by Anna DePalo
The truth was that she had paid for a portion of her wedding. But when Uncle Hugh and her mother had insisted on a lavish affair, she’d given in—on the condition that they bear the additional expense.
“I imagine that Hugh saw your nuptials as Napoleon’s escape from Elba,” Colin said, connecting the dots for her. “It was his last, desperate gamble to save the family legacy through a fresh infusion of cash from the Dillinghams. Unfortunately, it instead became his Waterloo.”
She stared at Colin in disbelief. It was inconceivable that a Granville owned Wentworth land now. But then again, she imagined that some people found it hard to comprehend that a Wentworth—namely, her—was married to a Granville.
But all was not lost, she told herself.
“Even if you own both properties,” she countered, “as your wife, I have a claim to them. We are married, after all.”
She’d learned something from consulting a matrimonial lawyer.
Colin’s eyes gleamed with reluctant admiration. “Yes, but only to half the property at most, in all likelihood. And at best, you might be able to get a legal accounting, but then you’d only be entitled to a portion of the cash value from the sale of the estates to a third party.”
The rat. Colin would rigorously litigate. She should have known better than to try to best Colin at his own game. Business moguls like him kept schools of corporate lawyers well-fed.
“What about the property that you acquired through your business during our nonmarriage?” she challenged. “Wouldn’t that be considered marital property subject to division in a divorce? We don’t have a prenuptial agreement.”
“Since our marriage has been brief and defunct from day one—” he didn’t say thanks to you, though Belinda felt the words as an accusation “—it’s unlikely that a court would view those as up for grabs. In any case, I assume your first priority would be trying to get back the Wentworth estate.”
Belinda tried to keep the defeat out of her shoulders, because he was right.
“It seems we’re at an impasse.”
“You’ve obviously given this thought,” she accused.
“Quite, but then three years is a long time to ruminate…about having a wife without conjugal rights.”
Belinda felt the flush crawl up her face. “What makes you think I give a fig for what happens to some old buildings and parcels of land an ocean away?”
“Oh, you do,” he returned silkily. “The Mayfair town house and the Berkshire estate are where you spent your childhood.”
Belinda bit her bottom lip.
“I only observed you from afar,” Colin added mockingly, “but I was aware enough of your comings and goings to understand that much.”
He was right, damn him.
She recalled running through the halls of the Mayfair town house when she was four or five, and later, learning to ride a horse on the Berkshire estate. And then there had been the innumerable dinner parties. She’d watched her mother get ready for them by donning an expensive gown and selecting the jewels from the family safe. When she was still an adolescent, she’d been invited to join those dinner parties. It was where she’d first met artists of national and international importance and learned the love of art that she’d turned into a career.
Still, she knew enough not to give away too much. “What do you want?”
“I want the woman I married. The one who made decisions for herself, instead of following in her family’s footsteps. For a wife like that, I might be willing to come to some sort of compromise about the disposal of my properties.”
“I’m not into rebellion enough to be your wife.”
“Oh, you’re more of a rebel than you think,” Colin returned smoothly, stepping closer.
Belinda lifted her eyebrows in mock inquiry.
“One can even say your move to New York, distancing yourself from the other Wentworths, was a small act of rebellion.”
She felt strangely exposed.
“It’s your choice,” Colin said. “You can choose to be a Princess Leia or a Han Solo. You can choose to be a stick-in-the-mud and annul our marriage for another safe and family-approved husband, or you can be someone who lives life according to her own terms. Which is it going to be?”
“Frankly, it’s like being offered a bargain by Darth Vader,” she tossed back, covering her sudden confusion.
Colin’s eyes crinkled, and then he laughed.
Belinda swallowed. Despite her flippant response, Colin’s words hit close to home. But then, what did he know of her life? She wasn’t a stick-in-the-mud, damn it. She was just responsible.
This conversation was enough to make a girl long for some shopping therapy.
“What’s in this for you?” she asked.
“I told you. I’m cultivating an investment.”
She fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Does it matter?” he retorted. “Your side of the game is clear. You can do as your family dictates and end our marriage, but that may leave the Wentworth heritage solely in my hands. Is that what you want?”
What she wanted? She had no idea, not anymore. There was too much at stake, and he was far too attractive, standing so close to her, looking so powerful and in control.
“The other option is better,” he tempted. “By staying married to me, you can both rebel and play the role of dutiful daughter or niece at the same time. It’s rare that such an opportunity presents itself.”
She tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying.
“Stay married to me, and you can move these paintings to Downlands.”
“To Downlands?” she challenged, licking suddenly dry lips. “Downlands is no longer mine.”
“It could be solely yours,” Colin countered, his voice low and smooth, “if we remain married. I’ll sign that contract.”
She wasn’t ready for this. She needed time to process…think…
But Colin wasn’t giving her time or space. He stepped closer, within touching distance.
She felt a sizzle skate along her nerve endings.
