Improperly Wed (7 page)

She shot him a distinctly unamused look.

“I'll suggest a compromise.”

“Oh?”
Here it comes.

“Yes,” he continued. “I'll sign the properties over to you one by one on a schedule. The longer we're married, the more you receive if we divorce.”

Belinda felt a sense of relief wash over her. Colin was suggesting exactly what her uncle had in London three days ago.

Still, it rankled that the two men had pigeonholed her—and that they thought alike.

She had to admit, however, that the plan made a crazy sort of sense. After all, given her preference, she'd get an annulment or divorce tomorrow, while Colin wouldn't. This way, they got a marriage for some indefinite duration—not for forever, but on the other hand, not over tomorrow.

“One property every six months,” she said, forcing herself to put down the demand without blinking.

To her surprise, Colin didn't blink, either. But then, she thought, he was a seasoned gambler.

Finally, he lifted the side of his mouth. “You're a good negotiator.”

“I appraise and auction artwork for a living.”

He inclined his head. “We're alike in that way, I suppose. We're both skilled in the art of the deal.”

She didn't want to discover she had one more thing in common with him. They already had too much.

“You haven't said whether you agree to my terms,” she reminded him.

He tilted his head. “One year for each, and at the end of two, both the Mayfair town house and the Berkshire estate are yours.”

She opened her mouth to protest.
Two years?

And yet, she acknowledged, it was a rather fair offer.
Two years would still leave her plenty of time to get on with her life after her marriage was officially over.

“Agreed.” Still, she perversely pushed the envelope. “And what's to prevent me from divorcing you at the end?”

Colin smiled enigmatically. “Perhaps I'm banking on the fact that you won't want to.”

He surprised her by departing from the script that she'd been preparing for ever since her conversation with her uncle. He was supposed to say that he was trying to repair the blow to his ego and remove the taint on his name. She, in return, was supposed to be in the position of disdaining his shallow motives.

Instead, his bravado took her breath away.

“The position of marchioness comes with benefits,” he said in a low, seductive voice. “Estates, cars, travel…”

“I've seen plenty of money and fame. I come across it regularly as part of my job at Lansing's.”

He shrugged, easy and self-assured. “What else can I tempt you with?”

“I'm surprised you didn't put yourself at the top of the list,” she challenged.

Colin laughed. “Okay,
me.
”

Good Lord.
She hadn't done a good job of resisting him for one night three years ago in Vegas. How was she going to erect a wall against him for the long haul?

Colin was suddenly looking at her with a renewed intensity. “It was good, wasn't it? We were good.”

“I was out of my mind—”

“With passion, don't deny it.”

“I'd had a couple of drinks—”

“One Kamikaze?” he queried.

“The name says it all. And don't forget most of a Sex on the Beach.”

He waved away her response. “It was hours earlier.”

“They created a nice buzz.”

Colin smiled. “It wasn't sex on the beach, but it was close, wasn't it? There was the scent of sun and surf. Then I realized it was you.”

She resisted putting her hands over her ears. “Don't remind me!”

She'd never worn that perfume again. It carried too many memories.

She wasn't sure whether to take him seriously. He would say anything to win, except she wasn't quite sure what the endgame was.

“Why are you doing this?” she blurted.

She'd demanded an answer to that question before, but this time it was a metaphorical stamping of the foot.

“Perhaps I enjoy the challenge of going where no Granville has gone before.”

“Straight to hell?” she asked sweetly.

Colin laughed.

“One of your villainous ancestors seduced a Wentworth heiress,” she reminded him.

“Seduction—is that what she claimed?” he scoffed. “More likely, she had fallen for the handsome lad before her family packed her off to God knows where.”

“Of course that story would be the Granville version.”

“Sad to say, the poor lad ultimately didn't get a chance to marry her. I've accomplished what no Granville has before.”

“It'll be a Pyrrhic victory.”

Colin smiled. “I'll be the judge of that.”

