Improperly Wed (3 page)

Belinda sighed. “What could I say, besides confirming that I am in fact still married to Easterbridge?”

“I see your point,” Pia conceded, “and I don't disagree. But I thought I'd give you the opportunity to respond to Mrs. Hollings if you want to.”

“No, thanks.”

The last thing Belinda wanted was for this scandal to play out in the media. After all, a public statement by her might just invite Easterbridge to issue his own
clarifications.

She would try to deal with Colin privately and discreetly—even if she had to go beard the lion in his den. She wanted to avoid further scandal, if possible. She knew it was a slippery slope from retaining lawyers to sending threatening letters and ultimately going through an ugly and public divorce.

 

“What the devil has gotten into you, Belinda?” Uncle Hugh said, coming around his desk as Belinda stepped into the library of his town house in London's Mayfair neighborhood.

The mark of disapproval was stamped all over her uncle's face.

She was being called to account. She, Belinda Wentworth, had done what none of her ancestors had—betrayed her heritage by marrying a Granville.

Belinda knew when she'd gone to London on business that she'd be compelled to pay a visit at the Mayfair town house. She had been able to escape in-depth conversations—and explanations—with her relatives directly after the wedding by departing the church forthwith and having Pia run interference for her at the show-must-go-on reception afterward. Her family had also been preoccupied with trying to save face with the assembled guests—to the extent such a thing was possible.

She glanced above the mantel at the Gainsborough painting of Sir Jonas Wentworth. The poor man was probably turning in his grave.

The London house had been in the Wentworth clan
for generations. Like many other highborn families, the Wentworths had fought tooth and nail to hang on to a fashionable Mayfair address that carried a certain cache, if no longer necessarily signifying generations of quality breeding due to the growing number of new money.

Though the Wentworths were not titled, they descended from a younger branch of the Dukes of Pelham and had intermarried with many other aristocratic families over the years—save, of course, for the despised Granvilles. Thus, they considered themselves as blue-blooded as anybody.

“This is quite a tangle that you've created,” her uncle went on as a servant rolled in a cart bearing the preparations for afternoon tea.

Belinda worried her bottom lip. “I know.”

“It must be resolved forthwith.”

“Of course.”

As the servant left the room, Uncle Hugh gestured for Belinda to sit down.

“Well, what are you going to do to fix this mess?” he asked as they both sat, she on the sofa and he in a nearby armchair.

By force of habit, Belinda leaned forward to fix tea. It gave her something to do—and the illusion of being in control while not meeting Uncle Hugh's gaze.

“I intend to obtain an annulment or divorce, of course,” she said evenly.

Despite her self-assured attitude, there was nothing
of course
about it.

She surveyed the tea tray. A proper English tea was more than loose tea and hot water. There were the customary finger sandwiches, buttery biscuits and warm scones.

Really, she could drown herself in scones right now. Crumbly blueberry ones…rich raisin ones…decadent chocolate-chip ones—

No, not decadent. Definitely not decadent.
It came too close to mimicking the behavior that had gotten her into her current fix with Colin.

She was decidedly not into decadent behavior, she told herself firmly.

Nevertheless, an image flashed into her mind of lounging on a king-size bed with Colin Granville, sharing champagne and strawberries high above the flashing lights of Las Vegas.

Her face heated.

“…a youthful indiscretion?”

She fumbled in the process of pouring hot water into a cup.

She jerked her head up. “What?”

Her uncle raised his eyebrows. “I was merely inquiring whether this unfortunate situation came about due to a youthful indiscretion?”

She knew she must look guilty. “Can I claim so even though I was thirty at the time?”

Uncle Hugh regarded her with a thoughtful but forbearing expression. “I'm not so old that I don't remember how much partying and club-hopping can go on in one's twenties or beyond.”

“Yes,” Belinda said, more than ready to accept the proffered excuse. “That must be it.”

