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 was him!
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 I were to choose one, it would probably be The 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.”
“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 about chemistry, 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, what was your 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—you are jealous 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 about my plays.”
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 gain that?
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