Belinda felt his words like a caress.

He suddenly straightened and then walked over to a nearby console table.

No doubt the table was an original eighteenth-century piece, Belinda thought with bemusement. The Granville wealth dwarfed the Wentworths' and probably had as well in her ancestors' heyday. She admired now the strength of her forebears in standing up to—some would say,
running afoul of
—the highest-ranking nobility in the vicinity.

Colin slid open a drawer and withdrew a small velvet pouch. Then he crossed to her.

Belinda found herself holding her breath as Colin loosened the pouch by its drawstring and then neatly deposit its contents into the palm of his hand.

She widened her eyes. He held two simple gold bands, one a large plain one with a slight groove at the edges and the other a smaller one etched with a feminine pattern.

They'd picked those rings out together just before their Vegas wedding ceremony.

Colin's gaze met hers, and she felt heat and promise in his look.

Then the side of his mouth teased upward. “To seal our bargain.”

Belinda watched with sudden dry mouth as he slipped the bigger band on his finger. Then he slid the empty pouch into one of his pockets.

With slow deliberation, he lifted her hand, his grip sure and firm, and slid the smaller wedding band onto her finger.

Belinda tried to keep her hand steady, fighting a tremor.

She knew what she was doing, she told herself. She was strong and capable.

Still, she sucked in a breath when Colin raised her hand to his lips. He kept his eyes on hers as he very properly blew a kiss right over the back of her hand.

She felt relief—and yes, a twinge of disappointment
that she quickly banished—before Colin surprised her by turning her hand over.

He leisurely kissed first the pad of one finger and then another, and Belinda felt her heart quicken.

When he was done, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips into her palm.

Belinda took short and shallow breaths.

She felt his warm, soft lips like an erotic brand that sent pulsing sensation down to the tips of her toes.

Why, oh why did Colin know so unerringly how to get under her defenses? He certainly lived up to billing as the descendant of conquerors. Whenever she thought she knew what to expect, he caught her off guard.

Yet despite his calm facade, she could tell he was affected, too. He held himself with a leashed stillness and intensity.

He'd take her right here if she agreed.

The thought raced through her mind, and Belinda felt herself melt. She remembered how passionate their night in Vegas had been. The images were emblazoned on her memory in vivid 3-D, though she'd tried hard over the years not to play that particular movie.

Colin opened his eyes and raised his head, and she ran her tongue over her lips.

He watched the action like a bee drawn to pollen. She knew if he kissed her, her lips would certainly feel bee-stung.

He never did anything in half measures, she realized. In that respect, he'd acted true to form in his current take-no-prisoners battle with the Wentworths.

Belinda straightened her spine and extricated her hand from his.

Colin might be an expert at seduction, but he was also
the one who had plotted the ruination of her family for his own nefarious purposes—and she was his pawn. She might allow her uncle to manipulate her for their family's sake, but she would not allow her husband to control her, as well—certainly not now, before their agreement was officially in place.

Colin's lips quirked with dry humor. “We can always select rings that are more to your liking. Garrard has been the Granville family's jewelers for over a century. Naturally, you can also have your pick from the Granville heirlooms.”

“These are fine,” Belinda responded, curling her fingers into the palm of the hand that he had kissed.

She wanted the reminder of how their relationship had started with a hasty trip to a Vegas chapel. Somehow, she knew she'd need the clue in the weeks and months to come.

“You'll also need a proper engagement ring.”

Belinda was glad the sexual tension had eased, but somehow she still felt under siege. “I'm surprised you don't already have one picked out. This meeting has all the markings of a victor arranging to inventory his spoils.”

Unconscionably, Colin grinned. “So you see yourself as a spoil of war? Strangely, I find the analogy to Helen of Troy more compelling.”

“The face that launched a thousand ships?” she parried. “I doubt you have a thousand warships to launch.”

Colin laughed. “I'll have to be more inventive, then.”

Belinda became aware of the pounding of her heart.

