holiday.”
“He doesn’t believe in muses. He believes in cold, hard cash, as you well know. And he gets damned disagreeable when I can’t produce the work for him because you’re off doing as you please.” Juncker stalked up to pin Thorn with an accusing look. “He’s not the only one. If you aren’t careful, I’ll write the damn plays myself, and to hell with you.”
Thorn laughed. “All the characters will speak in iambic pentameter, I suppose.” When Juncker didn’t rise to the bait, Thorn added, “If it’s money you’re worried about, I can advance you some until Vickerman pays for the play.”
Juncker snorted. “It’s not money. Not yet, anyway. I just . . . It’s been a while since we had a play in the theater. People seem to be losing interest.”
“If they are, c’est la vie. All good things must come to an end eventually.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about the money. I’m the one who’ll be out in the cold.”
Seeing his friend’s doleful look, he rose to place a hand on his shoulder. “You know I was merely joking about the iambic pentameter, don’t you?”
Juncker’s terse nod struck Thorn to the heart.
Thorn sighed. “You’re a fine poet. And a fine writer in general. What happened to that novel you were working on? What I read of it was damned good, and now that you’re famous in London circles, you would probably have no trouble getting published.”
“If I finished it.” His friend pulled away. “Unlike yours, my muse went on holiday, fell off the ship, and drowned. I haven’t gone beyond chapter five.” Juncker tapped his head. “I’m dry as dust up here, cobwebs everywhere.”
“I know the feeling well,” Thorn said. “Just keep writing. It will come.”
“Sounds like you need to take your own advice,” Juncker muttered. “You’ve been working on that ending for months now.”
“True.” He’d been in the doldrums. Until tonight, that is. Something about sparring with Olivia had roused more than just his desire. It made him itch to have a pen in hand, if only to skewer a character or two with his barbs. “I tell you what. How about I walk you out, and you can visit that tavern? It will cheer you up. Perhaps it will even sweep out those cobwebs.”
“Perhaps,” Juncker said. “You’re not joining me, I suppose.”
“Not tonight.”
Thorn had a few hours yet before he must show up at Grey’s. And he meant to spend them productively. He might actually finish the play while he was traveling, after all.
Chapter Four
It had taken Olivia half the night, but she’d finally managed to get her panic under control in time for their departure the next morning. So what if His Grace, the dratted Duke of Thornstock, was riding with them? It sounded as if the coach trip was the only time she’d have to endure his . . . his pompous smiles and knowing smirks.
And his flirting. His clever, annoying flirting that made her stomach flip over, and her blood heat. The man should bottle that charm of his and sell it. She would buy a bottle just to analyze the ingredients.
But apparently she wouldn’t have to worry about him today. The moment he entered the carriage and settled into the seat next to his brother, he laid his head back against the squabs and promptly fell asleep.
Olivia tried not to watch him obsessively, but that was difficult. She’d never seen a man who looked more blissful—or attractive—in repose.
Particularly the differing parts of his facial hair. Unlike her father, who always looked overgroomed, and her uncle, who always looked undergroomed, Thorn looked perfect. His side whiskers weren’t bushy, his eyebrows were clipped but not overly so, and his hair lacked pomade. She hated pomade—it just seemed . . . greasy.
And heavens, but he had long lashes, like little, dark brown half-moons against his lightly tanned skin. Clearly he spent time outdoors, although not as much as his elder brother, who had more deeply tanned skin. She would have to ask Beatrice about it later.
Would that be rude? She wasn’t sure. She could never keep the rules of society straight. Especially the ones that didn’t make sense.
When after a short while, Thorn started to snore, Greycourt chuckled. “It never ceases to amaze me how Thorn can sleep anywhere at any time. I once saw him dozing in the midst of a heated debate in the House of Lords. The rest of us were riveted; Thorn would have fallen