Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,35

they don’t even know what lust is.”

He snorted. “They’re men, aren’t they? Trust me, they know. Your uncle is probably just trying to protect you. Especially if visits from his friends involve substantial amounts of ale, wine, and spirits, which visits of that kind generally do.”

“For your friends perhaps. Not his.”

But the observation gave her something to consider. She’d assumed that although her uncle was proud of her among certain circles, he was still too ashamed of her being a female chemist to introduce her to his lofty Oxonian friends. That it might be something more like Thorn described soothed her hurt pride.

They’d reached the dairy now. It wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. In keeping with the only other one she’d ever seen, she’d expected a tiny building. That’s why she’d asked the duke about the shelves and tables.

But the pretty brick building would provide her with all the room she could want. And when she walked in, she was pleased to see that there were not only plenty of shelves, but a nice amount of floor space for the tables she required.

Grey had explained that his father had built a new dairy of a better design, so this one was no longer used. But it still had sufficient windows to give her light during the day and a fireplace to drive away the cold. She might need that fireplace, but she’d have to be cautious with it. No telling what residue of coal and wood ash might be lingering in the chimney. It wouldn’t do to have a dangerous chemical reaction happen because of negligence.

In the meantime, she would place her main worktable near it so that if she did have chemicals catch fire, she could at least sweep them into the hearth where the fumes could rise and be dissipated in the air.

Thorn might not realize it but his constant challenges of her ability to do these tests had begun to make her uneasy. What if she couldn’t manage this? What if she discovered nothing?

She couldn’t think about that now. Grey was counting on her. So she would ignore the effect Thorn had on her and get to work.

“Turn the box around so I can see how it’s marked,” said Olivia, Thorn’s pesky taskmaster.

“Perhaps you should have put the markings on all sides,” Thorn grumbled as he shifted the box. The very heavy box. Damn, how much did laboratory equipment weigh, anyway?

“Perhaps you should have left the work to a footman as I originally suggested. The one who brought our tea would have been happy to help.”

She had a point. Thorn hated that. “Think of it this way—how often will you get to order a duke about? Besides, I wouldn’t dream of missing the chance to see a woman of science at work.”

“I would consider ‘woman of science’ a compliment if I didn’t know you were being sarcastic.” She gestured to a table. “Put the box over there.”

Of course she would pick the farthest table from them. He was getting enough exercise to fill a session or two of practice fisticuffs at Gentleman Jackson’s. Olivia had already taken half an hour deciding which table should hold which part of her laboratory, a process that had involved him moving boxes more than once. Then she’d required another half an hour to sort the boxes either to tables or underneath the shelving to be put up later.

He paused to pull out his handkerchief and mop his forehead. He’d removed his hat long ago, and she her bonnet. He tried not to notice how fetching she looked without it, tried not to imagine how much hair made up that fat chignon and how desperately he wanted to see that hair tumbling down about her waist.

He glanced around and realized that all the boxes had been sorted. “That was the last one.” Thank God. “So what’s next?”

Tucking one of her golden curls behind her ear, she broke into a smile. “The best part. Unpacking.”

“That’s the best part?”

“For me it is. The contents of the boxes should mostly be where they belong, but some items will still have to be moved around.”

“I take it that I’m going to be the one moving them around.”

“It depends on what they are. I’m perfectly capable of moving a jar to another table or onto a shelf. But we can stop for another cup of tea, if you’d like a rest.”

At her minxish smile, he gritted his teeth. The woman knew just how to prick his