Colin had been inventive enough already. She really didn't want him to be any more so.

He bent his head to kiss her, and she took a step back.

She felt her heart skitter. “I'll need some time to adjust—”

At that moment, there was a tap on the door to the drawing room, which was followed by a cough as the door opened.

Belinda was grateful for the interruption.

A butler somberly announced, “The Dowager Marchioness of Easterbridge, has arrived, sir.”

C
olin bit back an oath.

His promising interlude with Belinda had been cut short.

His mother came and went from Halstead Hall at her leisure, but she refused to use twenty-first century technology like email or text messaging to presage her arrival.
Too common,
she'd sniff.

From the look on Belinda's face, Colin could tell she was as surprised and nonplussed as he was by his mother's unexpected arrival—but for different reasons, he was sure.

“Colin, what is the meaning of this?” his mother said as she sailed into the room. “
Dowager?
Kindly instruct your staff that I haven't been relegated…”

The words trailed off as his mother stopped, realized who else was in the room and widened her eyes.

Colin stepped forward.

“May I introduce my wife, Belinda?” he said, neatly sidestepping the issue of titles and surnames.

After all, one was the Marchioness of Easterbridge and the other the Dowager Marchioness of Easterbridge.

One word of difference disguised the vast gulf between the two women.

Colin watched his mother's face turn different shades before she opened and closed her mouth.

He raised his eyebrows. “Belinda is residing here.”

Under any other circumstances, it would have been a rather comical statement to make about one's wife, but all three of them knew there was nothing ordinary about this situation. Why pretend otherwise?

“I thought you meant to find a suitable bride,” his mother breathed.

Obviously, Colin thought wryly, he wasn't the only one prepared to drop all pretense.

“Belinda is suitable, Mother.”

“She's a Wentworth,” his mother responded flatly.

“Well, in that regard, you are correct,” he quipped. “Belinda chose to keep her maiden name upon our marriage.”

Apparently anything could be forgiven these days except a family feud. A divorcée, a single mother and the descendant of coal miners had married the heirs to thrones across Europe, but if there was bad blood and scandal between neighbors, then all bets were off.

“How do you do?” Belinda spoke up.

Colin noticed that she maintained an admirable poise under the circumstances, but he wondered whether her question was tongue in cheek.

It was clear to everyone that the older marchioness was doing exceedingly
unwell
at the moment.

He scanned Belinda's face, but she didn't glance at him. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on his mother.

“Colin is correct that I did retain my surname,” Belinda said. “It should be quite easy to avoid confusion, I think, if you remain Lady Granville, and I am styled as Lady Wentworth.”

His mother gave a haughty stare. She was dressed in tweeds, silks and pearls, and her clothes underlined her expression. “Yes, but you would still be the Marchioness of Easterbridge, would you not?”

Colin tried to avoid looking long-suffering. He detested the way some women were able to throw proverbial knives at each other. His mother excelled at it.

“I am sure, Mother,” he said, an edge to his voice, “that you will make Belinda feel comfortable. She needs to learn her way around, and our house is vast.” He'd put a subtle but noticeable emphasis on the word
our.
This was Belinda's home now, too, and his mother would need to reconcile herself to the reality.

Belinda turned to face him. “My job is in New York. How will I manage to be employed at Lansing's and reside here?”

“Yes, Easterbridge,” his mother joined in. “Do tell us, dear.”

Colin lifted the side of his mouth. He had somehow managed to shift the conversation so that Belinda and his mother were aligned against him. If he had any idea how he'd done it, he'd pat himself on the back.

He shot Belinda a glance. “You can arrange a transfer to the London office of Lansing's. We can spend our weeksdays in London and retire to Halstead Hall for weekends.”

Brilliant.
He was satisfied that he'd walked the tight-rope—that is, until he saw Belinda's expression.