Her uncle accepted a teacup and saucer from her.

“And, yet, I'm surprised at you, Belinda,” he went on as he took a sip of his tea. “You were never one for rebellion. You were sent to a proper boarding school and then to Oxford. No one expected this scenario.”

She should have guessed that she would not be let off the hook so easily.

Belinda stifled a grimace. Marlborough College's most famous graduate these days was the former Kate
Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, who would mostly likely be queen one day.
She,
by startling contrast, had failed miserably on the matrimonial front. She now had the wreckage of not one but two wedding ceremonies behind her.

She hated to disappoint Uncle Hugh. He had been a father figure to her since her own father's death after a yearlong battle with cancer when she'd been thirteen. As her father's older brother, and the head of the Wentworth family, her uncle had fallen naturally into the paternal role. A longtime widower, Uncle Hugh had been unable to have children with his wife and had remained single and childless since then.

On her part, Belinda had tried to be a good surrogate daughter. She'd grown up on Uncle Hugh's estates—learning to swim and ride a bicycle during her summers there. She'd gotten good grades, she hadn't acted out as a teenager and she'd kept her name out of the gossip columns—until now.

Uncle Hugh sighed and shook his grayed head. “Nearly three centuries of feuding and now this. Do you know your ancestor Emma was seduced by a Granville scoundrel? Fortunately, the family was able to hush up matters and arrange a respectable marriage for the poor girl to the younger son of a baronet.” His eyebrows knitted. “On the other hand, our nineteenth-century land dispute with the Granvilles dragged on for years. Fortunately, the courts were finally able to vindicate us on the matter of the proper property line between our estate and the Granvilles'.”

Belinda had heard both stories many times before. She opened her mouth to say something—
anything
—about how her situation with Colin was different.

“Ah! I see I've finally run you to ground.”

Belinda turned in time to watch her mother sail into
the room. She abruptly clamped her mouth shut to prevent herself from groaning out loud.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Her mother handed her purse and chiffon scarf to a servant who hastened in from the doorway before turning for a discreet retreat. As usual, she looked impeccably turned out—as if she'd just come from lunch at Annabelle's or one of her other customary jaunts. Her hair was coiffed, her dress was timelessly chic and probably St. John and her jewels were heirlooms.

Belinda thought that the contrast between her and her mother could hardly be more pronounced. She was casually dressed in chain-store chinos and a fluttery short-sleeved blouse that were paired with a couple of Tamara's affordable jewelry pieces.

Even aside from the accoutrements, however, Belinda knew she did not physically resemble her mother. Her mother was a fragile blonde, while she herself was a statuesque brunette. She took after the Wentworth side of the family in that regard.

“Mother,” Belinda tried, “we spoke right after the wedding.”

Her mother glanced at her and widened her eyes. “Yes, darling, but you gave me only the vaguest and most rudimentary of answers.”

Belinda flushed. “I told you what I knew.”

Her mother waved a hand airily. “Yes, yes, I know. The marquess' appearance was unexpected, his claims outlandish. Still, it all begs the question as to how precisely you've been married two odd years with no one being the wiser.”

“I told you the marquess claims that an annulment was never finalized. I am in the process of confirming that claim and rectifying matters.”

She had not hired a divorce lawyer yet, but she had phoned an attorney in Las Vegas, Nevada, and requested that Colin's claim be verified—namely, she and Colin were still married.

Her mother glanced at Uncle Hugh and then back at her. “This scandal is the talk of London and New York. How do you plan to rectify that matter?”

Belinda bit her lip. Obviously, her mother, having met with resistance to her first line of inquiry, had moved on to another.

It was ironic, really, that she was being subjected to questioning by her mother. She had turned a deaf ear to her mother's personal affairs over the years, though they had been the subject of gossip and cocktail-party innuendo. She hadn't wanted to know more about
affaires de coeur,
as her mother was fond of referring to them.

