Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,96
she would throw it at him.
Fortunately, it wasn’t jewelry or even a traditional gift. Instead, he held out a sheaf of papers.
As she took it, he said, “I’ve made some alterations to the beginning of the Felix play I just finished. Please read them before you decide to give up on us.”
Curious now, she started reading what looked to be one long scene, marked up with a pencil. She frowned when she realized she couldn’t easily make out the marked-up parts.
“You’ll have to forgive my handwriting,” he said. “I made the changes in the carriage on the way here.”
“That explains why it’s in pencil,” she said dryly.
He shrugged. “It’s hard to manage an ink pot and quill in a moving carriage, even with a portable writing desk.”
“I can well imagine.” She continued reading until she got to a mention of Grasping and Slyboots. Taking a deep, bracing breath, she read the passage. Then her gaze shot to him. “You killed them off!”
He nodded, then gestured to the pages she held in her hand. “I did it in a comic way, as you can see.”
She said nothing, too absorbed in rereading the sentences where Felix talks about them dying in an avalanche in the Alps while pursuing an Austrian count.
At her continued silence, Thorn added, “But if you want it to be more of a tragic event, I can do that, too.”
She lifted an astonished gaze to him. “You . . . you killed off Grasping and Slyboots for me? To please me?”
“I’ll do whatever I must to get you back,” he said earnestly.
She waved the pages at him. “You shouldn’t have done this.”
His face fell. “Because you can’t forgive me. Still.”
“No!” she said quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant . . . they’re two of your greatest creations. You can’t kill them off.” She flashed him a tentative smile. “Assuming you intend to keep writing about Felix and his friends, that is. Because I heard a rumor you might not.”
He stepped toward her, his eyes bright. “To tell the truth, I haven’t decided. I figured I would see how this latest play fares in the theater. If it does well, I might consider another.”
“It won’t do well at all if you kill off Grasping and Slyboots. They’re your funniest characters! You simply cannot kill them off.”
“I thought you hated them,” he said softly.
She thought so, too. But seeing him kill them off also felt wrong. When she could separate them from her and Mama, she adored them. “I did. But the more I think about it, the more I realize no one knows it’s Mama and I. So unless you use your own name for your plays—”
“Which I will never do. As I told you, dukes aren’t supposed to write plays.”
“Then no one will ever guess whom they’re based on.” She toyed with the gold chain about her neck. “It will be our secret.”
His breath seemed to falter a bit as he took her hand in his. “Does this mean you forgive me?”
“For which part? Basing your comic characters on me and Mama? Or not telling me you’re actually my favorite playwright.”
“I’m your favorite playwright?” he said. “Really?”
She laughed. “Of course that’s the part you choose to focus on. You’re as vain as Juncker.”
“Better and better—you think Juncker is vain.”
“I shall need another dinner with him to determine that,” she said with a coy smile.
“The hell you will. I barely made it through the last one.” He paused a moment. “Oh, and by the way, I told you that no one in my family knew of my writing. It turns out that Gwyn knew. I just didn’t know she knew.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” she said lightly. “Your sister is a very clever woman.”
When he sobered, she knew they were still dancing around the main issue.
“So you do forgive me,” he said.
“Only if you promise never to lie to me again. Because unlike your sister, I can’t bear it if you tell me anything less than the whole truth, warts and all.” She blinked back tears. “If I found out you had a mistress or spent your evenings in the stews when you told me you were at your club, it would destroy me.”
“I wouldn’t want to do that, ever,” he said earnestly. “So yes, I promise never to lie to you.”
“I promise never to lie to you, either.” She cupped his cheek. “And I forgive you.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t think I could bear to