Who Wants to Marry a Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “You didn’t enjoy what we did?”

  His eyes had gone cold, and she knew she had once again been too blunt in her speech. But she couldn’t figure out how she should have said it. “Of course I enjoyed it.” More than she could possibly have expected. “That’s not the point.”

  “It’s the only point,” the dratted fellow said. “Unless you’re looking for that impossible dream—love and happiness in marriage.”

  Thinking of what she’d seen between Grey and Beatrice today, she murmured, “What if I think it is possible? Your brother and sister-in-law seem to be happily in love.”

  “They’re lucky.” He sounded bitter. “But the odds are against it. Most of the time, love is an illusion.”

  “All the more reason not to indulge in . . . activities that can only lead nowhere.”

  “They don’t have to lead anywhere. They just . . . need to be enjoyable. As long as we’re discreet when we meet in the laboratory—”

  “A lack of discretion isn’t the problem!” Huffing out a breath, she fought for calm. “From what I understand, you rarely worry about discretion or you wouldn’t have gained your reputation. But I’m not one of your mistresses or a soiled dove, no matter what you may think. If I let you stand about in my laboratory, keeping me from my work, then I’m precisely the fool you tried to make me out to be to your brother.”

  He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t say . . .”

  “I will never get as good an opportunity as this to test my method on human remains. Grey is giving me a chance to make history. I cannot repay him by squandering that chance to have stolen moments with you.”

  As delicious as those moments might be.

  She shook off that dangerous thought. He was the glittering brightness of phosphorus, and she was the mundane, everyday air. Together they created toxic smoke. And she simply couldn’t allow that.

  He was eyeing her with new interest. “Is that the real reason you refused me years ago? Because—”

  “The duchess sent me to fetch you,” came a voice from the door. “Dinner will be served soon, and she thought you both might wish to change clothes.”

  Taken off guard by the footman, Olivia felt heat rise in her cheeks.

  “Are you ready to return, Miss Norley?” the footman asked, holding his lantern high.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “We both are,” Thorn put in, his voice as icy as a duke’s should be.

  Because of her frank remarks? Or simply because he’d realized that he had gone too far and now wished to recoup? Either way, she was grateful for the reprieve from being alone with him.

  “Just give me one moment to see to something,” she said, and hurried back to the hearth.

  She’d known there would probably be no more phosphorus under the sand, but she pretended to search for it while also checking herself for any lingering signs of her recent . . . adventure with Thorn. She’d die of mortification if she arrived at the main hall looking like a slattern just come from a man’s bed. Although if the footman had arrived while she and Thorn were . . .

  Heavens, that didn’t even bear thinking on. No one would ever take her seriously as a chemist if she got caught doing such a fool thing. Certainly no man would ever marry her.

  She blinked. Since when did she care about marriage? This was what came of letting the man tempt her to distraction—she began craving things she’d never even wanted. Curse him for that!

  Gathering her defenses about her, she marched back to where the two men stood waiting for her.

  “Is everything all right?” Thorn asked, seeming to have thawed a bit from before.

  “It’s fine. We can go.”

  They left then, pausing only to secure the door with a heavy lock. That was another reason his lordship’s choice of the dairy was excellent. Dairies were sometimes locked to prevent thieves or animals from stealing or eating the cheeses stored there.

  As they set out down the path, the light died enough so that the footman’s lantern was welcome. Fortunately, it also prevented the two of them from having another private conversation.

  They walked in silence a good way before Thorn spoke. “Tomorrow is the exhumation. Do you mean to witness it?”

  “Oh, Lord, no,” she said. “Your brother knows what I require, and the local coroner will be there to help him . . . er . . . harvest it.”

  “You don’t wish to make sure it’s done properly?” he asked.

  “My field is chemistry, sir. I know nothing of that science, I’m afraid, and have no desire to learn it. I can complete my experiments perfectly well from the comfort of my laboratory.”

  “I think I shall go,” Thorn said. “I’ve never seen an exhumation. And after this, I may very well have to—” He caught himself for the second time since the footman had arrived. “It doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say, I have a personal interest in what happens.”

  “Then by all means you should attend, Your Grace.”

  Thorn lowered his voice to a murmur. “So we’re back to ‘Your Grace,’ are we?”

  “I think that’s best,” she whispered.

  “Like you think it’s best if I don’t go to the laboratory with you?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Best for whom?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. The truth was, she had no idea, and that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.

  * * *

  Thorn had hoped to get Olivia alone after dinner, but as soon as she and Beatrice went to the drawing room to await the men, they’d apparently spent a short while talking and then had gone up to their respective bedchambers. Or so the footman said.

  That left him and Grey to drink and smoke and discuss nothing of consequence. Until . . .

  “You like her, don’t you?” Grey asked as he poured himself another glass of brandy.

  “Of course,” Thorn said. “Your wife is delightful, which I seem to recall telling you last year before you even married her.”

  Grey arched one eyebrow. “I wasn’t speaking of my wife, and you know it.”

  With a stony stare Thorn set his empty glass in front of Grey. “I’d rather not talk about Miss Norley. It will only lead to an argument.”

