Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,24

off the bench if I hadn’t poked him awake.”

Without even opening his eyes, Thorn muttered, “That’s a despicable lie. I have never in my life fallen off a bench, poking or no poking.”

Beatrice and Olivia burst into laughter.

“Go back to sleep,” Beatrice said soothingly. “We promise to be quiet.”

“I promise no such thing,” Grey said. “It’s not my fault he decided to come along at the last minute. He probably spent last night in the stews.”

Thorn opened one eye. “I spent last night settling some financial affairs, I’ll have you know. And if you hadn’t insisted on leaving at dawn, I’d be far more chipper.” He opened the other eye, straightened on the seat, and finger-combed his hair, which now miraculously looked as if he’d just left his barber.

His clothing wasn’t even rumpled! His white cravat was still crisply tied, his blue morning coat lay properly, and his tight pantaloons accentuated his muscular thighs. No doubt whoever coined the term “sartorial splendor” had done so after meeting the Duke of Thornstock.

“And if you lot are planning to talk about me while I doze,” Thorn went on, “I believe I’ll stay awake.” He flashed her a most devastating smile. “I can’t have you telling Miss Norley lies about me.”

She fought the silly burst of pleasure that his smile gave her. She knew better than to trust that talent of his. “I already know about your reputation, Your Grace. So it’s not as if they could tell me anything that would surprise me.”

Greycourt slapped his brother’s knee. “Clearly, you’ve met your match in Miss Norley, old chap. She doesn’t fall for your sly attentions and droll wit.”

How she wished that were true. Thorn’s smile had faded, but his eyes still danced as he stared at her, and she desperately wished he would go back to sleep.

No such luck. He had fixed on her now, and like an entomologist with a beetle, he was determined to pin her to his board.

“I’m curious about these experiments of yours, Miss Norley,” he said in a too-casual voice that put her on her guard. “What makes you think you can succeed in finding arsenic in the remains of Grey’s father when other chemists think it impossible?”

“From what the duke has told me about his dealings with other chemists, they aren’t even willing to try.”

“Not even this Valentin Rose fellow?” Thorn asked.

Surprised that he knew of Rose, she said, “Alas, Mr. Rose is dead.”

“Ah,” Thorn said.

“There have been others who developed tests for arsenic. In preparation for your brother’s task, I studied and tested all the known ones by chemists Scheele, Metzger, Rose, and Hahnemann. Sadly, all but Hahnemann are dead, and Hahnemann lives in Saxony, so bringing him here would not be feasible.”

Thorn looked surprised that she even knew of the men who had tried the task. It irritated her.

“Each of their tests have flaws,” she went on. “I have, through stringent experimentation, found a better one that uses the best of their methods. Mine would be useful in the courts. That’s why your brother has engaged me for this task—because my uncle and Mrs. Fulhame felt that my test could be successful in this instance.”

Thorn was looking at her as if she’d sprouted wings.

“What?” she said. “Do you have an opinion of your own about the proper method? I welcome any suggestions, if they will better my results.”

“Er . . . no suggestions. I wouldn’t even know where to begin, honestly.” He stretched out one leg, brushing her skirt.

She swallowed hard, though she doubted that Thorn had done it intentionally. She was just reacting to his general nearness. She’d never shared a carriage with two such handsome gentlemen, and certainly not with a man who’d kissed her more than once.

As usual, her nervousness brought out her tendency to babble. “My method isn’t that complicated. Once the exhumation is complete, I mean to see what is left of the previous Duke of Greycourt’s remains to test. His Grace tells me his father was embalmed, and if so, that may be a problem because arsenic is sometimes used for embalming. But assuming I can find relevant samples that aren’t contaminated, I will first subject them to nitric acid and then combine that with zinc. The formula for that would be As2O3+6 Zn—”

“I beg you, Miss Norley, no formulas!” Greycourt said. “They’re meaningless to me and my brother, I assure you. And if Thorn tells you otherwise, he’s lying.”

“Grey is absolutely right,” Thorn said. “I only like chemistry