Improperly Wed

by Anna DePalo

  Belinda’s head buzzed. She felt the strong and steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. The contact with him was intoxicating, just like at the opera.

  “We may have been born and bred to be enemies,” he said, “but in this, we’re one.”

  “It’s just passion…”

  “Enough to build on.”

  Colin bent his head slowly, tilting it first in one direction and then in another, as if deciding how he wanted to kiss her.

  Belinda felt as if the moment drew out forever.

  When he finally settled his lips on hers, it was with soft but insistent pressure, and Belinda unconsciously parted her lips.

  He tasted faintly minty and all male, a flavor that only fueled and deepened her desire. His hands settled on her shoulders, where they molded and relaxed her.

  She’d closed the door on their past. She’d tried not to dwell on how hotly passionate their night in Vegas had been. Now, however, she recalled vividly how he’d kissed every inch of her.

  Her nipples became pronounced, her hips heavy with desire.

  Colin moved his hands down her back.

  “I don’t know where the zipper is,” he murmured between kisses.

  “That’s the point,” she said against his mouth.

  “I don’t want to ruin your lovely dress. It fits you like a glove, and with any luck, there’ll be other evenings when you can wear it to bring me to my knees.”

  She fought against the feelings that his words evoked. “You are not literally on your knees.”

  He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. “Would you like me to be?”

  She trembled because she remembered the previous time that Colin had called her bluff. They had walked into a wedding chapel.

  He trailed a finger lazily down from her collarbone to her cleavage, just skirting the tip of one breast.

  “If I were on my knees,” he said in a deep voice, “I think my lips would reach right here.”

  He touched the sensitive skin of her midriff.

  She found herself holding her breath.

  “On the other hand, if you bent forward,” he continued, “my mouth would close over here.”

  His thumb skimmed over her nipple, and Belinda gasped and her eyes went wide.

  “Would you bend over for me?”

  “I—it’s a theoretical question,” she responded thickly.

  “But it doesn’t have to be.”

  He settled his lips on hers again, and Belinda’s response was muted.

  This time, rather than holding still, he folded her into his arms, and she slid her hands around his shoulders.

  Colin found the zipper hidden in the side seam of her dress. He lowered it slowly, and cool air hit her skin.

  Colin trailed his lips across her jaw to the delicate shell of her ear and then down toward her throat.

  Images, words and scents from their night in Vegas came back to her. They’d been joking and teasing…until suddenly they weren’t. Instead, they’d lain back on the bed, entangled in passion.

  It had been the best sex of her life. Colin had been tender, prepared and patient—that is, he had been until a powerful climax had shaken him and sent her over the top with its aftershocks.

  And now he was doing it again.

  The dress slipped away from her.

  Colin took a step back so that he perched on the corner of his desk. “Come here. Please.”

  If he’d been arrogant or impatient, she’d have had a chance at resisting him. Instead, she took two steps forward and fit in the space created by his legs.

  He leaned forward, and his lips nuzzled her cleavage.

  Belinda’s eyes drifted closed.

  He licked first the tip of one breast and then of the other, stoking a fever of emotion inside her.

  She moaned, and her fingers spread through his hair.

  Colin settled his mouth on one breast, and Belinda arched up to him.

  She felt deliciously alive, her body humming with desire. She rubbed against Colin’s erection, the evidence of his burgeoning passion.

  Colin groaned and turned his attention to her other breast.

  It was all too much and yet not enough, Belinda thought hazily. It was consuming and liberating.

  Their clothes fell away from them, one by one, until only Colin’s trousers remained as a barrier between them.

  With her gown and panties pooled at her feet, he lifted her, not breaking their kiss.

  Her high-heeled pumps hit the library floor with a thud, one after the other.

  Colin strode with her across the room and stopped next to the sofa. She slid down his body, feeling every hard plane and muscle on the way, her breasts grazing the sparse hair on his chest, until her feet touched the ground.

  A low fire burned in the hearth nearby, casting shadows on the Oriental rug before it.