  “Actually, I’m beginning to come around to your view of things concerning her.” Grey poured some brandy for Thorn. “I don’t know if she can do this work. The footman I sent to call the two of you in to dinner said there had been some broken glass and a smell of burning in the air at the laboratory. And she hasn’t even begun her experiments.”

  Damn Grey’s chatty footman. “That . . . um . . . wasn’t her fault. While helping her put things away, I knocked off a jar of something called phosphorus. Apparently, it bursts into flames when it’s not kept under water.”

  Grey eyed Thorn closely. “Then she shouldn’t have put the jar where it could be knocked off.”

  “She didn’t.” Thorn took a large swallow of brandy. “That too was my fault. I pushed some other items around on the table, which moved the jar to the edge and then off.”

  “Some other items, eh? Let me think what those might be—perhaps Miss Norley herself?” When Thorn’s gaze shot to Grey, his brother burst into laughter. “I knew you liked her.”

  “Very amusing,” Thorn muttered. “You’re a regular Punch and Judy, you are.”

  “Don’t forget. I’ve been where you are, and I know how easy it is to get carried away with a woman.” Grey sobered. “But I must remind you that she’s not to be dallied with. She might not have her stepmother around to look after her, but Beatrice and I are happy to step into the breach and make sure you don’t get her into trouble.”

  “Trust me,” Thorn grumbled, “she can take care of herself.”

  “No doubt that’s true in a chemistry laboratory. But I’m not so sure she can do so in the rarefied world of rakehells. You do have a way with women.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, I wish people would stop saying that. And I d
on’t have a way with Olivia, trust me. She refused my offer of marriage, remember?”

  “So it’s Olivia now, is it?” Grey probed.

  Thorn glared at him. “Think what you want, but what I told you last year is still true: I would never ruin a woman. You were the one to warn me years ago that one must beware of matchmaking mamas and scheming daughters. And I learned my lesson—avoid getting the scheming daughter into a compromising position.”

  “I see. So the accident in the laboratory showed how you’d learned your lesson.”

  “Damn it, Grey, I told you I don’t want to discuss Miss Norley.” Thorn set his half-empty glass on the table and stood. “I’m tired. I think I’ll retire early.”

  Grey merely laughed. “Coward.”

  “Sapskull.”

  His brother narrowed his gaze. “Roué.”

  “Bloody arse.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to play nice,” Grey drawled, “good night.”

  “Well, if ‘good night’ is the best you can do . . .” Thorn headed for the door, then paused there. “By the way, I’m going with you to the exhumation. I’d like to see how it works in case I should need to exhume my own father’s body, though I doubt it could tell me much about his accident.”

  “You never know. And it’s fine if you want to come, but I’m meeting the coroner at ten, so don’t sleep too late, slugabed.”

  “I won’t, scapegrace.” He fully intended to be up with the chickens, if only to see if he could catch Olivia at breakfast.

  But the next morning when he came down at a much earlier hour than was typical for him, Thorn discovered Olivia had already headed off to the laboratory. Devil take her. Was it asking too much to have a few moments alone with her?

  Apparently it was, because after Grey and Beatrice came down, the footman informed them all that Miss Norley had asked for a tray to be sent to the laboratory that evening for dinner. She said she would be too busy with her work to join them.

  Thorn told himself he wouldn’t have time for her anyway with the exhumation going on. But the truth was, he’d spent half the night digesting everything she’d said and done, both yesterday and at their first meeting years ago, and he’d realized he might have been hasty in his assumptions. It was time they had a frank discussion about what her stepmother had held over his head years ago. But how could he do that when she avoided him?

  At least the exhumation proved more interesting than he’d expected. The body of Grey’s father had been remarkably well-preserved in the tomb, partly because of the thorough job someone had done of embalming him, and partly because of the limestone tomb his coffin was in. Or so the coroner had explained.

  Although unburying the dead was a grim task, he and Grey had been relieved to find that certain organs of Grey’s father had been preserved in lead-lined chests. Apparently that was sometimes done for the interment of nobility, especially those of very high rank.

  Since the organs were the most important of the items required for Olivia’s tests and since they might also need preservation in event of a trial, the coroner divided each into halves to be stored in other lead-lined chests. The coroner also gathered samples of hair, skin, and nails, since Olivia had said she was interested in those as well.

  Grey said he’d take the first half to the estate’s icehouse, where they were to remain until such time as a trial commenced. He gave the other half to Thorn to carry to Olivia.

  “I’d use a footman,” Grey said, “but if anything happened to the items while they’re being moved, I’d never forgive myself.”

  If Thorn had hoped his macabre offerings would lead the way into Olivia’s laboratory, he was quite wrong. She opened the door, accepted the chests, and then shut the door in his face even as he loudly protested.

  He was certainly doing a bad job of keeping an eye on her work. Not that he felt the need for that anymore. It galled him to admit it, but Grey had proved to be right about her and her abilities. That had become abundantly clear yesterday.

