Read Online What Happens in London by Julia Quinn - Free Book Online Page A

sighed—a bit too loudly, not that anyone could hear—and went back to her deep breaths. She focused on a sconce behind the violist’s miserable head—no, make that the miserable violist’s head…
    Really, that one girl did not look happy. Did she know how dreadful the quartet was? Because the other three clearly had no clue. But the viola player, she was different, she was…
    Making Olivia actually hear the music.
    Not good! Not good! Her brain rebelled, and she started back with those blasted breaths again, and…
    And then, somehow, it was done, and the musicians were standing and making rather pretty curtsies.Olivia found herself blinking excessively; her eyes didn’t seem to be working properly after so much time on one spot. “You fell asleep,” she said to Mary, giving her a betrayed sort of look.
    “I did not.”
    “Oh, you did.”
    “Well, these worked, at any rate,” Mary said, yanking the cotton from her ears. “I could hardly hear a thing. Where are you going?”
    Olivia was already halfway down the aisle. “To the washroom. Really must…” And that, she decided, would have to suffice. She had not forgotten the possibility that Sir Harry Valentine was somewhere in the room, and if ever a situation called for making haste, this was it.
    It wasn’t that she was a coward—not at all. She wasn’t trying to avoid the man, she was merely trying to avoid his having the opportunity to surprise her.
    Be prepared . If it hadn’t been her motto before, then she was adopting it now.
    Wouldn’t her mother be impressed? She was always telling her to be more improving. No, that wasn’t proper English. What did her mother say? Didn’t matter; she was almost to the door. She need only push past Sir Robert Stoat, and—
    “Lady Olivia .”
    Drat. Who—
    She turned. And felt her stomach drop. And realized that Sir Harry Valentine was much taller than he’d seemed in his office.
    “I’m sorry,” she said serenely, because she had always been rather good at playacting. “Have we been introduced?”
    But from the mocking curve of his smile, she was fairly certain she’d not been able to mask her first flash of surprise.
    “Forgive me,” he said smoothly, and she shivered, because his voice—it wasn’t what she’d thought it would be. It sounded like the smell of brandy, and it felt like the taste of chocolate. And she wasn’t so certain why she’d shivered, because now she felt rather warm.
    “Sir Harry Valentine,” he murmured, executing a elegantly polite bow. “You are Lady Olivia Bevelstoke, are you not?”
    Olivia thought very regal thoughts as she lifted her chin half an inch. “I am.”
    “Then I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    She nodded. She probably ought to speak; it would certainly be more polite. But she felt in danger of losing her poise, and it was wiser to remain silent.
    “I am your new neighbor,” he added, looking vaguely amused at her reaction.
    “Of course,” she replied. She kept her face even. He would not get the best of her. “To the south?” she asked, pleased by the slightly bored note in her voice. “I had heard it was to be let.”
    He didn’t say anything. Not right away. But his eyes fixed on hers, and it took every ounce of her fortitude to maintain her expression. Placid, composed, and with just a hint of curiosity. She thought the last necessary—if she hadn’t been spying on him for nearly a week, she would certainly have found the encounter somewhat curious.
    A strange man, acting as if they’d met.
    A strange, handsome man.
    A strange, handsome man who looked as if he might…
    Why was he looking at her lips?
    Why was she licking her lips?
    “I welcome you to Mayfair,” she said quickly. Anything to break the silence. Silence was not her friend, not with this man, not anymore. “We shall have to have you over.”
    “I would enjoy that,” he said, and to her rapidly growing panic, he sounded as if he meant it. Not just the