Her mother looked fretful. “How will we ever resolve this with the Dillinghams? It's disastrous.”

“Now, now, Clarissa,” her uncle said, leaning forward to set down his teacup. “Histrionics will not do a bit of good here.”

Belinda silently seconded the sentiment and then heaved an inward sigh. She and her mother had never had an easy relationship. They were too different in personality and character. As an adult, she'd been pained when her mother's behavior had been shallow, selfish or self-centered, and often all three.

As if on cue, her mother slid onto a nearby chair, managing somehow to be graceful about it while still giving the impression that her legs would no longer support her during this ordeal. “Belinda, Belinda, how could you be so reckless, so irresponsible?”

Belinda felt rising annoyance even as she acknowledged
she'd been asking herself the same question again and again. She
had
acted uncharacteristically.

“You were expected to marry well,” her mother went on. “The family was counting on it. Why, most of your classmates have already secured advantageous matches.”

Belinda wanted to respond that she
had
married well. Most people would say that a rich and titled husband qualified as good enough. And yet, Colin was a detested Granville and thus one who was not to be trusted under any circumstances.

“We spent a long time cultivating the Dillinghams,” her mother continued. “They were prepared to renovate Downlands so you and Tod might entertain there in style once you were married.”

Belinda didn't need to be reminded of the plan, contingent on her marriage to Tod, to update the Wentworths' main ancestral estate in Berkshire. She knew the family finances were, if not precarious, less than robust.

Truth be told, neither she nor Tod had been swept away by passion. Instead, their engagement had been based more on practicalities. She and Tod had known each other forever and had always gotten along well enough. She was in the prime of her friends' matrimonial season, if not toward the end of it, at thirty-two. Likewise, she knew Tod was looking for and expected to marry a suitable woman from his highborn social set.

Tod had said he would wait for her to resolve the situation. He had not said how long he would wait, however.

Her mother tilted her head. “I don't suppose you could lay claim to part of Easterbridge's estate for being accidentally married for the past two years?”

Belinda was appalled. “Mother!”

Her mother widened her eyes. “What? There have been plenty of real marriages that have endured for less time.”

“I'd have more leverage if Easterbridge were divorcing me!”

Belinda recalled the marquess' jesting offer to remain married. It was clear she'd have to be the one to initiate proceedings to dissolve their marriage.

“You didn't have time to sign a prenuptial agreement at that wedding chapel in Las Vegas, did you?” her mother persisted and then sniffed—ready to answer her own question. “Why, I wouldn't be surprised if Easterbridge carried a standard contract in his back pocket.”

“Mother!”

Uncle Hugh shook his head. “A man as sharp as Easterbridge would have seen to it that his property was not vulnerable. On the other hand, we wouldn't want the marquess to make any claim to Wentworth property.”

Her mother turned back to her. “It's a good thing that none of the Wentworth estates are in your name.”

“Yes,” Uncle Hugh acknowledged, “but Belinda is an heiress. She stands to inherit the Wentworth wealth. If she remains Easterbridge's wife, her property may eventually become his to share, particularly if the assets are not kept separate.”

“Intolerable,” her mother declared.

For her part, Belinda didn't feel like an heiress. In fact, from all of her family's focus on making a good match, she felt more stifled than liberated by the Wentworth wealth. True, she was the beneficiary of a small trust fund, but those resources only made it bearable for her to live in Manhattan's high-rent market on her skimpy art specialist's salary.

She'd been reminded time and again that her task was to carry the Wentworth standard forward for another
generation. She was never unaware of her position as an only child. So far, however, she could not have made a bigger mash of things.

“I'll deal with the marquess,” Belinda said grimly, stopping herself from her nervous habit of chewing her lip.

Somehow, she had to untangle herself from her marriage.

“T
hank you for meeting me today,” she said, somewhat incongruously, as she stepped into a conference room in Colin's business offices at the Time Warner Center.

