Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,29

was Grey’s mistress like, anyway? He won’t give me any details, although I know he had at least one.”

Grey laid his head back against the squabs to look heavenward. “God help me.”

Eyes widening, Olivia glanced first to Grey, then to Thorn. “You really had mistresses? Both of you?”

It was Thorn’s turn to be uncomfortable, although he couldn’t imagine why. “I did,” he said belligerently. “Half of my peers did, too. I was young and new to London and . . .” Trying to prove something to himself after a certain young lady had inexplicably turned down his offer of marriage.

“And what?” Olivia prodded, with the same curiosity she showed for arsenic tests.

“I was sowing my wild oats like any other buck of the first head.” He hated that he sounded defensive. “It was a long time ago.” His voice hardened. “And this is a highly inappropriate conversation.”

Beatrice snorted. “You’ve never balked at inappropriate conversations before, Thorn.”

“Very well,” he said coldly. “If you truly want to hear all about our mistresses—”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Grey said with a groan.

“Feeling all those little chickens coming home to roost, are you, my love?” Beatrice said lightly.

“You find this amusing, I suppose,” Grey muttered.

“Vastly so,” Beatrice said with a teasing smile.

Thorn laughed. “That’s what you get, Grey, for inventing a stupid game in an attempt to make me look bad.” And to unwittingly expose his secret.

Although no one seemed to have put that together. Perhaps because Juncker had been with them. Or perhaps because of Grey’s ridiculous claim that Thorn was jealous. Thorn was allowing that to stand. It was as good a way as any to protect his secret self.

“Fine, I concede defeat,” Grey said, a red flush creeping up his neck. “I give my points to Miss Norley. That makes her the official winner.”

“I won!” Olivia said, seemingly oblivious to the under-currents between Thorn and Grey. “Do I get a prize?”

“Do you need a prize?” Thorn countered.

She cocked her head. “There’s hardly any point to winning if one doesn’t get a prize.”

“I can think of a number of prizes I can give you, Miss Norley,” Thorn said in a low, husky voice, hoping to rouse a blush again, “though I don’t think your parents would approve.”

“Thorn,” Grey warned. “Watch where you’re treading.”

Thorn stifled a curse. “Here.” He handed her the newspaper he’d brought along to read. “Will this do for a prize?”

Olivia shot him a blazing smile. “Oh, yes, thank you! I love this one, because they always include the news about science.”

When she smiled like that he wanted to buy her a thousand newspapers.

What was wrong with him? He must be tired. Or ill. Or out of his mind.

She opened the paper and clearly sought out a certain section. Then with a happy sigh, she settled back to read.

Damn her for being even more stimulating than he remembered. She did seem to know a great deal about chemistry, and she certainly enjoyed talking—and reading—about it. That made her more of a bluestocking than the schemer he’d envisioned. Then again, he didn’t know any bluestockings, so he wasn’t sure if Olivia fit the type.

Actually, she fit no type whatsoever. Take her gown, for example. The bluish green reminded him of her gown last night. Other women never seemed to wear the same color twice, but Olivia did as she pleased.

God, he must have been a heedless arse nine years ago not to have seen her unusual qualities. Now he knew how to appreciate a woman as unique as she, no matter how badly she danced or what lapses she had in following societal rules.

Or what part she’d played in her stepmother’s scheme? He wasn’t sure if she’d played any part at all. He still couldn’t tell, not from what she’d said and not from how she’d behaved.

Last night she’d thrown herself enthusiastically into their kiss, but she’d gone out of her way to hide their encounter from the others. He didn’t know what to make of that. She said she would turn him down again if he asked. Was she trying to impress Grey concerning her scientific ability by not showing herself to be the usual female scheming to marry a duke? Or was she really not interested in marriage despite being interested in kissing?

Not that her motive—or lack of one—mattered. He still had no intention of renewing whatever interest he’d had in her.

Then again, he couldn’t believe she enjoyed his plays. It didn’t fit with his picture of