by Anna DePalo
Belinda worried her lip. Why was it up to her to save the family fortunes?
Colin was right—this was her chance to be the rebel and the dutiful child all at once. But she never would have dreamed that Uncle Hugh would latch on to the idea with such enthusiasm. This is the most her family had ever asked of her. It was all preposterous and outrageous. Yet she found herself considering it.
“Why would Colin want to stay married to me?” she rejoined.
Her uncle looked at her keenly. “Now there’s a question for the marquess. You’re an attractive girl. And perhaps he wants to save face with society. After all, you did almost marry another man while you remained his wife. If you and the marquess live as man and wife for a period of time, it’ll stamp out the taint.”
Belinda felt her shoulders slump. She didn’t believe Colin cared a fig about society—after all, he was the one who had generated a scandal by interrupting her wedding. But soothing the blow to his pride? Yes, that she could believe. She had rejected Colin after their Vegas wedding. She’d fled, fearful of what she’d done, and had beat a hasty retreat down the reckless path she’d traveled in one night.
If she had instigated Colin’s drive for revenge, wasn’t she responsible for rectifying the fallout?
The thought swept through Belinda’s mind. Her world was no longer a neat painting but one streaked with bold and unexpected new colors.
She was no longer faced with the relatively simple matter of dissolving her marriage to Colin. The Wentworth heritage was in Granville hands. And the responsible streak in her wouldn’t let her walk away without making an effort to save it, especially if she’d had a hand in bringing about the current situation.
Still, even if she was responsible, could she play a high-stakes game with a seasoned gambler?
Her cell phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts, and she fished it out of her handbag to glance down at a text message.
Meet @ Halstead—DH
Belinda’s mind churned. The message could be interpreted as a summons, a request or a question. Halstead Hall was the family seat in Berkshire of the Marquess of Easterbridge. Though Belinda didn’t recognize the phone number, there was no mistaking whom the text was from. Colin had cleverly signed himself as DH—darling husband in text parlance.
There was one way to find out the answer to the question of whether she was up to the task of saving the Wentworth family fortune.
Her campaign would be if not exactly snatching victory from the jaws of disaster then at least surviving to fight another day.
“I’ll remain married to you.”
Belinda felt like a defeated army general being summoned for the signing of a peace treaty, all of whose terms had been dictated by the other side. Her job was to salvage what she could.
In a nod to the nippy March weather, her armor was a cowl-neck sweaterdress and knee-high boots.
Colin stood beside the fireplace in a drawing room of Halstead Hall. He wore a knit pullover over wool trousers—typical English country-gentleman attire.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I have certain conditions, however,” she said from a few feet away, having declined a seat.
She tried not to look around, because she feared she might be daunted. She’d never been inside Halstead Hall before, but of course she was familiar with the house and surrounding estate. Together they formed a Berkshire landmark, and she’d grown up literally next door.
The house was an immense monolith with a beauty all its own. It had been started in the sixteenth century and added onto ever since. There were enough turrets, arched entries and paned windows to impress the most discerning cognoscenti, let alone the typical tourist.
Belinda had found it almost comical to be greeted at the door by the housekeeper and addressed as Lady Granville. Obviously, Colin had informed his staff about what to expect after she’d texted him back and accepted his invitation to meet—or perhaps, more accurately, set down arms—at Halstead Hall. To her credit, the housekeeper had acted as if Belinda’s arrival at the front door was already an everyday occurrence.
Belinda knew she had taken on quite a bit by meeting Easterbridge in his bastion. But if nothing else, their recent encounters had shown her that negotiations would take place on his terms. The ball was, quite literally, in his court.
If the outside of Halstead Hall was an impressive testament to centuries of wealth and power, then the inside bore witness to the current occupant’s money and prestige. Everything had been updated for modern comfort but was still in keeping with the house’s history and majesty. The whole vast interior had central heat, twenty-first century plumbing and insulation and barely a creaky floorboard.
There were finely wrought plaster ceilings, and antique furniture and marble busts. She recognized paintings from Rubens and Gainsborough, among others.
It was all in depressing contrast to the Wentworth properties. She’d grown up with her great-grandmother’s Victorian china, but not wealth of the caliber that existed at Halstead Hall. She knew that Downlands needed a long-overdue modernization of its plumbing and heating, and the Mayfair town house required a new roof.
“Of course you have conditions,” Colin said smoothly. “Would one of those be having a wedding ceremony that does not involve a Vegas chapel?”
“No, definitely not.” She didn’t appreciate his sardonic humor. It was bad enough that she had come back to him with proverbial hat in hand. “I said I’d stay married to you—not that I’d marry you again.”
She’d already survived an elopement and a wedding. She didn’t want to push her luck. Because let’s face it, she and the altar had a love-hate relationship.
His reaction wasn’t what she’d anticipated. It was cool and calculating, despite a certain intensity in his gaze.
“There’s a difference?” he asked mockingly.
“Of course,” she replied. “Can you imagine what our two families would do if they had to sit across a church aisle from each other?”
“Make peace and attribute it to divine intervention?” he quipped.
“Quite the opposite, I’m sure.”
“It might make for a good show.”
“I’d rather take my chances with an Elvis impersonator.”
“You almost did.”
“Don’t remind me.” She’d declined—just barely—the offer of an Elvis wannabe to witness her elopement.
“So what are your conditions?”
“I want you to sign over the Wentworth properties to my name.”
“Ah.” Colin’s eyes gleamed, as if he’d been expecting her demand.
Belinda raised her chin. “It’s a fair bargain. After all, they are what is keeping this marriage alive.”
Colin tilted his head. “Considering how weak your bargaining position is, it’s an impressive demand. After all, your only bargaining chip is to threaten to dissolve our marriage, but then you wouldn’t necessarily wind up with the Wentworth estates anyway.”
Belinda felt her face heat but stood her ground.
She’d learned a few things during her years as an art specialist. One of them was to start bargaining by asking for more than one could possibly hope to get. It was up to him to make a counteroffer.
“And more than that,” Colin continued, “what assurance do I receive that you won’t go running off to Vegas for a dissolution the moment that I do sign the properties over to you?”
“You have my pledge.”
Colin laughed. “You’re delectable, but you are a Wentworth.”
Belinda ignored how her pulse skittered and skated over the word delectable. “And you’re a Granville.”
“It does come down to that, doesn’t it?”
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 manipul
ate 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.”
Six
Colin 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.
