Still, something in Lukas had uttered the words, and now he relished the way his soon-to-be-bride practically bubbled with indignation.
And something else he chose not to identify.
CHAPTER TWO
HE COULD NOT be serious?
Oti bristled as his eyes raked over her and pretended that he didn’t leave a scorching trail of awareness right from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. And everything in between.
Especially everything in between.
‘And should I present my head for inspection so that you can ensure there are no bulges or depressions which may indicate any dental issues?’ she sniped, her voice just on the brink of being loud enough to be overheard, before she caught herself. ‘Perhaps you’d care to examine my legs to ensure they’re symmetrical and well balanced, and that there is no sensitivity or
similar problem to the structure?’
‘I’ll presume that’s how you inspect a horse or some such animal, shall I?’ His low voice seemed to ripple the air in the space between them. ‘How clichéd that someone with your upbringing should use that as a frame of reference.’
‘And how banal that a self-made man from one of the worst estates in the country would look down on me for doing so,’ she shot back acerbically, though she made sure the smile never slipped from her lips.
‘Touché,’ he acknowledged instead. ‘It seems we each continue to prejudge the other.’
‘Although, in my case, I believe my judgement is rather more accurate, is it not?’
Even as she said it, she couldn’t stop herself from shivering at the way every single person was watching her. Prejudging her in exactly the way that Lukas was talking about.
Weighing her up. Measuring her. Damning her.
All of them wanting to know what she’d done to land the much-chased infamous playboy and marriage-phobic Lukas Woods.
He’d been right about the dress—as galling as that was—half of them probably thought she was already pregnant. Deliberately.
‘Smile,’ he instructed brusquely, offering a flash of straight white teeth that any onlooker might believe was a genuine smile.
And Oti obeyed, ignoring the way her heart was pounding in her chest—assuring her that her adrenaline was all fired up and ready to carry her at speed, straight back out and to the waiting car.
But she couldn’t. Not just because of her father, whose grip on her arm had been so tight as he’d propelled her down the aisle that she could still feel the bruise forming under her skin even now. Not just because she couldn’t bring herself to humiliate Lukas like that, when, despite everything, he had at least given her a chance—two chances—to back out of this marriage. But because she had no idea where that would leave Edward.
Edward—how could she leave him to their father? Her heart had practically broken the last time she’d visited and he’d begged her to help him end it all with dignity, only to threaten to ban her from visiting again when she’d refused.
‘Octavia? What is it?’
She tried to speak but choked on the words, yet the bishop droned on, oblivious, mercifully too caught up in his own self-important role to notice.
‘Did he hurt you?’
She blinked, taking a moment to realise that she was massaging the tender spot on her arm. She dropped her hand instantly. Lukas already looked furious, as though he was just looking for an excuse to call the wedding off.
She couldn’t blame him; marrying Lukas, taking his money, was all a lie. But it would give her a chance to help save Edward’s life, so how could she refuse?
‘Of course he didn’t hurt me,’ she lied smoothly. But she couldn’t help adding, ‘After all, my father is an honourable man.’
She hadn’t expected Lukas to get the reference, but he arched an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
‘Marc Antony?’ his voice rumbled. ‘His oration at Julius Caesar’s funeral.’
It was a long-standing joke between her and Edward. She certainly hadn’t expected Lukas Woods to get it. She blinked quickly.
‘Yes.’