She turned from him to his mother, a tight smile on her face. “However, a transfer may be difficult to obtain, so I may be based in New York indefinitely.” She tossed him a pointed look. “Colin and I haven't yet discussed our living arrangements in depth.”

“You will continue to have a career?” his mother asked cryptically.

Belinda kept her smile. “Yes, at least until I am entitled to receive back my family's property under the terms of the postnup.”

His mother looked horrified.

Colin was almost amused by Belinda's determination. He'd married no retiring English rose.

He folded his arms. “Are you shocked by the fact that we didn't have a prenuptial agreement, Mother, or by the fact that we're negotiating a postnuptial one?”

“I should have known a Wentworth would be in this for money,” his mother sniffed.

“I would toss him back if it weren't for the properties I stand to regain,” Belinda said cheerily.

His mother looked pinched. “My son is not a fish.”

“Of course not,” Belinda replied before he could say anything. “I don't catch fish—or kiss frogs for that matter.”

Colin gave her a sardonic look. “Thank you for clarifying the issue.”

At least she was willing to allow he wasn't a frog—while refusing to be cast as a money or title hunter.

His mother looked from one to the other of them until her eyes came to rest on him. “I will see you at dinner, Colin.”

She turned on her heel and headed to the door. The subtext of her words, of course, was that she intended to
rest until this evening and, with any luck, awaken to the realization that this was all a terrible nightmare.

When the door shut, Colin addressed Belinda. “Well, that went rather well.”

She shot him an ironic look. “I'm looking forward to dinner.”

 

Dinner was a pained affair.

Colin watched his younger sister, Sophie, concentrate on spearing her food and chewing while she cast the occasional glance around the table.

Sophie was eight years younger than he was and thus more of Belinda's contemporary than his own. His mother had suffered a miscarriage between their two births and then had had difficulty conceiving again.

As was his mother's preference, dinner was a formal affair in the main dining room, though it was only four who were present for the meal.

Still, even the arrangement of the seating had been a fraught affair. One of his aides had come to see him about it before the appointed dinner hour.

He'd instructed that he'd take his usual seat at the head of the table, and Belinda would be seated to his right. Because of Belinda's presence, his mother had been moved to his left and Sophie farther down the table.

Colin glanced at his sister again. He doubted that Sophie minded being away from the fray. And fortunately, there was plenty of spacing between the seats at the long Victorian dining table.

Colin heaved an inward sigh. He had hoped that the spacing would stop the ladies from lobbing dinner rolls at each other, and so far dinner had been a tame affair—
too tame.

Conversation had been desultory.

His mother was trying to ignore Belinda, and Sophie was a reluctant participant.

Sophie resembled him in coloring, but she'd had more trouble escaping their mother's influence—no doubt partly because she was younger, and his mother had her own hopes for her only daughter.

Colin looked from his sister to Belinda. They should be at least vaguely familiar with each other. After all, they were only a few years apart in age and had grown up in the same social circles.

He cleared his throat. “Sophie, I would have thought you and Belinda were acquainted.”

His sister jerked her head up and gave him an alarmed look. Her eyes darted to their mother before returning to him. “I believe that Belinda and I have been at some of the same social functions, but we hardly spoke.”

Everyone, of course, knew why.

The friction between the Granvilles and the Wentworths was legendary, and judging from the conversation tonight, it was also in their blood to be unable to communicate.

Colin would not be deterred. “My sister is a graphic designer, Belinda. She's always coming up with new prints inspired by famous artists.”

Belinda and Sophie exchanged wary looks.

“Actually, my designs are influenced by
manga,
” Sophie said. “I've visited Japan several times.”

“I've been to Japan for Lansing's,” Belinda responded.

Sophie nodded…and the conversation lapsed.

Colin firmed his jaw.

He guessed he wouldn't be able to unearth the witty Belinda tonight even if he had professional digging equipment. The same went for Sophie.

His mother was, of course, a lost cause.

No, the only things that glittered about the women
tonight were their clothes and their jewels. Belinda's beaded top caught the light, competing with his mother's five-carat ruby necklace.