She was hoping to keep matters on a polite and productive footing. Or at least to start that way.

Colin gave a quick nod of his head. “You're welcome.”

Belinda watched as Colin's gaze went unerringly to her now ring-free hand.

Her heart beat loudly in her chest.

She'd wanted a meeting place that was private but not too private. She knew Colin owned a spectacular penthouse high above them in the same complex—it was one of the unavoidable pieces of information that she'd come across about him in the news in the past couple of years—but she'd shied away from facing him there. And her own apartment farther uptown was too small.

It would have been hard enough to confront Colin under
any circumstances. He was wealthy, titled and imposing—not to mention savvy and calculating. But he was also her former lover and could lay claim to knowing her intimately. Their night together would always be between them. She'd seen what they could do with a hotel room… What they could do in his apartment didn't bear thinking about. At all. Ever.

Belinda scanned him warily.

He wore a business suit and held himself with the easy and self-assured charm of a sleek panther ready to toy with a kitty. He carried the blood of generations of conquerors in his veins, and it showed.

Belinda felt awareness skate over her skin, a good deal of which was exposed. She was dressed in a V-neck belted dress and strappy sandals, having arranged to have this meeting during her lunch break at Lansing's.

Colin gestured to the sideboard. “Coffee or tea?”

She set down her handbag on the long conference table. “No, thank you.”

He perused her too thoroughly. “You are rather even-keeled, in sharp contrast to last week.”

“I've chosen to remain the calm in the storm,” she replied. “The rumors have run amok, the groom has decamped for the other side of the Atlantic and the wedding gifts are being returned.”

“Ah.” He sat on a corner of the conference table.

“I hope you're satisfied.”

“It's a good start.”

She quelled her ire and looked at him straight on. “I am here to make you see reason.”

He was ill-mannered enough to chuckle.

“I know you're busy—”
too busy to have obtained an annulment, obviously
“—so I'll go straight to the point. How is it possible that we're still married?”

Colin shrugged. “The annulment was never finalized with the court.”

“That's what you said.” She smelled a rat—or more precisely, a cunning aristocrat. “I hope you fired your lawyer for the matter.”

She took a steadying breath. The lawyer she had recently consulted had confirmed that, as far as state records showed, she and Colin were still married because there was no record of an annulment or even of papers being filed.

One way or the other, she had to deal with matters as they unfortunately stood.

“It's futile to look back,” Colin remarked, as if reading her mind. “The issue is what do we do now.”

Belinda widened her eyes. “Now? We obtain an annulment or divorce, of course. New York recently did me the enormous favor of introducing no-fault divorce, so I'll no longer have to prove that you committed adultery or abandoned me. I know that much from some simple research.”

Colin looked unperturbed. “Ah, for the good old days when marriage meant coverture and only a husband could own property or prove adultery.”

She didn't appreciate his humor. “Yes, how unfortunate for you.”

He lifted his lips. “There's only one problem.”

“Oh? Only one?” She was helpless to stop the sarcasm.

Colin nodded. “Yes. A no-fault divorce can still be contested, starting with the service of divorce papers.”

She stared at him dumbly. What was he saying?

She narrowed her eyes. “So you're saying…”

“I'm not granting you an easy divorce, in New York or anywhere else.”

“You ruined my wedding, and now you're going to ruin
my divorce?” she asked, unable to keep disbelief from her voice.

“Your wedding was already ruined because we were still married,” Colin countered. “Even if I hadn't interrupted the ceremony, your marriage to Dillingham would have been considered void ab initio due to bigamy. It would have been as if the marriage ceremony had never occurred.”

Belinda pressed her lips together.

Colin raised an eyebrow. “I know. It's rather inconvenient that your marriage to Dillingham would have been the one to have been declared legally nonexistent.”

“You ruined my wedding,” she accused. “You chose the precise wrong moment to make your big announcement. Why crash the ceremony?”

“Shouldn't you be thanking me for preventing a crime from being committed?”