His hair was short and silky, like mink, and his eyes were dark and gave nothing away. She noticed the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes that had grown infinitesimally more pronounced from three years ago.
She shifted her gaze downward, over the hard planes of his cheekbones and nose, to his mouth. For a hard man, he had soft lips.
As she well knew. On their wedding night, he’d kissed every inch of her, doing a leisurely survey, as she had lain on black satin sheets, the petals from the roses that he’d hastily procured for their ceremony haphazardly scattered around them.
He’d used the petals to tickle and arouse her until she’d moaned and writhed, practically panting for him to take her.
He’d been equally affected. His heart had beat hard and fast, and when he’d slid inside her, there hadn’t been a moment’s doubt about how much he wanted her.
It had been the most decadent thing she’d ever done in her life.
Colin’s lips moved. “You look practically slumberous.”
She jerked her gaze upward and then felt red-hot heat stain her cheeks.
He looked amused but intent. “What were you thinking about? Remembering the last time we were in Vegas?”
Remember? She could feel him in every pore, like an airy caress.
“It was a mistake,” she said automatically.
“How do you know?” he responded. “You refuse to test the proposition.”
“I don’t need to touch fire again to know I’ll get burned.”
She realized instantly that her analogy was off, because his eyes kindled.
“Interesting choice of words,” he murmured. “Is that what we were? Did we go up in smoke?”
“I didn’t say—”
He rested his finger against her lips, stopping her words.
They both went still, searching each other’s eyes.
He lowered his hand only to
trail his finger down her chin and then her throat, in a light caress.
He slid his hand to cup the side of her neck, and his thumb found and came to rest on her pulse.
The rapid beat of her heart was a giveaway as to how affected she was, and they both knew it.
“It was good, wasn’t it?” he asked, rubbing soothingly over her rapid pulse. “The best sex ever.”
She swallowed, and her lips parted. She had tried not to think about it, but yes, it had been the most sensational night of her life.
“Should I feel flattered?” she challenged.
He laughed. “Maybe lucky is more like it, since similar nights can be yours for free.”
“Everything has a price.”
“I’m willing to keep paying.”
“And what will I have to pay?”
“Next to nothing compared to what you’ll receive…and what we can create together. What we have created together, remember?”
She sucked in a breath. “It was Vegas. It makes you do crazy things.”
“We’re back here, breathing the same air. And it’s our anniversary.”
Dear Lord. “Our families are enemies. It was forbidden sex, nothing more.”
“We’re married. I’m legally yours and you’re legally mine.”
“Only because you haven’t fought fair.”
“You said that you wanted a man who played for keeps, because you’d been burned before. Yet you threw me back the next morning.”
“So what is it you want now, revenge sex?”
He smiled enigmatically. “Is that going to be your excuse if it’s just as explosive?”
She started to turn her head to the side, but his mouth came down on hers before her denial was complete.
Three years. Three years she’d lived with the memory of what it was like to kiss and be possessed by Colin Granville, Marquess of Easterbridge.
In one moment, however, the memory was washed away by an even more vivid reality.
If Colin had been demanding, she might have had a better chance of resisting him. But he kissed her languidly, as if he was enjoying a sweet drink and had all the time in the world.
He tasted minty and warm. He slid his tongue into her mouth and coaxed her into deepening the kiss.
Belinda felt every sensation as if she was doing tequila shots without the lime. It was heady, and there was no respite.
Colin slid his hand to her rear end, bringing her flush up against his undeniable arousal, and his other hand slid around her back, molding her to him.
Belinda could feel everything through the thin fabric of her matte jersey dress. She became aware of her nipples jutting and pressing into the unyielding wall of his chest.
She’d been hoping her memories were exaggerated, but Colin lived up to billing and more.
Being in his arms was an intoxicating mix of the dangerous—as if she was walking on a precipice and he was tempting her into unknown and risky territory—and the comforting. He was solid and capable and made her feel oddly free, as if with him, at least, she could finally and truly be herself.
Strange. She shouldn’t feel as if he was someone to whom she might shift her burden. He was a Granville, she reminded herself, and she still wasn’t sure what game he was playing. And it didn’t help that she’d just confirmed she had a visceral sexual reaction to him.
She stilled and then pulled away.
Colin let her go reluctantly.
They stared at each other, both breathing deeply.
Colin’s eyes glittered, but then he gained mastery of himself and banked the fires.
Belinda could only imagine what she looked like. Her lips tingled from his kiss, and she fought a sudden unsettling urge to slip back into his arms for more.
She started to raise her hand to her lips, belatedly realized Colin caught the movement and then abruptly stopped herself.
She bent and grabbed her purse, then turned on her heel and hurried to the door.
She didn’t care that she was fleeing—and he was letting her.
He spoke behind her. “The paintings—”
“The price is too high.”
Five
Belinda glanced around the elegantly appointed Mayfair town house. Her visit was like her last…with one important difference.
