Improperly Wed (11 page)

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.

“C
ongratulations, 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.

“You look…” Colin's voice trailed away, as if he'd been robbed of words. “Ethereal.”

She felt the words like a caress. “Thank you.”

“I have something for you.”

She watched as he reached for a velvet case on a nearby table and then approached her.

He opened the case for her inspection, and her breath caught.

“Yet again, it appears we're on the same wavelength,” he commented, his tone deep.

The velvet case contained a dazzling diamond choker. The styling marked it as vintage, probably from the Victorian or Edwardian era.

“It came into the family by way of my great-great-grandmother.” There was a smile in Colin's voice. “She wasn't a Granville by birth.”

Belinda glanced up at him. “It's lovely.” She swallowed. “I'll need a moment to put it on.”

“No need,” he said, the words falling easily from his lips. “I'll help you.”

She searched his gaze, and what she saw there sent her heart into deep beats.

Colin set the box down and removed the diamond sparkler. It gleamed with white fire in the light.

She held herself still as he leaned close.

The cool diamonds slid against her skin, and a moment later, Colin's warm fingers touched her as he worked to fasten the jewelry at her neck.

Belinda felt her nipples tighten in reaction, and warmth pooled within her.

When his job was done, Colin paused, his lips hovering inches away from hers.

Her breath hitched in response.

They remained that way for only a fraction of a minute, but it seemed like forever.

“I'm looking forward to this evening,” Colin said huskily.

Yes. No, no.
What was wrong with her?

He had her so confused and sexually aware that she couldn't think straight.

Colin straightened and gave her a lopsided smile. “I believe I'll let you deal with the matching earrings yourself.”

The spell was broken. Belinda took a step back.

In the next moment, Colin reached for another velvet box, she turned toward a nearby oval mirror and the housekeeper simultaneously walked in to announce that rain was threatening and umbrellas were advisable.

Soon after, Belinda and Colin departed for the party. The short drive was uneventful, and since this wasn't her first social engagement with him, she soon found herself relaxing and enjoying the party when they arrived.

Two of Colin's married cousins were present—parents of children that she'd entertained in the art room. After some awkward chitchat with her, they and their spouses appeared to lower their defenses—if only because she'd so effectively entertained the junior members of the family.

A little while later, she was turning away from a conversation with a British viscount and his wife when she spotted a familiar figure and froze.

Tod.

She was aghast.

She had no idea that he would be here tonight. She glanced over at Colin and realized that he had noted Tod's presence, too.

Belinda stifled the impulse to bolt. She supposed it was inevitable that she and Colin would run into Tod at some point. London was not that big of a town. Still, did it have to be right now?

Tod approached her. “Lady Wentworth—or is it more proper to address you as Lady Granville?”

Within a moment, Colin had walked over to them and
gave Tod a sharp nod of acknowledgment. “In either case, she is the Marchioness of Easterbridge.”

Belinda looked at Colin. Must he refer to the elephant in the room so bluntly? All three of them knew she remained Colin's wife. Tod had asked a fair question given that she'd retained her maiden name and a number of people knew it.