  He still had to talk to her. Because once she did enough tests to confirm whether Grey’s father had died by poisoning, there was nothing to keep her here. Beatrice clearly didn’t need a companion, and Olivia had no desire to go into society, so the only person to whom Olivia would need to explain her early return home would be her stepmother. Undoubtedly, Olivia could figure out a way to make that sound believable.

  But once she departed from here, she had no reason to see him again. Ever. And that disturbed him. They’d left too many issues unsettled between them. At the very least, he wanted to learn the truth about certain matters. He deserved that, didn’t he?

  Fortunately, the upstairs drawing room overlooked the path to and from the old dairy. So he set up watch by the window after dinner, with a glass of brandy in one hand and a newspaper in the other. The lights were now on in the building, and he felt fairly certain she’d never leave lamps or candles to burn down in her laboratory.

  Sure enough, close to ten o’clock he saw those lights go out one by one. Eventually Olivia, enveloped in a cloak, emerged and headed down the path.

  Thank God.

  After one last swig of brandy, Thorn headed to the stairs to waylay her.

  Chapter Eight

  Olivia let the sleepy footman take her cloak as she entered the house, with the journals and notebooks she wanted to review clutched in one hand. Then she climbed the stairs in a daze of anticipation. The first crucial element of her plan had gone well. Tomorrow she would tackle the one that mattered to Grey. She’d left everything prepared for it in her laboratory. How could she even sleep? She was far too excited.

  The chemist in her wanted to press on tonight. But a lack of sleep could easily cause one to make a mistake, and she wanted nothing to stand in the way of her doing this properly. Besides, she suspected that the tests would take more than a few hours anyway. So it was better to read over her materials rather than to make a crucial error in her experiments.

  Still musing about the tests—how best to perform and document them and which one she should tackle first—she didn’t even see Thorn at the head of the stairs until she was almost upon him.

  She jumped. “Don’t startle me like that!” She scowled at him as she took the final steps. “Why are you up so late, anyway?”

  “I wanted to talk to you. And since you refused to let me into your laboratory . . .” He finished with a shrug so typically him she couldn’t help but shake her head.

  “Has everyone else retired?” she asked.

  “Everyone but us.”

  “Then I’m glad you’re up. I have to tell someone how everything went, and I don’t think I can sleep until I do.”

  “By all means, let me be your confidant,” he said. “Just remember that I don’t know a damned thing about chemistry, which I think I illustrated quite well yesterday.”

  A laugh escaped her. “True, but then I don’t know anything about being a duke. So I suppose we’re even.”

  “Here, let’s go into the blue drawing room,” he said. “No one’s awake to see, and I promise to behave.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted him to behave. But telling him that was obviously unwise. He’d made it clear in London that he would never offer for her, and she refused to let him tarnish her reputation for the sake of a little fun.

  Even if a little fun did sound delicious after her long day in the laboratory.

  As he ushered her inside, fortunately leaving the door open, she said, “Oh, I didn’t even know this room was here! How beautiful it is.” Majestic delft tiles surrounded the fireplace, and everything else seemed designed to complement it, from the simple sofa of cobalt-blue brocade to the elegant writing table and the curtains of a blue-and-white toile fabric.

  He lit candles to give them a bit more light. Then taking a seat on one end of the sofa, he gestured for her to sit at the other end.

  But she was too excited to do so. After setting her journals and notebooks on the writing table next to
a tray with two glasses and a crystal decanter of what looked like brandy, she began to pace before the fireplace.

  He chuckled. “What’s got you so energetic at this late hour? Don’t tell me you’ve already found arsenic in what I brought you earlier.”

  “No, not yet. The important thing is what I didn’t find arsenic in.”

  A frown creased his brow. “I don’t understand.”

  “You know that Grey’s father was embalmed, right? Well, I got lucky and was able to extract embalming fluid from the heart. And it contained no arsenic.”

  “So he wasn’t poisoned.”

  “I don’t know that yet.” She stopped in front of Thorn. “You see, some embalmers use a fluid that has arsenous acid as an ingredient. But the embalmer of Grey’s father didn’t, thank goodness.”

  He still looked perplexed.

  “Arsenous acid is . . .” She paused, trying to think in a layman’s terms. “It’s like a variant of arsenic—if it’s in the embalming fluid, it would turn up as arsenic in any test. A good chemist would know that, too, so he—or she—might try to claim in a court trial that the arsenic came from the embalming fluid, not from poison. But now we can test for arsenic in the other organs, and if we find any, then there’s no doubt it came from poison.”

  “Ah, I see.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You’re already thinking ahead to proving your results.”

  “I’m already thinking ahead to a trial, yes.” She began pacing again. “And honestly, given the description of his father’s death that Grey got from his mother, his relations, and their old servants, it sounds like a case of acute arsenic poisoning. So the arsenic trioxide wouldn’t even have had time to affect the hair and nails. The previous duke died within a day of contracting his ague. If there’s arsenic, the stomach might still contain traces of it. The intestines almost certainly will.”

  “I now know more about the anatomy of Grey’s father than I ever wanted to know,” he said dryly.