She ignored his riposte. “And to top it off, you ruined my marriage by not making sure the annulment was properly finalized.”

“Your marriage to whom? The one to Tod that never existed? Or ours? Most people would say that not finalizing an annulment is the way to avoid ruining a marriage.”

She wasn't amused by his recalcitrance. She'd come here to get him to agree to a quiet dissolution of their union.

Colin rubbed his chin. “I can't understand how you managed to keep our Las Vegas wedding a secret. Did Dillingham even know?”

Belinda reddened. “Tod is standing by me.”

“That means no.” Colin let his gaze slide over her hand. “Also, you're not wearing his ring. Just how…
closely
is he standing by? Or does his support amount to waiting in the wings until this whole messy divorce business is taken care of? But just how long is he willing to wait?”

“As long as it takes,” she shot back.

They stared at each other, and Belinda forced herself not to blink. The truth was she had no idea how long or how short Tod would wait. The wedding fiasco had been quite a blow.

Colin tilted his head and contemplated her. “You didn't even tell him that you already had one wedding behind you. Were you afraid of what an Old Etonian like Dillingham would think of the quick Vegas elopement in your past?”

“I'm sure he would have been bothered only by the fact that the groom had been you,” she retorted.

“Right, competitive,” Colin said, nodding even as he twisted her meaning. “But then there's the fact that you lied on your marriage license.”

Belinda's flush deepened.

It was true that she had omitted to list the Las Vegas ceremony when applying for a marriage license in New York. Her union with Colin had been a marriage of brief duration that had been contracted in another state and, she believed, had ended in an annulment.

Didn't an annulment usually mean that a marriage had never existed?

Belinda rallied her reserves.

“You know quite a bit about dissolving a marriage even if you haven't accomplished it successfully yourself,” she retorted. “Have you talked to a lawyer already?”

“You have. Why shouldn't I?” he returned rather cryptically.

“That's the difference between you and Tod. He hasn't spoken with an attorney.” The last thing she needed was for the Dillinghams to resort to legal means to recoup their costs for the wedding fiasco.

Colin twisted his lips. “Pity. Because if he had, his lawyer would have told him just what my lawyer told me.
If I choose to fight your divorce suit, you'll remain my wife for quite a while longer.”

“So you plan to fight it?”

“With everything I've got.”

“I'll win eventually.”

“Maybe, but I'm sure the Wentworths won't appreciate the notoriety.”

He was right, Belinda thought with a sick feeling. If this scandal deepened, her family would be horrified. And she felt ill just thinking of the Dillinghams' reaction.

“You're the Marchioness of Easterbridge,” Colin said, driving his point home. “You might as well start using the title.”

Marchioness of Easterbridge.
She was glad her ancestors weren't around to hear this.

“It's a good thing you chose to keep your surname on the Nevada marriage license,” Colin continued. “Otherwise, you'd have been erroneously representing yourself as Belinda Wentworth rather than Belinda Granville for more than two years.”

“I remember choosing to keep my name,” she shot back. “I wasn't so completely off kilter that I don't remember that detail.”

Somehow, it had been acceptable to marry Colin but not to take the Granville name.

Belinda Granville.
It sounded worse than Marchioness of Easterbridge. Easterbridge was simply Colin's title, whereas Granville had been the surname carried by his devious ancestors.

“Why are you doing this?” she blurted. “I can't understand why we shouldn't have a civilized divorce—or better yet, annulment.”

He sauntered toward her. “Can't you? Nothing has been civilized between the Wentworths and the Granvilles for
generations. The ending of our…encounter in Las Vegas is further evidence of it.”

Her eyes widened. “So it all goes back to that, doesn't it?”

He stopped before her. “I intend to make a conquest of the Wentworths once and for all—” his gaze slid down her body “—beginning and ending with you, my beautiful wife.”

 

Disaster preparedness.

