Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,56

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 was sure Thorn 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, which did show 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.

“I’m afraid he did,” Gwyn said.

“The word is the same in German as in English,” Mr. Juncker explained.

“And Thorn is nothing if not honest about his needs, even his unsavory ones,” Gwyn added.

Mr. Juncker snorted. “Ah, yes, scrupulously honest. That’s our Thorn.”

Thorn glared at both him and Gwyn. “This is hardly appropriate dinner table conversation.”

“We’re done with dinner,” Gwyn said.

“Then you and Miss Norley should repair to the drawing room so Juncker and I can have our brandy,” Thorn said.

“Not on your life,” Mr. Juncker said. “No one is leaving until I hear the rest of this story. Actually, if anyone is repairing to the drawing room, it should be all of us.” He shot Thorn a taunting look. “I’m enjoying the company of the ladies.” Then Mr. Juncker turned to Gwyn. “Do go on, madam.”

“You must consider the fact that Thorn was only six at the time,” Gwyn said. “And since we were all in the garden, it was easy for him to slip away from our nursemaid when she was dealing with three other children—two of whom were still in swaddling.”

“Three other children? Not four?” Olivia asked.

“Grey had a tutor by then.” Gwyn looked pensive. “Or perhaps that was after he’d returned to England. I can’t remember. I was only six, too, you know.”

“Well, don’t leave us hanging,” Olivia said. “How did the king respond?”

“He laughed heartily, thank heavens,” Gwyn said, “or I daresay Papa would have punished Thorn for it. From then on, our nursemaid was ordered to take us for a long walk during any visit from the royalty of Prussia. Frederick the Great died a couple of years later, I believe. And Thorn cried when he heard of it. The