Page 52 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“That one, yes. Although that wasn’t my favorite part, to be honest, since the chemistry wasn’t correct.”
Thorn bit back a laugh. He’d forgotten about that scene, which Juncker had written. Thorn had wanted to have a real chemist read it to be sure, but Juncker had said there was no time, so they’d fudged it as usual.
Now Juncker was eyeing Olivia askance. “And what would you know aboutchemistry, Miss Norley?”
“Quite a lot, actually,” Thorn put in. “Miss Norley is a chemist. So trust me, she knows the chemistry firsthand.”
“I see,” Juncker said, though it was clear he was still miffed. “If I may be so bold, madam, whatwasyour favorite part?”
“Oh! Well, the part about the farmer going to gather the hen eggs and finding billiard balls in their place.”
Thorn nodded. “And then the fellow thought the hens had laid billiard balls because of an attack of the pox.” It was his favorite scene of all the ones he’d written. “I like that part myself.”
Olivia cocked her head at him. “For a man who at first claimed not to have seen any of the plays, you certainly know a great deal about them.” She set her hands on her hips. “I think Grey is right—youarejealous of Mr. Juncker.”
Thorn snorted. “You said it yourself in the carriage—why would I be jealous of a playwright?”
“Ah, but I believe Miss Norley has hit upon the truth,” Juncker said, with a grin as wide as his stupidly big head. “You’re utterly jealous of my success. Aren’t you, Thorn?”
Thorn glowered at him. “Didn’t you tell me you had somewhere to be, Juncker? At the theater perhaps?”
“No, no, I don’t think so,” Juncker said gleefully. “I would much rather chat with Miss Norley for a while aboutmyplays.”
At the moment, Thorn would much rather shove a manuscript down Juncker’s gullet. But that would probably just reinforce Olivia’s ridiculous idea that Thorn was jealous of Juncker’s success.
“Actually,” Gwyn put in, her eyes suspiciously gleaming, “I thought we might invite Mr. Juncker to stay for dinner. You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you, Olivia?”
“Very much so,” Olivia said, and beamed at Juncker.
She’d never beamed at Thorn like that, except for when he’d told her they’d preserved extra samples in Grey’s icehouse. What would it take to have her beaming at him because she was excited about being with him? What would he have to do to gainthat?
He grimaced. Now he was being absurd. Go to extremes just to get a woman to smile at him? Never. He’d seen his brothers and his brother-in-law do it, and that was all well and good for them. Personally, he was cynical about how long their cream-pot love would last, though he supposed they might get a few good years out of it.
But he knew instinctively that gaining such devotion from a woman required exposing one’s many foibles and flaws. The very idea made him shudder. Bad enough that Juncker knew exactly how to use his flaws against him. Thorn didn’t have to live with Juncker, thank God.
“That settles it,” Gwyn said, jerking Thorn from his depressing thoughts. “And you’ll join us for dinner, too, right, Thorn?”
Damn, he should have paid better attention. They’d set up the entire evening without consulting him.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Thorn said. “But I’m a bit worried about Miss Norley.” He stared hard at Olivia. “Are you sure you’re not too tired for dinner? We do have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”
Either she was enjoying tormenting him or she seriously didn’t care what he said on the matter, because she shook her head. “I’m not tired at all. I could use a relaxing dinner with a lively discussion among friends.”
Friends. Wonderful. Thorn had already been relegated to the category of “friend.” He’d rather hoped for a chance at a kiss and a caress or two this evening, if they could break away from Gwyn. Clearly, that would not happen.
It was just as well. Because if he didn’t watch it, he would end up traveling down the road to ruining her, which was unacceptable.
Olivia hadn’t laughed so hard since the last time she’d attended a production of Mr. Juncker’s plays. It made sense, since the man would need quite the sense of humor to write such funny characters and situations. But oddly enough, it was Mr. Juncker and Gwyn together who kept her amused throughout dinner, while Thorn vacillated between scowling at her and scowling at Mr. Juncker.
Now she wassureThorn was jealous. But she was growing less sure it was Mr. Juncker’s success in writing that made Thorn jealous. Because every time Mr. Juncker’s gaze fell on her silk bodice, whichdidshow more of her bosom than her other dinner gowns, Thorn made a sort of growling noise deep in his throat that only she seemed to hear. It was rather intriguing.
They’d finished dessert when Gwyn started a funny story about a visit the king of Prussia had paid to the residence of her stepfather, the ambassador, which His Majesty had apparently done from time to time.
Gwyn leaned forward in her chair. “Then the king asked Thorn, as my brother was dashing through the parlor, ‘Where are you running to in such a hurry, young man?’ And after performing a perfect bow, Thorn answered the king in German, with all the formality of a diplomat’s stepson, ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I must find an acceptable place wherein to deposit my excrement.’ He was serious, too.”
Thorn groaned.
“He didn’t really say that word, though, did he?” Olivia asked, torn between laughter and shock.
