behind them and halted to stare back at her.
“Are you quite all right, Olivia?” Gwyn asked.
“Not . . . entirely.” Olivia thought she might actually faint.
Thorn took one look at her and groaned. “I forgot you’re an admirer of Juncker’s plays.”
“Is she really?” Gwyn smirked at her brother. “How intriguing.”
“I—I don’t suppose it would be . . . possible for me to meet him, would it?” Olivia asked.
“I can’t imagine why not.” Gwyn lifted an eyebrow at Thorn. “You can introduce them, can’t you?”
Thorn uttered a heavy sigh. “Certainly. Just . . . give me a moment alone with him, all right?”
Olivia bobbed her head. She would give him an hour alone with Mr. Juncker if that was what it took. Because for the first time in her life, she was actually excited about meeting someone who wasn’t a chemist.
Now if only she could keep from making a fool of herself in front of him.
Chapter Ten
After Thorn entered Gwyn’s drawing room and shut the door, he wasted no time coming right to the point. “Why are you here, Juncker? How did you even know where to find me?”
Juncker, wearing his usual “romantic writer” attire, was sprawled unrepentantly across the settee. “I heard you were in town, so I went to your house, where your servants told me that you were over here. And you know why I came. Vickerman blistered my ears for not having the play finished. So, did you get any writing done during your travels?”
“Keep your voice down.” Thorn walked over to sit across from Juncker. “Gwyn doesn’t know about my writing, and neither does her guest.”
“I could remedy that if you like,” Juncker drawled.
Thorn scowled. “And I could cut off all your funds. Just try me. See how you like not being able to use credit at half the taverns in town.”
“Fine.” Juncker straightened on the settee. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Did you finish the damned play?”
“I have the final scene mapped out in my head,” Thorn said truthfully. “But I haven’t had a chance to write it.”
“Your sister said you and she and your mysterious guest are off to Berkshire tomorrow. Is there any possibility you can write it there?”
“Perhaps,” Thorn said. “Give me a few days, and I swear I’ll try to have it to you. But after this one, we need to start a new sort of play with new characters. And that’s all I’ll say about that for now.” He rose. “I do have one favor to ask of you before you leave.”
Juncker eyed him suspiciously. “What sort of favor?”
“Our mysterious guest is an admirer of the plays. She’s seen every one performed, and probably more than once, given her extensive knowledge of them. She wants to meet the author.”
“You mean me.” Juncker laughed. “That must really gall you.”
“If it does, it’s only because she’s a fetching young woman whom I don’t want to see you take advantage of.”
“You think I will take advantage of her more than you would? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. You must be getting prudish in your old age.”
“I’m a year younger than you,” Thorn said dryly.
“Still prudish. A fetching young woman, eh? She’s not a friend of Vanessa’s, is she?”
“Grey’s cousin Vanessa? As far as I know, they’ve never met. Why?”
“Just making sure.” With a broad smile, Juncker stood and smoothed his trousers. “Vanessa will be the death of me. The chit’s got some fool notion that if I marry her, she’ll be able to manage my writing life the way she manages her mother’s household. And God forgive me, but even though she’s rich as Croesus and a pretty little thing, I am not ready to be managed by her.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Thorn said, “Grey would probably break you in half if he thought you were courting his beloved cousin. She’s like a sister to him. So if I were you, I’d keep my hands off her.”
“Ah, but you’re not me, are you?” Juncker said with a wink. “That’s the trouble, old chap. So bring on this other damsel. I’ll decide if she’s fetching or not.”
God help him. If Thorn wasn’t careful, this could end very badly. But the look of awe and anticipation on Olivia’s face when she’d heard that her idol was here . . . He had to do this, even if it meant risking her figuring out who’d really written the plays.
He could just tell her the truth. Ask her to keep it quiet.
Right.