  She looked up at Colin. “I thought we’d be safe in a room without a bed.”

  He grazed her temple with his lips. “There are ways around it. And we’ve already tried a bed.”

  “The Renoir hangs in your bedroom. Isn’t that the key to your seduction?”

  He gave a choked laugh. “Call it arrogance, call it flying without a net, but maybe I thought I would be enough.”

  Colin skimmed his hands over her thighs and then up her back.

  Together, they lowered to the sofa, and he leaned over her.

  His eyes glittering down at her, he cupped her intimately. He parted her folds and dipped inside her. She clenched around him instinctively.

  She felt the caress of his thumb at her most intimately guarded place. Her eyelids lowered, and she bit down hard on her lip. Waves of sensation lapped her.

  “You drive me crazy when you do that.”

  “Oh.” Then she realized she wasn’t sure what he meant. “Oh?”

  “I keep thinking of sucking on that pouty lower lip of yours.”

  Unthinkingly, she bit her lip again.

  “I want you.” Already shirtless, he stood up and disposed of his trousers, and then sheathed himself with protection that he retrieved from a pocket.

  The flames from the fire cast their flickering shadows on him, showing him in all his bronze glory.

  He was magnificent—primed and male and wanting her. Right now.

  Liquid fire coursed through Belinda.

  Colin lowered himself to her, settling himself between her legs.

  “I’m sure this sofa is an antique,” she protested.

  “Then it’s been witness to plenty.”

  Without another word, he glided inside her, causing them both to sigh.

  It had been so long—three years—that Belinda found herself trembling. A tremor went through Colin, too. She could feel it.

  He began a rhythm that she soon took up in counterpoint, her fingers finding traction on the dips and plateaus of the muscles of his back.

  They both moaned.

  “That’s right,” Colin urged.

  “Yes.” The blistering word was all she could manage.

  The sofa groaned and creaked with their increasingly urgent movements.

  They were so hot for each other that it was a wonder their coupling wasn’t over in minutes.

  She was impressed by Colin’s control in order to give and receive pleasure. He was making it good for her, just as he had in Vegas.

  Waves lapped her with increasing strength until she felt herself undulating with climax.

  She cried out and Colin held her, soothing her.

  Minutes later, he built his rhythm again, until he suddenly stilled and gave a hoarse groan.

  Belinda followed him over the edge again on a throaty cry.

  Afterward, they lay together, spent and breathless.

  If there was any doubt, Belinda thought, about their first time being a fluke, it had been put to rest.

  Ten

  “Congratulations, Melton.”

  Colin glanced around him after offering the words. He and Sawyer, along
with Hawk, were sitting in the library of Sawyer’s London abode, a luxury flat in Mayfair. Tamara, Sawyer’s wife, had come home from the hospital yesterday, after giving birth to Viscount Averil. She, Pia and Belinda had gone to the nursery with the baby.

  “Thank you,” Sawyer said in acknowledgment of his words. “In lieu of cigars, I’ll suggest a round of scotch.”

  “It is a rather stupendous occasion,” Hawk remarked.

  “Rather,” Colin commented. “The newly arrived viscount is in fine form, though he came a little early.”

  Belinda had received a call that Tamara had given birth, a few days after the trip to Covent Garden. Colin had driven them to London at one of the earliest opportunities.

  Still, his brief time at Halstead Hall with Belinda had been spectacular, Colin thought with an inner grin. Three years had not dimmed his memory of their wedding night in Las Vegas, and the night of the opera had been a fitting sequel.

  He felt a bone-deep sense of rightness—like turning up an ace at the end of a card game. Certainly, it wasn’t a feeling that he’d gotten with any other woman.

  Now all that remained was to get Belinda to acknowledge aloud that he, a dreaded Granville, had the same effect on her. It was all that remained, but it was a tall order.