The town house no longer belonged to the Wentworths, as it had for generations, but was merely on loan. Despite the illusion of permanence afforded by the decor of family antiques, everything was ephemeral.
Her uncle continued to reside here at the Marquess of Easterbridge’s pleasure. Uncle Hugh could have the heirloom Persian rug pulled out from under him at any moment.
“Tell me it isn’t true.”
She said the words without preamble after appearing unannounced in the library. She knew this conversation was too important to have over the phone. She’d arranged a flight to London as soon as she could, right after flying back to New York from Vegas without making any progress on an annulment.
Uncle Hugh regarded her from behind his desk. “Whatever are you talking about, my dear?” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know you were in London. You do lead the peripatetic existence these days, don’t you?”
“I just arrived this morning.” Belinda glanced around her. “Tell me you did not sell this house.”
After a moment, Uncle Hugh visibly crumbled. “How did you find out?”
“Does it matter?” she responded.
After she’d taken off from the hacienda, she’d considered that Colin might call her uncle himself to mention their meeting in Vegas and to reveal himself as the cloaked buyer. She’d dreaded that he’d go public with the news. But judging from her uncle’s reaction, he hadn’t done anything—so far.
Upon reflection, she realized that she should have known Colin would leave it to her to make the shocking revelation to her uncle that his buyer was the Marquess of Easterbridge. Of course.
Still, she wondered what it signified. Did Colin intend to derive every satisfaction from vanquishing her uncle, including having Belinda confront her relative, or did he think it was more merciful for her to deliver the news rather than for him to reveal it himself?
“I was assured of discretion,” Uncle Hugh said, his tone defensive. “I am continuing to live here and at the estate in Berkshire, and nobody needs to be the wiser about the change in ownership.”
Belinda looked at him with a sinking heart. “Assured of discretion for how long and by whom? The Russian billionaire to whom you thought you sold the property for investment purposes?”
Uncle Hugh nodded. “The agreement was for me to continue to live here for years.” He paused. “How did you find out? If you know, then—”
“You fell into a trap. A layer of corporate entities obscured his identity, but the buyer is none other than the Marquess of Easterbridge.”
Uncle Hugh looked flabbergasted and then bowed his head and clasped his forehead with his hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me the family finances were so dire?” Belinda demanded.
“There’s nothing you could have done.”
“How did we reach this pass?”
She had a right to know, especially since she was on the spot for getting them out of this quagmire. At least, the smaller of the Berkshire estates remained in Wentworth hands, so her family would never be completely without a home, but their identity was tied up in the properties that they no longer owned.
Her uncle glanced up and shook his head, his look beseeching. “Our financial investments have not done well in the past few years. There are also family members with significant allowances. Your mother…”
Neither of them needed to say more. Belinda was well aware of her mother’s lavish lifestyle. She made no mention, however, of Uncle Hugh’s own expensive tastes. Of course, her uncle would not view them as such. After all, what was the cost of a bespoke suit to one who had worn them for all his adult life?
As for herself, Belinda supplemented her modest
salary at Lansing’s with a small trust fund that her grandparents and father had left her, so she had not needed to draw an allowance. If she had known the specifics, however, she would have gladly turned over her trust fund to save the family ship from sinking. At the same time, she doubted it would have done much good aside from buying them a small amount of time.
Belinda studied her uncle. He’d always loomed large in her life—someone to look up to. She’d grown up under his roof. But now he appeared diminished by more than merely his years. The shoe was on the other foot now, and Belinda felt uncomfortably like she was chastising a child.
Uncle Hugh bent his head. “It’s all ruined.”
“Not quite.”
She knew what ruin felt like—her wedding day had been a disaster—so her heart went out to her uncle. At the same time, she stopped herself from pointing out that while she had been castigated for marrying a Granville, Uncle Hugh had sold the family estates to one, albeit inadvertently. Who had committed the greater transgression?
Her uncle glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Colin is reluctant to grant me a divorce, though he ultimately may not have a choice.” Nothing was ever quite as lost as one believed, she was discovering.
Uncle Hugh brightened. “We may have some leverage.”
“I knew you’d think so,” she commented drily.
“Yes, yes.” Her uncle looked more animated by the second. “You must stay married to him.”
Belinda bit her lip. Stay married to Colin? She’d avoided dwelling on the possibility since leaving Vegas.
Uncle Hugh sat up straighter. “Tell him that you’ll stay married on condition of his signing over the properties to you.”
“What?” she asked, sliding into a seat because she didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “What possible motivation would he have for doing so? He’d likely think I’d divorce him as soon as I had the deeds to the properties, and he’d be right!”
“Then negotiate,” her uncle replied, setting his hands on his desk. “Have him turn over the properties one by one.”
Belinda’s stomach felt as if it were a roller coaster. “A postnuptial agreement?”
“Exactly.” Her uncle nodded. “It’s done all the time.”
