Improperly Wed (14 page)

“The only jewel I stole was you.”

“I guess I'll have to change my name to Granville, then.”

Colin gave a small smile. “I guess you'll have to, if you want to.”

“What? And risk giving people, including your mother, conniptions at being styled Belinda Wentworth, Marchioness of Easterbridge?”

“I wouldn't mind as long as you remained the lady of my heart.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to renew our vows?”

Belinda swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I've been a disaster at weddings, in case you haven't noticed.”

He gave her a swift kiss. “What matters is that you're a winner at marriage.”

“It's nice of you to think so.”

He gave her an intimate smile. “I'm betting on it.”

Belinda smiled. “Then, yes, I'll marry you again.”

“The local parish church would do nicely. The locals will love the show.”

“Even if I'm not dressed in red sequins?” she joked.

“Especially if I avoid a white Elvis suit.”

She laughed.

“I started out trying to put the Wentworth-Granville feud to rest by vanquishing the Wentworths. Instead, by falling in love, we'll be the means together to end the feud in a far more satisfactory way.”

Belinda couldn't agree more. “I can't wait to get started together on your next strategy.”

I
t was the Christmas season in snowy Berkshire, and Belinda was surrounded by those who loved her and whom she loved in return.

What else could a woman ask for?

She surveyed the scene in the sitting room at Halstead Hall. A huge tree hugged one corner of the room, a bright star at the very top and foil ribbon gracing the boughs.

Colin was speaking with Hawk near the tree, but in the next moment, his eyes connected with hers.

A look ripe with emotion and understanding passed between them. Colin's face said that he adored her—and he couldn't wait to get her alone.

Then he winked, and Belinda's smile widened.

She was six months pregnant with twins—a boy and a girl—and this time next year, they would be parents like their friends. It was nice to get a reminder that even in her current state, her husband still, well,
lusted,
for her.

On the floor in front of one of the sofas, Pia played with her son, William, the seven-month-old Earl of Eastchester—the courtesy title used by the eldest son of the Duke of Hawkshire. She laughed along with Tamara when William snagged a ball that had been rolled his way by Tamara's fifteen-month-old son, Elliott Langsford, Viscount Averil.

Off to one side, Tamara's husband, Sawyer, stood with a toddler's juice box in hand, surveying the action.

This time next year, two children would become four, Belinda thought. She'd be playing on the floor along with Pia and Tamara, though it was hard to believe these days since her view of her feet had already disappeared.

She and Colin hoped to make this Christmastime gathering an annual event with the two couples whom they considered the best of friends.

And fortunately, they both continued to mend fences with their families. She and Colin had had a lovely, formal wedding at the local parish church in Berkshire and a reception at Halstead Hall. She'd worn a designer sleeveless gown with white gloves that had drawn a gratifyingly stunned response from Colin. For his part, Colin had exuded a quiet male authority in a morning jacket and red cummerbund.

They had even invited Mrs. Hollings to the wedding. She had turned out to be a sixty-something woman who was a British subject by birth but had lived in New York for years. She also had impeccable sources.

For Belinda, the third time had been the charm, because though both Wentworths and Granvilles had attended, there had been no hiccup in the proceedings. Of course, it had helped that the two families had followed tradition and occupied opposite sides of the church aisle.

Now, however, that Belinda was pregnant with Wentworth-
Granville offspring, even the fact that she'd legally changed her name to Belinda Granville had apparently faded into the background. Even Colin's mother had become reconciled, though, of course, to her, the expected grandchildren were simply Granvilles.

Hawk bent down to help his son, and Colin came over to her and slipped his arm around her back.

“Happy?” Colin asked her.

“Of course,” Belinda said. “And it's wonderful to have our friends here with us.”

Colin smiled. “Even though both our families are set to arrive the day after Christmas for Boxing Day?”

“They'll behave, or else,” she threatened with mock humor.

“If Uncle Hugh bests my mother at chess again, there may be blood on the Persian rug.”

Belinda laughed. “Who knew they'd have something in common?”

Uncle Hugh continued to reside at the Mayfair town house and the estates nearby in Berkshire. Eventually the property would pass to Belinda's children, as was always intended.

The Elmer Street property had been sold—Belinda herself had pushed for it—and the proceeds used to upgrade the Berkshire estates and the Mayfair town house.

Belinda knew she was lucky.

She had asked for and gotten a transfer to the London office of Lansing's. She had worked there for several months and given notice only two weeks ago. She hoped, though, to keep her hand in the art world somehow. There were many priceless works of art at Halstead Hall to give her inspiration.

For the moment, however, she had her hands full with the babies' impending arrival, her work with the staff at
Colin's various properties and her charitable and other endeavors as the Marchioness of Easterbridge.

“Life is good,” she announced.

“But not like a dappled impressionist painting,” Colin teased. “It's more like a work of modern art. It's what you make of it. It's all in the eye of the beholder.”

“Kiss me,” she said, “and I'll tell you what I make of it.”

Colin's eyes twinkled. “I'd love to.”

And they sealed their future with a kiss.