Surrender to a Wicked Spy Read Free Page B

loudly or long. Better yet, do not laugh at all. Smile, but show no teeth
—
you smile much too widely. Do try not to loom over the gentlemen, but do not slouch
!
    Her mother's rules did not matter now, she realized. Alas, Olivia was fairly sure that her bridegroom—husband!—had rules of his own, likely even more strict than Lady Cheltenham's. Rules… and demands.
    Demands. Oh heavens
. Never one to give in to fear, Olivia decided to give in to pique instead. The beast hadn't even bothered to court her!
    "Not a visit, not a single note! Nothing but jewels!"
    The gifts had been frequent and costly and aloof. Olivia would have preferred a bit of actual conversation.
    She'd only seen her bridegroom twice before today. The first had been that disastrous day on—or, rather,
under
—the bridge. From that encounter she'd gathered that he was inclined to rescue others, that he was as large as a bridge pillar, that he was vain—although perhaps deservedly so—and that he liked to look at bosoms.
    This could be said of any number of men in Society.
    The second time she'd seen him had been the following day when he'd asked her father for her hand in marriage. If she hadn't happened to come in at just that moment from another interminable afternoon of calls with Mother and seen the two conspirators shaking hands in the entrance hall as if they'd just concluded a horse trade, she'd likely not have found out until the wedding day itself!
    Lord Greenleigh hadn't even been embarrassed. He'd simply bowed briefly over her hand and said he was happy to have received her father's consent, then had sailed out the door while she'd stared after him, openmouthed.
    From that encounter and the following two weeks of luxurious neglect she'd gathered that he was arrogant, managing, and thoughtless. Again, she could be describing any number of the gentlemen her mother had forced on her since she'd been brought to London and impressed into Society like a kidnapped sailor on a foreign ship.
    Today she had been dressed and prepared for him like a veiled sacrifice. She
had scarcely been able to see through the ornate lace and had spent most of the
ceremony concentrating on not vomiting. At the wedding breakfast, the man at her
side had been congenially indifferent, instead spending his attention on the man
on his other hand, a fellow that Olivia vaguely recalled as being very nearly as
handsome as Lord Greenleigh, in a darker, more pensive way.
    From this she had learned that Lord Greenleigh was tidy in his manners, and that despite the fact that he smelled entirely wonderful, he was inclined to be very, very rude.
    That was very little to go on. Yet here she was, wed to the man for the rest of her life. Her entire future rested in his hands alone. Of course, she had noticed during the meal, which she had scarcely been able to touch, that her new husband had large, shapely hands. In fact, despite his size, he possessed a leonine grace that made it difficult to take her gaze off him.
    Now, however, her fascination was quickly dissolving into panicked exasperation. Could they not simply get it over with? Surely the dread was worse than the act itself! She wrapped both arms about herself despite the heat from the fire. She could not seem to get warm.
    Olivia bent her head and paced before the hearth once more. She could add another thing to her list—Lord Greenleigh was rather inclined to be late!
    Thankfully, Olivia felt her ire rise once more, drowning out her fear.
    Men were rats.
     
    Dane Calwell, Lord Greenleigh, had a problem. A very large problem. Even as he stood on the other side of his bride's door, he felt the problem growing. Damn, he hadn't even touched her yet!
    There was nothing to be done about his problem. There was no one to discuss it with, for it was not the sort of thing one discussed with other men, and it was certainly not the sort of thing one discussed with a respectable woman—or even an unrespectable one, at