  “The baby’s arrival caught both me and Tamara by surprise,” Sawyer said, breaking into Colin’s thoughts. “Though since he weighed seven pounds, perhaps it was a good thing that Tamara didn’t go on for even another week.”

  “Thanks to Tamara’s dual citizenship,” Colin remarked, “the little viscount will also be an American heir to the earldom.”

  Sawyer rose and headed to the bar. “I’m sure one of my ancestors is rolling in his grave right now. Probably one of those who was among George III’s cronies.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Tamara rather liked the idea of—”

  “—snubbing one of your starchy ancestors?” Hawk finished.

  Sawyer turned back and smiled. “I’m just relieved we were within walking distance of a hospital when Tamara went into labor. And now with the baby, we’re heading in a new direction.”

  Hawk addressed Colin. “Speaking of new directions, you and Belinda appear to be on more amicable footing these days, Easterbridge.”

  Colin cast him a droll but forbearing look. “You mean she doesn’t seem to be on the verge of doing me in?”

  Sawyer looked up, pausing in the act of pouring scotch into a double old-fashioned. “One can’t help but note the subdued fireworks.”

  “Meaning there still are some?”

  Hawk tilted his head. “I’m surprised I haven’t enjoyed more barbed comments between you and Belinda up to now.”

  “Yes, rather unsporting of me not to provide more entertainment,” Colin commented drily.

  “We do have empathy for you, Easterbridge,” Sawyer put in, walking back with three glasses in his hands, “because we were in your shoes ourselves not too long ago.”

  Colin knew that neither Hawk nor Sawyer had had a smooth path to the altar with their wives. And yet, both were happily married now.

  “Still, it is interesting to watch how the mighty have fallen,” Hawk added with a grin, accepting a glass.

  Colin quirked a brow. “What makes you think I’ve fallen—or even kneeled?”

  Hawk and Sawyer exchanged looks before Hawk looked back at Colin with a sly smile. “Then I’ll look forward to witnessing it happen when it does.”

  Colin felt his cell phone vibrate, fished it out of his pocket, and glanced down for a moment at the screen.

  “Congratulate me, gentlemen,” he announced, accepting his own glass from Sawyer. “You’re looking at the new owner of the Wentworth’s Elmer Street property.”

  Hawk’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve bought another Wentworth property in London?”

  “Only a minor one.”

  “And let me guess,” Sawyer said, “you did not reveal yourself in this real-estate deal, either.”

  “Only to those who know the exact constituency of the firm Halbridge Properties,” Colin returned blandly.

  Hawk shook his head in resignation. “You got Halbridge from combining Halstead and Easterbridge, I suppose. Clever.”

  Colin said nothing.

  “You’re in deep waters,” Hawk commented finally.

  Sawyer nodded his head in agreement. “Be careful, Easterbridge. Much as I admire your prowess in business, you’re in uncharted territory here.”

  “I’m used to high stakes,” Colin replied blandly, raising his glass in anticipation of a toast to the new arrival. “Bring it on.”

  Belinda looked down at the newborn Viscount Averil sleeping in his crib and her heart constricted. Tamara and Sawyer had named the baby Elliott, but by virtue of his father’s name and position, he carried a courtesy title and thus was styled Elliott Langsford, Viscount Averil.

  Belinda cast a glance around the nursery, done in shades of soft gray and white, before looking down at the baby again. She, Pia and a proud but tired Tamara hovered over the crib.

  Two days ago, Belinda reflected, she’d again had the best sex of her life. It had been glorious, liberating and disconcerting at the same time. If she was in the same room as Colin, she wanted to throw herself at him. And from the looks of him, Colin stood ready to catch her at a moment’s notice.

  Yet, she knew it was temporary. Their agreement was for two years. There would never be a sleeping baby with downy skin making soft breathing noises, his torso rising and falling with every rapid beat of his heart. She and Colin had used protection to ensure it.

  Belinda swallowed. She told herself that her emotion stemmed from the fact that she wouldn’t be a mother at least until after she and Colin parted ways. Of course, she didn’t want to become pregnant. Of course—it wasn’t part of her understanding with Colin.

