Surrender to a Wicked Spy Read Online Free PDF Page A

ensure that his every word was heard and implemented.
    He'd tried to lessen the threat by adopting an easygoing facade, quite the opposite of his naturally serious disposition, but the isolation caused by that wary deference had only worsened as he'd grown into his full strength and manhood. Even the Prince Regent kept his capriciousness to a minimum in Dane's presence, and Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister, had been known to back down before Dane's opinions.
    Yet here was this woman, not much more than a girl at that, who had just stomped her foot
at him
!
    She was either mad or even more hardy than he'd originally thought. Either way, she obviously had no idea what her crossed arms did to her full bosom in that sheer nightdress. Dane found it difficult to keep his gaze high.
    "You're demanding that I stay," he said without expression.
    She cocked an irritated brow. "I am indeed."
    In the spirit of research, Dane crossed his own arms and assumed a wider stance. He'd never yet met the man who didn't fail ever so slightly before that pose.
    Incredibly, the spanking-new, still wet-behind-the-ears Lady Greenleigh did nothing but widen her own stance and increase the temperature of her glare. A heavy lock of fair hair slipped forward to drape over one plumped breast. She no longer looked like the faintly pretty, serenely demure daughter of Cheltenham. She looked like a fuming fertility goddess.
    Dane would have smiled, but he suspected that it would only add fuel to her annoyance. Since in all fairness his neglected bride had every right to be annoyed with him, he finally spread his hands and smiled. "Then I suppose I shall stay."
    She nodded crisply. "Good."
    Dane endured a long awkward pause. His bride shifted uneasily. Dane gave in to his curiosity. "Ah, do you mind telling me what I'm staying for?"
    Her annoyed gaze faltered and her irritation shifted to sudden shyness. Dane watched the change with interest. Her face was a map of her emotions, to be sure. What was going through her mind now?
    She cleared her throat awkwardly. "I thought we might discuss—that is, I would very much like to know your… your expectations of me."
    Dane regarded her curiously. "I expect you to be my lady."
    The shyness slipped long enough for her to shoot him a wryly disbelieving glance.
Don't be an idiot
, that glance said.
    He ought to ease her anxiety, although he enjoyed watching the play of conflicting emotions across her face. It seemed there was only one area in which Lady Olivia did not feel easy in challenging him.
    "I do not insist on consummating our vows at this very moment," he said easily. "Although I hope you'll consider receiving my affections soon."
    Nibbling at her lip, she looked away. "Would you say that your… affections fall into the usual category of such things?" She turned a suddenly piercing gaze upon him. "I have heard of such things, you see."
    He couldn't resist. She was too adorable. He made his gaze go blank. "I'm sorry, could you be more specific?"
    She actually opened her mouth to answer, but something on his face must have given him away. Her eyes narrowed. "Not amusing. You know my intent."
    Drat. Oh, well. He spread his hands, admitting fault. "I do. And I can assure you, my lady, that my… er, affections are entirely of the norm." That wasn't strictly true, but now was not the time to bring up his problem. That wasn't what she was asking, at any rate.
    She let out a long, silent breath, then smiled warmly at him. "Very well, then. Won't you sit down? We could converse for a while." She led him to the great chair by the fire.
    As long as his bride remained in that wispy night rail with the top ribbons coming awry, Dane could quite happily sit across from her and converse for hours. She was far more enticing than he'd first realized, although if memory served, he'd noticed those amazing breasts at once.
    He moved her dressing-table chair closer and seated her in it, then took the larger chair for himself. Not