He'd laid the groundwork, Colin thought. He'd spent two-plus years planning for this moment, making sure he'd anticipated every likely contingency.

“Excellent,” Colin said into the phone. “Did he ask many questions?”

“No,” his deputy responded. “Once he knew you were willing to meet his price, he was pleased.”

And now, he was satisfied himself, Colin thought.

“I believe he assumed you were a Russian oligarch looking to make a prime purchase.”

“Even better,” Colin replied.

If he knew Belinda, in the past few weeks she'd been quietly working to find a way to disengage herself from their union with as little fanfare as possible. But now he held a trump card.

After ending the call, he looked up at his two friends. When his cell phone had buzzed, and he'd seen who was calling, he'd been too impatient for answers to ignore the call despite the presence of company on a Thursday evening.

From their seats in upholstered chairs in the sitting room of Colin's London town house, Sawyer Langsford, Earl of Melton, and James Carsdale, Duke of Hawkshire, exchanged looks. They all happened to be in town at the
same time and had met for drinks. Having removed their jackets, they all sat around with loosened ties.

Like his two fellow aristocrats, Colin had had a more peripatetic existence than most, so his accent was cosmopolitan rather than British. Still, despite all being well-traveled—or maybe, because of it—he, Sawyer and Hawk had become friends. Thus it seemed oddly appropriate that the three of them would become romantically entangled at the same time.

Sawyer had unexpectedly gotten engaged to Tamara Kincaid, one of Belinda's bridesmaids. Hawk was intently pursuing Pia Lumley, Belinda's wedding planner, in an effort to smooth out his bumpy history with her.

Both of his friends were enjoying rather more success romantically than Colin at the moment—though unsurprisingly, Belinda's friends had proven challenging to woo, as well. Colin had an advantage in that Belinda was already his wife. Yet the fact that she now refused to communicate with him except through lawyers was a decided obstacle.

But no matter. He and Belinda were still married, and with his business deal today, she'd have to deal with him sooner rather than later.

“What game are you playing, Easterbridge?” Hawk inquired.

“A rather high-stakes one, I'm afraid,” Colin said in a faintly bored tone. “I'm sure you want no part of it.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow.

Sawyer shrugged. “You've always played your cards close to your chest, Colin.”

“Simply doing my best to burnish the Granville surname.” And what better way to varnish it than to be responsible for finally vanquishing the family foes, the Wentworths?

Colin hadn't given much thought to his fellow Berkshire landowners over the years. This was the twenty-first century, after all, and civility toward one's neighbors, barring direct provocation, was the norm. Besides, in his rather small aristocratic world, it was considered downmarket to openly not get along.

He'd been willing to let bygones be bygones for most of his thirty-seven years, not interacting with the Wentworths but not engaging in open feuding, either. He'd been disposed to maintain a status quo of wary distance because not much had been at stake.

But then he'd unexpectedly come into contact with Belinda in Las Vegas. He was as susceptible as the next man to a leggy brunette with flashing eyes.

He'd been intrigued by Belinda Wentworth whenever he'd occasionally chanced to cross her path over the years. It hadn't happened often. She was a good half-dozen years younger, so their childhoods in Berkshire had not overlapped much. He'd been sent up to Eton at the age of thirteen to continue his studies, and had only rarely returned home. By the time he'd begun to establish his real-estate empire, Belinda had been off at school herself.

But then, an opportunity had presented itself at a Vegas cocktail party to speak with Belinda and he'd been pleased, not least of all because his curiosity had been stoked.

Nothing had happened that night but banter and conversation, but it had definitely whetted his appetite for more. When he'd encountered Belinda in the hotel lobby of the Bellagio, a couple of days after the cocktail party, he hadn't let the opportunity that he'd been hoping for slip by. He'd invited her to have a drink. Drinks had become dinner, and then they'd wound up in the casino, where he'd been able to exhibit his skill at the gaming tables.