He suddenly saw the months stretching ahead of him like a dusty desert road. If his family and Belinda could barely talk then he'd have to keep them away from each other.

He could easily do so, of course. He owned several houses, and Halstead Hall was quite large. But it rankled that he'd have to resort to it.

This should have been a moment to savor because Belinda was his.

She'd set down her weekend bag in a guest suite when she'd arrived earlier today, but in his mind, now that she'd agreed to remain his wife, it was only a matter of time before he seduced her into thinking that heading back to bed with him was a good idea.

He studied his wife. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders and just caressing the tops of her breasts. Her lips were full and glistening pink, and her profile straight. The soft lines of her cheek and jaw were outlined by the light and shadows of the dining room.

He wanted her.

They had explosive chemistry in bed, and he was looking forward to enjoying it again.

On the other hand,
explosive
could hardly be used to describe dinner.

It was time, he decided, to ignite the fuse on the proverbial bomb.

He cleared his throat, and three pairs of eyes fixed on him.

“Belinda and I have been invited to the Duke of Hawkshire's wedding to Pia Lumley,” he said. “It will be our first public outing as a couple.”

Aside, of course, to their literal outing as man and wife at the Wentworth-Dillingham near-miss of a wedding last year, he added silently.

His words rang out like the peal of cathedral bells—though Hawk and Pia were in actuality getting married in a local parish.

Belinda's eyes widened.

Colin could tell it hadn't occurred to her that Pia and Hawk's wedding was next week, and now that she'd agreed to their bargain, they'd be attending together as husband and wife.

His mother, on the other hand, looked aghast.

He guessed she was thinking that next week didn't give her enough time to change his mind or do damage control.

Colin took a last bite of his food, satisfied that he'd taken control of matters.

 

“By God, you've done it.” Uncle Hugh smiled, slapped his knee and then grasped the arm of his leather chair.

Belinda regarded her uncle from where she was sitting on the sofa and had to agree. On the other hand, she and Uncle Hugh almost certainly had different ideas about what his words connoted.

“I hope you're satisfied.” The words were a strange echo of the ones that she'd slapped Colin with.

She was back in Uncle Hugh's Mayfair town house after a night at Halstead Hall.

Except, of course, it wasn't her uncle's town house any longer.

Belinda glanced around the sitting room. Her uncle was looking several shades more robust than he had mere days ago, when he'd declared that all was lost. Her mother was as elegant as ever as she sat sipping tea next to Belinda on the sofa. On the surface, there was nothing to distinguish
this gathering from hundreds that they'd had in this house before.

But now Belinda
knew
Colin owned these walls.

The town house was furnished with a few antiques but certainly nothing that would impress a marquess used to even grander quarters. Without the family history here that the Wentworths had, what possible use could Colin have for this house?

I intend to make a conquest of the Wentworths once and for all.

Colin's words had become more of a reality than she could possibly have predicted.

When she'd arrived at Halstead Hall two days ago to meet with Colin, she'd immediately been shown to a guest suite, and it had been easy to avoid Colin with the interference of his mother and his sister in the house.

The morning after the stilted family dinner, she'd made her excuses and departed for London and eventually New York to settle her affairs and attend to business, particularly now that she knew she'd be spending more time in England for the foreseeable future.

Colin hadn't appeared happy about her departure, but if he sensed that her work wasn't as pressing as she made it seem, he'd said nothing. Besides, she knew he had his own business matters to attend to.

He seemed content to bide his time, but she knew he was intent on seducing her. They were engaged in a game of cat and mouse, really.

Recalling Belinda back from her thoughts, her mother set down her cup and saucer on a nearby table. “When I asked how you planned to quell the scandal
du jour,
I had no idea that you would do so by staying married to Easterbridge.”

“What did you expect me to do, Mother?” Belinda asked.

She'd always felt as if she had a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't relationship with her mother.