  “Should we sit down?” Pia whispered, looking from Tamara to Belinda and back.

  Belinda shot Tamara a look of concern.

  Tamara’s smile was weary but transcendent. “Only if I have a donut pillow to sit on.”

  Pia giggled and then all three of them moved toward the doorway and into the adjacent playroom.

  Tamara sat in a rocking chair while Pia removed a stuffed giraffe from its position and sat on a toy chest.

  Belinda made herself comfortable in a perch on a child-size chair.

  She looked around the brightly colored playroom, a contrast to the nursery next door. “You know,” she quipped, “I think I need to get back to playing with a primary palette and get away from all this impressionist stuff.”

  Tamara and Pia laughed.

  Tamara gestured to the bookshelves set against a far wall. “Your watercolors await you. We’re stocked for kids of all ages.”

  Pia tilted her head to the side. “Speaking of playing, you and Colin are acting positively cozy. Did I imagine it, or did he give you a warm kiss soon after you walked in the door together?”

  Belinda flushed.

  Pia was a true romantic, but Belinda didn’t want to give her friend false hope. The truth was that she and Colin had become lovers. But they didn’t have a permanent relationship, despite being married.

  Tamara sat up straighter. “Something tells me that Belinda is looking at Colin more kindly these days.”

  Pia clapped her hands. “Oh, good. I always thought you and Colin should—”

  “It’s not what you think,” Belinda said.

  Tamara arched a brow. “Worse?”

  How had her friend guessed? She was susceptible to Colin, more so than she had wanted to admit.

  Belinda hesitated and then confessed, “Diary, I slept with him.”

  Pia gasped.

  Tamara laughed. “We’ve all been there and now I have a baby to prove it.”

  Exactly, Belinda thought. In contrast, there’d be no baby for her—at least with Colin. She shifted in her seat.

  “Just be careful,” Tamara said. “I’m afraid that Colin
is cut from the same cloth as his two counterparts sitting downstairs—Pia’s husband and, much as I love him, mine. In other words, he should come with a warning label.”

  She hardly needed the warning, Belinda thought, when the sensible part of her wholly agreed.

  “The path of true love never runs smooth,” Pia offered.

  Belinda knew Pia wouldn’t be quelled in her romantic notions, but neither would the continuing complicated history of the Granvilles and the Wentworths.

  Two days after visiting Sawyer and Tamara, Belinda prepared to attend a dinner-dance with Colin on an estate near Halstead Hall in honor of a new exhibition of eighteenth-century Chinese art. The guests were to be treated to an advance private viewing.

  Belinda wondered if Colin had wanted to accept the invitation to please her, because he knew art was her passion as well as her career.

  She scanned the contents of her closet. She moved aside one hanger after another. Though Colin had announced she had her own funds as the Marchioness of Easterbridge, she had decided to wear a gown that she already owned.

  She didn’t really have time to shop. What’s more, she already owned a small but formal wardrobe because her career required her to attend the occasional black-tie affair. She’d paid for her designer wardrobe by carefully budgeting her funds and shopping the sales.

  After debating a few minutes, she chose a floor-length beige tulle and beaded dress that cleverly skimmed her curves. Its color matched and blended with her skin tone.

  Later that night, Colin’s reaction didn’t disappoint.

  When she walked into the parlor where he was awaiting her, his face took on an appreciative expression.

  Belinda felt her pulse pick up—and not only because of the look on Colin’s face. If she thought she’d ever get used to him in a tuxedo, she was being proved mightily wrong.

  He had an old-world elegance. His hair gleamed glossy dark in the light, and he looked impossibly broad and masculine in his suit.

  The chauffeur appeared in the doorway. “I will await you outside at the car, my lord.”

  Colin’s eyes flickered away from her for an instant. “Very well, Thomas.”

  Belinda composed herself. The flower-motif tiara that Colin had previously given her was nestled in her upswept hair.