage my writing life the way she manages her mother’s household. And God forgive me, but even though she’s rich as Croesus and a pretty little thing, I am not ready to be managed by her.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Thorn said, “Grey would probably break you in half if he thought you were courting his beloved cousin. She’s like a sister to him. So if I were you, I’d keep my hands off her.”
“Ah, but you’re not me, are you?” Juncker said with a wink. “That’s the trouble, old chap. So bring on this other damsel. I’ll decide if she’s fetching or not.”
God help him. If Thorn wasn’t careful, this could end very badly. But the look of awe and anticipation on Olivia’s face when she’d heard that her idol was here . . . He had to do this, even if it meant risking her figuring out who’d really written the plays.
Hecouldjust tell her the truth. Ask her to keep it quiet.
Right. As soon as he did she’d realize that Lady Slyboots was meant to be her, and it would wound her so deeply he’d probably never get near her again. Hell, she might not even do those tests for Grey if she knew. She’d certainly not go with him to his estate.
So it was best to continue as he had until now. He opened the door to let both women in.
Gwyn wasn’t swayed by Juncker’s supposed fame at all, but Olivia stared at the chap with the smitten expression women often wore with Thorn. He didn’t like it one bit. Which was ridiculous, considering that the writer she was smitten by washim!
Not that Juncker cared about that fine distinction. No sooner had Thorn performed the introductions than Juncker began flirting, damn his hide.
“I am so very pleased to meet you, Miss Norley,” Juncker said as he took Olivia’s hand. “Thorn tells me you’re quite the admirer of my plays.” He kissed her hand Continental style.
When Olivia, who rarely blushed, did so furiously now, Thorn wanted to throttle his friend. Especially when Juncker shot him a taunting smile.
“I’ve seen them all, sir, and found them to be most entertaining,” Olivia said in a breathy flurry of words.
“And which is your favorite?” Juncker asked.
“Oh, don’t make me choose!” she cried. “I like them all equally. Although if Iwereto choose one, it would probably beThe Wild Adventures of a Foreign Gentleman Loose in London.”
“Ah,” Juncker said. “The one where they steal fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day, only to have them all go off in an inn yard in the middle of the night because someone threw a smoldering rush light into the wagon.”
