Page 56 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“Hmm.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Then he bowed to Olivia. “Unlike Juncker, I won’t say good night until it’s morrow. But Iwillwish you a good sleep, ‘perchance to dream.’”
As he walked out, she sighed heavily. She’d rathernotdream tonight. If she did, it would be of him. And she couldn’t let him keep playing with her emotions. On the one hand, he seemed to have softened toward her a great deal. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to have changed his feelings about marrying, and he’d told her very firmly at Gwyn’s ball that he would never propose marriage again. So she should step carefully if she didn’t want to end up walking off a cliff into ruin.
Because this time he clearly had no intention of making even a cursory attempt to rescue her.
Chapter Eleven
They left London at a decent hour the next morning. But although Thorn had hoped to have a pleasant chat with Olivia on the way, she and Gwyn had made that impossible. Endless discussion about Gwyn’s upcoming confinement had lulled him into sleeping much of the way, especially since they’d ignored his attempts to change the subject.
Once they’d arrived at Rosethorn, he’d shown Olivia around the building he’d selected as the best location for her laboratory. But she’d insisted on having a footman—rather than him—help her set everything up.
Over the next three days, she’d also refused to let him enter the place while she was working, and when he’d protested, she’d reminded him of what had happened the last time he’d “invaded the sanctuary of my laboratory.” It was hard to argue with that, especially now that he’d seen how much damage could truly be done if one behaved heedlessly in a chemistry laboratory.
Besides, he had plenty of work to do himself—meeting with tenants, consulting with his estate manager, and, at night, trying to finish his play. He’d also attempted to meet with the constable about his father’s accident, but the man’s wife had said he was in London and wouldn’t return for a few days.
Yet, despite how Thorn filled his time, he still wished for dinners with Olivia. Or cozy meetings with her in his study or the library.
Obviously, after he’d acted like a jealous fool at Gwyn’s, Olivia was determined to make him reap the consequences of his actions. Although honestly, he couldn’t be sure if she was avoiding him or just thoroughly absorbed in her work. Whichever it was, he didn’t like it.
So when he entered the breakfast room on their fourth day at Rosethorn to find no sign of Olivia yet again, he’d had enough.
“Aren’t you up a bit early for you?” he growled at his sister.
Gwyn sipped her coffee and continued to read the newspaper. “Aren’t you up a bit late foryou?”
“I suppose. It took me a while to fall asleep.” But only because he’d been trying to write. He nearly had his play done—it was only that pesky last scene that eluded him.
He filled his plate with toast and bacon, then took a seat opposite her. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen our guest this morning.”
“No,” Gwyn said. “Nor have I been overly concerned about it. Last I checked, Rosethorn is a fairly safe place.”
“That’s what we thought about Carymont, too.”
“But you took care of that here by posting a guard. So you have no reason to worry about her.”
He bit back a curse. He wasn’t worried. He was annoyed about not being able to see her. “Is she planning on eatinganyof her meals with us?”
“Does it matter? She’s not here to be sociable. You made that perfectly clear when you asked me to chaperone.” With a sigh, Gwyn set down her paper. “How did you put it? Ah, yes. ‘Don’t expect her to be tramping about the countryside or going riding or talking about architecture with you. She has a task to complete and must not be disturbed.’ Perhaps you should heed your own advice.”
“I just didn’t think she’d be quite this unsociable. And for this long, either.”
“Three or four days?” Gwyn snorted. “That isn’t so long. And I suspect you didn’t think at all. Honestly, given how you behaved at dinner with Mr. Juncker, I don’t blame her for wanting to keep to herself.”
“He was being an arse,” Thorn grumbled.
“Because he was using his celebrity to flirt with her?”
Thorn had to bite his tongue to keep from telling Gwyn that Juncker had no celebrity. But then he’d also have to tell her the whole story about his writing, and he didn’t want to risk her revealing it to Olivia.
“You’d do the same in Mr. Juncker’s place,” Gwyn added with a sly grin, “and you know it.”
“I suppose I would.”
Apparently that settled the matter in Gwyn’s head, for she returned to reading her newspaper. Sometimes he wondered if Gwyn had already guessed he was writing the Juncker plays. But surely she would tell him if she did.
Thwarted in his attempt to get information from her about Olivia, he picked up a paper Gwyn had already discarded and began to read as he ate. They sat there a long while in companionable silence.
